Chapter 1
Barroom Antics
'The arcade is now closed,' the computerised voice announced throughout every game in the arcade. It was the end of another long day of button bashing and gear stick slamming. Kids from all over the neighbourhood spent their quarters on beat-em-ups and racers, shooters and plat-formers as those before them had done over the last ten years since Litwack first opened.
The first train entered game central from the Sugar Rush cabinet shortly after the call went up and a dozen or so of the citizens disembarked. They separated off into their own little groups, eager to wander through the neighbouring games in their night time activities.
As the game characters filed through between the stations, a lone figure remained at Sugar Rush's opening, seemingly reluctant to cross the threshold into game centre. With hands clutched in front of him, the short, sugary themed character took a ginger step out into the open. He glanced nervously about the empty space, his chocolate coloured eyes falling on each new face as he swallowed hard and took several tentative steps out in the open.
Game central was all but empty and no one paid any mind to the short jiggling man. He crossed the empty space at a fast walk seemingly overlooked by anyone and made his way into the popular hangout known as Tappers. At the bar's entrance, the character halted abruptly and composed himself. Taking a long steady breath, he pushed through the doors into the dimly lit drinking area. The scent of fresh alcoholic beverages and wood polish greeted him in a pleasant manner, even if it did little to reduce his anxiety.
The character chose a seat at the bar that was nearly twice his height. Frowning a little, he proceeded to clamber up with a delightful jingling of bells from his slippers. He planted his pantaloon-covered ass on the cushioned seat with a huff of breathlessness, but just as quickly regained his composure as a man of his regal breeding should. He straightened his bowtie and lifted a hand to signal the barkeep.
A short man with the moustache approached. He wore no nametag as everyone in the arcade, whether or not they visited the bar, knew of the watering hole and its equally well-known bartender. The man smiled at the new character and immediately approached with a warm, vibrant welcome.
"First time out of the Kingdom, Sire?" said Tapper.
"Isth it so obvious?" said the little man with a sigh, his flowery voice marked by a slight lisp.
Tapper smiled kindly. "What will it be?"
"A large glass of red wine, pleasth," said the royal and attempted to return the smile as Tapper placed a glass in front of him and filled it with silky rouge liquid. He slipped his fingers slowly around the stem of the glass as throth bubbled to the surface. "I should really get out more," he said quietly. "Thisth feelsth very unnatural."
"Most Characters get that way the first time out of their games, Sire," reassured Tapper. He wiped down the bar and straightened the row of glasses behind him. "Give it a few drinks, some polite chatter and things will work out."
Sighing, the man lent an elbow up on the bar with his hand resting under his chin. "True, true," he admitted despite a disheartened tone. Approachability had always alluded him, even inside of his game. HE was prim and proper and knew how to put on a show, but one on one was hardly his cup of tea. To socialise was an important skill for the kingly figure, but in truth he just didn't feel up to it. Maybe this was a mistake...
Or maybe he was just waiting for the right person to walk in.
'The arcade is now closed' said the computer voice over the pixelated realm of Turbo-time.
"Already?" muttered Turbo and he grudgingly turned his car into the garage. "You've got to be kidding me. I was on a winning streak here!" he shouted his injustice to the digitalized skybox as if the arcade itself could hear him. It could not. So he grumbled to himself as he killed the engine and started climbing out with a grunt of effort.
"Looks like someone needs to lay off the grilled cheeses."
Turbo glanced up and stuck his tongue out between his yellow teeth. "Bite me, Jet. If I'm so out of shape, how come I'm the one with the ten to one win streak?"
With a cool look, the tall and lean Jet smirked at his brother and competitor revealing pale yellow teeth. He dwarfed the smaller racer by nearly twice his height with a cobalt blue tracksuit in place of Turbo's white and red attired. "Maybe you should take a few extra laps around the race track," said Jet. "You know, without the car."
Turbo raised a middle finger, in doing so he fell back with one leg still over the car's side and fell head first onto the concrete.
"Oh smooth," said Jet. "You surely are the pinnacle of physical grace." He turned away, missing Turbo's offensive gestures behind his back. "Set and I are going over to Pacman's early for the Disco party Clyde's been harping on about. You in or out?"
"Like I'd want to hang out with you losers," said Turbo with his nose pressed up against the floor. "I got better shit to do."
"Please yourself," said Jet. "Try not to get too drunk in Tappers." He turned on his heel and strode out of the garage with both hands tucked into his tracksuit.
"Who said I'm going to Tappers?" Turbo shouted after him.
"You always do," Jet called back.
"Stuck up, smart-ass, prick... can't race... son of a..." Turbo grumbled along with a stream of slurred cusses as he pulled himself up and brushed down his racing overalls. Retrieving the keys from his car and giving the vehicle a once over, he headed out of the garage with both hands in his pockets and a scowl plastered across his pale face. A slightly sweaty smell reached his tiny nose. He sniffed under one arm, murmured a note of confirmation and went to a small side room at the back of the garage where the cars were stored. In the room was a small shower cubicle and toilet. Instead of taking a shower, Turbo decided to douse himself in deodorant. The keen waft of Lynx became a sickening cloud in the confined space. Turbo coughed loudly and waved the gaseous mass away. He placed the deodorant can on the top of the toilet cistern and made a swift exit into the open air.
Jet and the other twin, Set, had gone on ahead. Good thing too. Set could be just as bad as Jet and together they were unmatched in levels of irritation. Turbo boarded the train alone and sat back with his feet up as it transported him to game central. He made a bee-line to Tapper, slumped along with hands in pockets, determined to forget Jet's jeering mug over several pints.
He found Tappers was quiet that evening, probably due to the party over at Pacman. It was open house to Turbo's knowledge, which meant he would be giving it a wide berth. It was poor form to associate with the wafes and strays of the arcade. He was a winner and that came with standards. Only a handful of other patrons were drinking at the favoured watering hole, Turbo even recognised a few, but paid them no mind. He clambered onto nearest barstool to the door with ease, as he had done numerous times before.
Tapper materialized in front of him. "Hey Turbo, good to see ya," he said. "What you having?"
"Usual, and make it a double," said Turbo, leaning his head on one arm.
The barkeep pulled two glasses from under the counter. He filled the first with draft root beer and said, "Rough day?"
"Just my ass of a brother," said Turbo reaching for the mug and downing half the drink in one mouthful. "He's being more obnoxious that usual."
"what did you do this time?" said Tapper dully.
"Me? Not a thing! It's not my fault he's a shit racer. Maybe if he pulled his head out of his asshole, he would see the road better."
Turbo huffed loudly and took another swing, turning to lean one arm along the bar top. Having known Turbo long enough, Tapper refrained from prying further and left to deal with the other customers.
With drink in hand, Turbo gazed out across the bar for something to preoccupy his time. Some eye candy would be welcomed, maybe a fetching bird to admire as he wet his whistle. No such luck. He recognised all the patrons from various neighbouring games, none of which he wished to associate with, and then his eye caught something shiny.
Sat at the bar just a ways from Turbo was someone he didn't recognise. A short man across the bar from him, wearing the most fruitiest get up Turbo had ever seen with a plum jacket, white collar and cuffs and a huge red bow tie that glittered in the bars dangling lights. But the most drawing feature to this little mans wardrobe was the bright, yellow crown atop his bald head that had initially caught racer's eye. Well, well, well, who knew Tappers attracted royalty?
The little man was staring at the near untouched glass in front of him, letting it gather a thick layer of condensation on the smooth outside surface. His eyes trailed a singular drop as it slid across the curved outside shape of the glass and pooled onto the bar top where it formed into a tiny puddle.
He seemed to be alone in the bar, though that wasn't unusual for the patron's in Tappers. It was a place to relax and socialise, but it catered also to the few, like Turbo, who only came in for a solitary drink.
To Turbo it was clear this new character wasn't enjoying the quiet inner reflection the bar provided. The royal dipped a finger into the glass and licked the end of his digit, emanating a bored and defeated sigh. With his left hand the king gripped the stem of the glass and took a sip, only then did his eyes come up to meet Turbo's own golden orbs. The glass was lowered gently back to the bar top. They stared at each other for a short moment. Turbo half expected him to break contact first, but no, it was as if the character was entranced.
The royal tipped his head in a polite nod and smiled. "Evening," he said in a voice that was sweet and jolly as his attire. It wasn't long before his hands slipped to the edge of the bar. He dropped off his chair with a gentle jiggle of bells and quickly trotted off to the men's room.
Turbo's eyes followed after the strange character as the royal exited the bar. However his interest was short lived. "Weirdo," he muttered and drank another heavy gulp of brew. It was no doubt this character wet behind the ears. No regular would dare approach, much less speak, to Turbo when he was clearly on one of his binges.
He drank down the last of the first mug and reached for the second. As he did he called Tapper over.
"You can't want another round already," said Tapper.
"Don't tempt me," Turbo said. "That guy in the flowery get-up," indicating to the men's room with a jerk of his head, "who is he?"
At first Tapper's eyebrow rose in question then he seemed to realise what Turbo meant. "Oh that's King Candy."
"He's not usually in here."
"Nope. First time out of the kingdom since his game was plugged in."
Turbo let out a note of amusement. "Oh the sheltered royal type. That makes sense," he muttered.
"I'm surprised you haven't heard of him," began Tapper.
"Why?"
"Well given which game he comes from..." he said carefully.
Unlike most of the folks in the arcade, Turbo somewhat respected Tapper, but that didn't mean he would put up dawdling. If someone had something to say, they should just come out and say it.
"Why, what game is he from?" pushed Turbo.
Tapper paused and said," Sugar rush."
The name meant nothing to him. He fixed Tapper with an apathetic glance before turning his golden eyes away."That a plat-former?" he said and took another swig.
"No... It's a racer."
With that, half of Turbo's drink went shooting out of his mouth.
"Come on old boy heheha!..Mingle yes'th try to make friends'th that's why you came here mn yes'th..." King Candy said to his reflection. Candy often gave himself prep talks when he was uncertain of a situation. They didn't usually work, but he hoped practise might make perfect.
He leant on the sink and focused on the mirror trying to look determined. He only succeeded in looking uncharacteristically stern and that upset him. "No, no, no, this'th will not do!" he said. "You are a royal and must act liketh one! And a royal is not afraid of talking to a strapping, muscular, rugged man such as'th..." he fell into a murmur, going weak at the knees for a second and catching himself in the sink. He couldn't help but giggle, biting his lip as his mind steadily drifted into rambunctious thoughts...
He snapped himself awake. Standing up tall, he took in a deep breath with hands in fists at his sides and nose in the air. "I am a royal!" he repeated. "I will show confidence and a leadership befitting my heritage!"
The King nodded to his reflection and straightened his clothing and pulled his bowtie into shape. He returned to the bar and his drink, none the wiser of what had taken place during his absence and clambered upon his seat again. Looking down, his nose wrinkling at the sight of the glass of wine he had been nursing since he came in.
After a moment, he called Tapper over, "Oh Tapper. Be a good man and give me a mixed fruit soda, will you? I can't stomach this'th right now."
"Certainly, Sire." Tapper disappeared briefly and came over with an ice-cold soda. The King pushed the wine glass aside and smiled gratefully at the a sweet beverage in front of him. He gave a short burst of soft giggles before bringing the glass up to his lips and taking several large mouthfuls. Licking his lips, he felt himself become more at ease and indicated to Tapper that he wanted another. "One more if you pleasth tapper. Oh! Are those peanut m&m's? I'll have six bags." He opened the first without hesitation and started popping them in his mouth one by one.
From across the bar, Turbo glared daggers. He the King binge on sugary sweets with growing distaste. This man was supposed to be a racer? Wow, modern racing games had really taken a nosedive.
Initially oblivious to Turbo's stare, Candy had finished his third bag before he realised he was being watched. Once again the King looked up into Turbo's golden coloured eyes innocently naive to the racer's distaste.
Turbo immediately felt a pang of anger hit him. It was as if Candy was reflecting him in some roundabout away. When he looked at him as a racer he glimpsed the determination and passion that flourished on the track. Reflected in the King's chocolate silky coated eyes was a curiously and a thirst for something longing. Turbo wasn't sure what though. One thing he did know was he didn't like it.
Candy smiled at him brightly. "Good evening my good fellow! What are you drinking there, hrmn?" he said. "Allow me to buy you another...Tapper! Same again for My friend over there." Even the way he spoke seemed candy coated.
Tapper delivered another pint in front of Turbo and sent King Candy a wary glance, no doubt warning him to tread lightly with the racer. The King didn't notice, he was too busy popping m and m's into his mouth.
When Tapper went away again Turbo drained the last of the second mug and began on the third. He noted King Candy had momentarily paused in his eating, no doubt waiting for Turbo to take a drink, as though he was unwillingly accepting some sort of friendship. Fat chance.
"Thanks," Turbo muttered, just loud enough for the king to hear. But that was all he was going to get out of him, the racer was determined of that.
King candy shrugged in an accepting fashion, though he seemed a little disappointed. Then he continued to devour the sweets as if nothing was wrong. As Turbo watched King Candy flick the m and m's into the air and try to catch them in his mouth he felt a pit dig deeper. His teeth were unnaturally clenched and it hurt his jaw.
One by one the packets were emptied, until Candy sat there tapping the end of each bag with a forefinger. "Its'th the only downside to visiting game central station, its'th not th'sweet enough." He muttered, in what appeared to be a day-dreamy comment. If it was meant to be polite conversation, Turbo was having none of it.
The King placed a hand under his chin and propped his head up with an elbow upon the bar. He dipped the forefinger of his free hand into a small puddle upon the bar top and swirled it around in a figure of eight. "Your eyes'th..." he began absentmindedly, before lifting his gaze to meet Turbo. A sweet smile crept over the Kings cherry blushed features. "They're intensely bright, positively glowing! The first feature I can't help but look into." He chuckled in a bashful tone followed by a random pitch of giggles and nervous breaths.
It was the second time that evening that Turbo almost choked on his drink. He looked at Candy incredulously. What was this guy on? Was he ... was he flirting with him?
Turbo froze solid staring at Candy with his mouth partly open, a bead of root beer slipped from the corner of his bottom lip onto the bar.
He knocked awake when Tapper cough suddenly. The barkeep sidled over to the king as he wiped at a glass. "Sire, ya walking a thin line here. Turbo isn't the pal sort," he said quietly.
The king darted his gaze to tapper, but scoffed and returned his eyes to Turbo. The candy monarch eyed the racer up and down best he could over the bar counter before using his free hand to mess with his collar and tie. The helmet gave the game away from the start that Turbo too was a racer. Apart from that, Candy knew little of the hunk before him. "So, you're a racer? Motorbikes'th? Quads?" he king smirked. "Cars? You're in good company, hoo hoo! I'm a racer mythself - hehahoo! I've never lost a race yet! I'm always on the race roster...undefeated royal champion – ten times running!" he winked.
Turbo's jaw snapped shut. This fruity, royal had the nerve to claim he was an undefeated racer, there right in front of the greatest racer in the arcade...no, in the entire history of the Arcade!
That was it. This man needed to learn his place. Royal or not, a racer was still a racer.
With a gulp of beer, Turbo dropped the mug heavily on the counter. "Do you have any idea who you are talking to?" he said with a deathly glint in his eye towards Candy. "Have you any idea who I am?" He lent forward on the counter toward Candy, a hand on his hip. "Turbo-Time mean anything to you? As in the game of the greatest racer in this arcade? Ha! As if Sugar rush could hold a candle to it! An undefeated streak in that kindergartener game means squat! Try racing against some real racers and you'll see just how low down the peaking order you really are!" He met the King's eyes again and bared his teeth in a snarl. "And you can knock off that 'glowing eyes' crap! I don't play that way."
Turbo then deliberately focused solely on his drink and was determined not to meet the King's gaze for as long as he could help it.
King Candy's smile dropped. His eyes widened in fear at such an onslaught of aggression. His fingertips clenched the side of the bar top, hands quivering, as he fought every instinct to rush out of the bar and hotfoot it back to Sugar Rush. There he would immerse himself in chocolate bubble bath, put on his fluffy warm pyjamas, curl up in his king-sized bed and forget about every leaving his game again.
But that wasn't want a royal would do. Turbo had slandered his kingdom and as the King, it was Candy's duty to defend it. He swallowed down his anxiety, took a deep breath and seized the moment. He stood up on the seat of his stool, shoes jiggling and slammed a palm down hard on the bar top, loud enough to stop everyone else in Tapper's mid conversation. The whole room fell silent save for the irritated retort that sprouted from the King. "Listen here you pale faced, son of a bitch! My game is twice, no, ten times better than your eight bit mess you call a racing sim! Oh yes'th I've seen your game and I've seen you race, its'th nothing compared to my hi-definition fully interacting multiple choice world." He pointed an accusing finger and jabbed it into Turbo's face. "Your washed up My friend. Get over yourself!" Then he descended the stool in one hop and strode over to Turbo, with a fire in those chocolate eyes.
Turbo stared at Candy, stunned by his comeback insult. His pale skin flushed purplish, but then Turbo paused and a vindictive smile crossed his face, revealing his golden teeth. "8 bit mess?" he said, aware that everyone in Tappers was watching them. "Washed up racer, am I?" He swallowed the last of his drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then dismounted the stool and met the king eyeball to eyeball.
"Look here, princess," said Turbo, his smile vanishing in an instant. "Who gets the most gamers in a day, huh? Who's been here for over ten years and is still the most popular racer in the arcade? You may have better graphics and all those fancy gizmos, but I know something you don't got - class.
How long you think before the gamers get bored of looking at all those sparkles and rainbows, huh?" He leant forward, purposely invading the king's space. "Because under all that glitz and glamour, you're just another cheap knock-off and nothing compared to the original." He jabbed his finger into the King's chest as hard as he could. "You just try that sassy mouth on the race track and I'll wipe the floor with you." Then Turbo shoved the King aside with blatant rudeness and marched off to the men's room, satisfied that he had made his point crystal clear.
With cheeks flushing red, the King gave a sharp huff. "Well!" He announced with hands in fists at his sides. He was quick to followed Turbo into the men's room, but not before collecting his cane on the way. "If you were speaking about yourself when you said class then I fail to see it!" shouted Candy, stepping in front of Turbo with his back to the tiled wall. "And as for the gamers getting bored they never will! My game adapts and ungrades with unlockable achievements. Your pixel nightmare only has one track and two other racers. MINE has fifteen! Better levels, weapons...your game isn't worth pissing on if it was on fire!"
"If you say so," muttered Turbo as he unzipped himself and stood at the urinal. "Might want to step back there, princess. You're in the splash zone."
The King growled, his once sweet features taking a dark and sinister turn. Clutching at his candy cane, he sharply prodded the rounded handle in the small of Turbo's back.
Turbo narrowly missed pissing on his shoes, but he didn't react. As much as he wanted to smack Candy in the face, he'd been warned before about starting a brawl.
Candy continued regardless. "Wipe the floor with me!? Ha! My friend I would leave you in my dust, you wouldn't stand a chance, bright eyes!"
Turbo pondered. Tappers rule about no brawling only really applied if anyone was around to see it. As he considered this, Candy stabbed him in the shoulder with a pink finger. Turbo's anger flared, but bit it back. He'd suffered worse, even if Candy was pushing it. The prod of the cane in the small of the back made Turbo grit his teeth. His anger seething purple into his grey cheeks.
When the king tried to prod him with the cane again, Turbo leapt around and seized it, meaning to yank it from Candy's grip. Despite all his prim and proper attire, King Candy proved to be just as strong as Turbo and pulled the racer forward. The floor was slick with the careless dribble of water and Turbo's shoes slid out from under him.
With a yelp he fell into King Candy and crashed to the floor pulling the monarch on top of him. For a moment both were dazed and then Turbo found himself staring up into the King's chocolate brown eyes that were as equally surprised as he was.
King candy was sat astride him. His already red cheeks flushed an even deeper crimson. "Ooh..." His voice echoed in the tiled men's room, his hands had landed upon Turbo's chest with their nose's touching. King Candy jerked back and sat higher upon the other allowing both his legs to rest either side of Turbo's thighs their eyes never breaking contact with one another. They said nothing. The steady drip of water echoed around the men's room tiles, the scent of Lynx wafted from the racer's open tracksuit.
The king frowned and grabbed the racer by the front of his racing suit and tugged him up into a sitting position the king slipping into the others lap. "You...fool.." he whispered before daring to plant his cherry flavoured lips against Turbo's pale beer laced ones.