It was a hot afternoon, that burning disk of fire beating
down harsh on the car of a young woman by the name of Rosalyn
Crowe. Blonde and black streaked hair lay just below her
shoulders, with the exception of a few strands matted to her
damp forehead. Emerald orbs narrowed lightly in the brightly
gleaming sun that poured directly through the windshield.
Sweat trickled lightly down her forehead, and a droplet
dripped into her eye, burning heavily. By reflex, she brought
a hand up to rub her eye furiously. "Goddamnit!" She
exclaimed loudly whilst attempting to annihilate the pain
that stung so horribly in her eye socket. The heat was not
only killing her, but angering her. Fanning herself as if it
would help, she stuck her tongue out. Her mouth was parched,
and she could use some type of drink about now. Driving her
68' Camaro down the burning road, she spotted a road sign.
The sign read, 'Captain Spauldings Fried Chicken and
Gasoline.'
The first thought that hit her was how odd the combination was, but she shrugged it off, and decided to head for this, 'Captain Spaulding's.' Perhaps they would have some type of refreshment for her to drink. One of her slender black-nailed hands reached for the air-conditioning. It hadn't work the last hundred times, and she wasn't surprised when it didn't work this time. "Piece of shit." Her voice was muffled under the blowing of the heated wind outside her open window.
Reaching a hand out of the window, she allowed her fingers to slip through the rushing wind. As the time inched slowly by, she found herself turning into the station of which she had heard of earlier. Moving her car into a pump station, she shut off her engine, and glanced out the window. The place was quite barren, and Rosalyn expected to see tumble weeds floating by. With a small creek pouring from her door, she opened it, and stepped out of the car.
The dirt ground sent specks of itself to cling to her black combat boots as she shut her door. The terrace was deathly silent as well as barren. A small squeal could be heard from what looked like an electronic clown that sat in front of the store. Tilting her head lightly, she arched a brow looking to the rather peculiar clown. After a moment's hesitation, she walked slowly for the door. Grasping the hot handle of the door, she pulled it lightly open, and narrowed her eyes at the blustering heat that poured from inside.
A man sat limply at the counter, clown make-up showed in limited patches around his face, where it had most likely been smothered at one time. Her narrow emerald eyes caught his darkened ones. Those dark eyes of his had traced intriguingly over her body. No wonder though, her legs might have caught anyone's attention, not to mention the added bonus of her fishnets that covered them. Feeling his eyes upon her, she rolled her own, and walked dully over to him. She could tell he had caught sight of her low-set shorts, and then her chest, and she got the picture this fellow must be some type of old pervert. Sweat droplets had formed over her shown cleavage, and she had the sudden urge to go and change out of the black tank top. After this rather unrefined man had seeming seen enough, he looked up to her face; a unique smirk perched on it.
"Nice of you to notice I had a face as well." Rosalyn's eyes had grown used to the heat, and had stopped watering by this point. The man had a mischievous grin on his face, and as he spoke, she could notice a highly southern accent pouring from his gritty yellow grin. "Hard to notice a woman's face when they have a fuckin' body like yers'." Shaking her head lightly, she brought a warm hand to her forehead, brushing sweaty strands from it. "Where you headin' missy?" the clown continued. "No where in particular." She responded, "Do you have anything to drink here, um." She glanced to a tag on his filthy shirt, "Captain Spaulding?"
The man straightened himself a bit more aiming to glare at her bust again. Noticing his attempt, she headed meekly toward what was supposed to be a museum of some sort. "I only have a few piss warm beers, but I'd gladly give one up fer' ya' if you want one." That same grin breeched his face once more, and she turned her view toward him. "Um, no thanks. Would you mind telling me where this shit hole of a road leads? I'm driving on a dead vibe here..." Her arms moved to lean against the glass casing for some idiotic artifact as she propped her head into a hand. No doubt, he must have overlooked her once more. "I wouldn't be knowin' ma'am. I can't reckon' I've ever headed down that way." There was some type of uncertainty in his tone of voice, but she ignored it, and walked sweepingly back over toward him, a smirk of her own on her face. "Well, thanks for your time, Spaulding. Mind if I take one of those beers?" Quirking a brow in question, she glanced at his bulging stomach in mild disgust, but hid it well. After another sour-toothed grin from him, he left to grab a rather warm beer, and place it in her slender hand.
"Thanks." The simple word was placed in a low voice as she showed him a smirk. Rosalyn wasn't one of them damned yuppies, far from it, and she could tell the man realized it as well. Indeed she wasn't from this place, but she wasn't some rich snob passing through either, just a normal midwestern woman confined to the cruelties of her car and her petty belongings. "Yer mightee' welcome." Spauldings voice rang like a country bell from behind her.
As soon as she'd reached her car, Rosalyn brought a long black nail to open the beer can. 'Who cares if it's warm?' she thought, 'At least it's wet and slightly refreshing.' The can was brought to her smooth lips, and she drank it all down in a few gulps, showing her obvious thirst. Her mouth salivated with thanks at the fuel it had received. With a movement of her arm, she thrust the can in a smelly trash bin that must have been sitting in its place for quite some time.
There was a dull rumble as the car started, dust fuming from the tires as she sped off into the street. For one reason or another her senses told her something wasn't right, and an image of the robotic clown at the Gas station lingered in her mind.
With the push of a button the radio blared on, loud vulgar music pouring from the speakers of the car. "Hell yeah." Rosalyn's slender hand began to tap the wheel corresponding to 'More Human Than Human.' That dirty blonde and black streaked hair tossed lightly as the wind ripped through it, and she headed out into the open road, where many possibilities awaited her.
The first thought that hit her was how odd the combination was, but she shrugged it off, and decided to head for this, 'Captain Spaulding's.' Perhaps they would have some type of refreshment for her to drink. One of her slender black-nailed hands reached for the air-conditioning. It hadn't work the last hundred times, and she wasn't surprised when it didn't work this time. "Piece of shit." Her voice was muffled under the blowing of the heated wind outside her open window.
Reaching a hand out of the window, she allowed her fingers to slip through the rushing wind. As the time inched slowly by, she found herself turning into the station of which she had heard of earlier. Moving her car into a pump station, she shut off her engine, and glanced out the window. The place was quite barren, and Rosalyn expected to see tumble weeds floating by. With a small creek pouring from her door, she opened it, and stepped out of the car.
The dirt ground sent specks of itself to cling to her black combat boots as she shut her door. The terrace was deathly silent as well as barren. A small squeal could be heard from what looked like an electronic clown that sat in front of the store. Tilting her head lightly, she arched a brow looking to the rather peculiar clown. After a moment's hesitation, she walked slowly for the door. Grasping the hot handle of the door, she pulled it lightly open, and narrowed her eyes at the blustering heat that poured from inside.
A man sat limply at the counter, clown make-up showed in limited patches around his face, where it had most likely been smothered at one time. Her narrow emerald eyes caught his darkened ones. Those dark eyes of his had traced intriguingly over her body. No wonder though, her legs might have caught anyone's attention, not to mention the added bonus of her fishnets that covered them. Feeling his eyes upon her, she rolled her own, and walked dully over to him. She could tell he had caught sight of her low-set shorts, and then her chest, and she got the picture this fellow must be some type of old pervert. Sweat droplets had formed over her shown cleavage, and she had the sudden urge to go and change out of the black tank top. After this rather unrefined man had seeming seen enough, he looked up to her face; a unique smirk perched on it.
"Nice of you to notice I had a face as well." Rosalyn's eyes had grown used to the heat, and had stopped watering by this point. The man had a mischievous grin on his face, and as he spoke, she could notice a highly southern accent pouring from his gritty yellow grin. "Hard to notice a woman's face when they have a fuckin' body like yers'." Shaking her head lightly, she brought a warm hand to her forehead, brushing sweaty strands from it. "Where you headin' missy?" the clown continued. "No where in particular." She responded, "Do you have anything to drink here, um." She glanced to a tag on his filthy shirt, "Captain Spaulding?"
The man straightened himself a bit more aiming to glare at her bust again. Noticing his attempt, she headed meekly toward what was supposed to be a museum of some sort. "I only have a few piss warm beers, but I'd gladly give one up fer' ya' if you want one." That same grin breeched his face once more, and she turned her view toward him. "Um, no thanks. Would you mind telling me where this shit hole of a road leads? I'm driving on a dead vibe here..." Her arms moved to lean against the glass casing for some idiotic artifact as she propped her head into a hand. No doubt, he must have overlooked her once more. "I wouldn't be knowin' ma'am. I can't reckon' I've ever headed down that way." There was some type of uncertainty in his tone of voice, but she ignored it, and walked sweepingly back over toward him, a smirk of her own on her face. "Well, thanks for your time, Spaulding. Mind if I take one of those beers?" Quirking a brow in question, she glanced at his bulging stomach in mild disgust, but hid it well. After another sour-toothed grin from him, he left to grab a rather warm beer, and place it in her slender hand.
"Thanks." The simple word was placed in a low voice as she showed him a smirk. Rosalyn wasn't one of them damned yuppies, far from it, and she could tell the man realized it as well. Indeed she wasn't from this place, but she wasn't some rich snob passing through either, just a normal midwestern woman confined to the cruelties of her car and her petty belongings. "Yer mightee' welcome." Spauldings voice rang like a country bell from behind her.
As soon as she'd reached her car, Rosalyn brought a long black nail to open the beer can. 'Who cares if it's warm?' she thought, 'At least it's wet and slightly refreshing.' The can was brought to her smooth lips, and she drank it all down in a few gulps, showing her obvious thirst. Her mouth salivated with thanks at the fuel it had received. With a movement of her arm, she thrust the can in a smelly trash bin that must have been sitting in its place for quite some time.
There was a dull rumble as the car started, dust fuming from the tires as she sped off into the street. For one reason or another her senses told her something wasn't right, and an image of the robotic clown at the Gas station lingered in her mind.
With the push of a button the radio blared on, loud vulgar music pouring from the speakers of the car. "Hell yeah." Rosalyn's slender hand began to tap the wheel corresponding to 'More Human Than Human.' That dirty blonde and black streaked hair tossed lightly as the wind ripped through it, and she headed out into the open road, where many possibilities awaited her.