Post by Buster Fleetfoot on Oct 11, 2018 21:20:43 GMT
GREASED LIGHTNING
Buster stared at the flashing lights. Outside reds and blues flashed against the wall as the cops were called. Johnny had rented out the penthouse of some swank hotel and it was all fun and games. Buster was sober as fuck. With his super speed came super metabolism and it severly hindered his ability to get fucked up.
He thought he was going to have to be sober for the entire night until Johnny introduced Buster to a chemist friend of his named McLoving. Johnny called him that because of the striking resemblance he held to the character of the same name. This chemist apparently cooked meth for the bikers out in framingham, but Johnny got a little blue crystal from him from time to time. Johnny didn't do that stuff, but damn it if it wasn't a high quality product and Johnny liked to sell....
"Take this shot Buster." Johnny instructed. Buster threw it back without much hope of it doing anything, but apparently it was the equivalant to jet engine fuel. Enough to fucking kill a normal man several times over. The alcohol content was through the fucking roof and yes.... Buster was fucked up. The light were pretty. Reds and blues flashing wildly. Buster's eyes rolled over to William to see him standing there in a toga, drinking a shot out of a stripper's shoe.
The room spun around Buster. He wasn't used to being drunk. He had only been so one other time in his life and it was truly an odd feeling. The way his feet were flat on the floor but unsteady at the same time like he could loose his footing at any moment. Somewhere in the room he heard a crash. A monkey was swinging from the chandialeer when it came crashing down through the glass coffee table. Buster couldn't help but laugh as the furry little guy leaned up, shook himself off and grabbed a bottle from the mess of glass all around him and take a few chugs.
Johnny was infectious like that. It didn't matter who you were, you were getting fucked up at a Johnny Rome party. There was an old man in the hot tub in the back of the room smoking a cigar with his arms around two beautiful, full chested women. There was a magician doing magic tricks with a chained tiger in the middle of the room and more women than you could shake a stick at. They were everywhere, some dancing on tables and others just mingling with the crowd enjoying the party. Buster sweat as he wiped his wet forehead.
His eyes whirled back around to the blue and red police lights. A single eyebrow raised as he looked down below and saw the cause of the cops being called. Someone had thrown a mattress over the balcony with a naked blow up doll handcuffed to it. It would have been funny if it wasn't so stupid. It had Johnny Rome written all over it. Buster toppled a bit as he thought he might go over the railing. He caught himself and decided that one shot had really done a number on his ass.
Looking around, everyone seemed to be having fun. That's when a woman ran her hands over his chest. Buster leaned back over the railing he was so worried about falling over just a moment ago. His eyes met hers. "You're cute, what are you doing out here alone honey? There's a whole party in there!" She exclaimed. Buster scoffed and rolled his eyes as polished fingernails rolled over his shoulders. "Not much of a party guy." He mumbled pulling a cigarette from his jacket and sticking it in his mouth.
Buster wasn't the cheating type. Only because he wasn't really the having a girlfriend type to begin with. This thing with Sophia had swept his ass up in the most unexpected of ways, but still... Here he was faced with a choice because little miss rub my shoulders bat her eyes at him and chewed on her lower lip. He could see the wheels spinning in her head, because they were spinning in his. Maybe it was the booze, but he didn't want to be that asshole who blamed it on the liquid excuse.
She was fucking goregous and DTF, Buster felt his stomach churning and a dangerous smile washed over his face. Taking a puff of his cigarette he looked at her. All but god damn begging for it. "What's your name anyways?" It wasn't cheating. Asking a girl her name wasn't cheating, but he was stepping out on thin ice and Buster had never been known to be much of a swimmer.
