There's some stuff in here invoolving adult characters discussing whether or not they would want too sleep with a fictional character (ie - fictional within the universe) who is underage
January dawns bright and cold, to the stench of blocked drains and sewage.
"What the fuck is that?" Brown whines, stumbling into the living room wearing nothing but a ratty pair of briefs and his duvet.
Freddy blinks, bleary eyed and fresh out of sleep. He gets three seconds of sweet confusion before the smell hits him hard enough to gag.
"Cut that shit out!" Brown snaps, pointing in the direction of the bathroom before Freddy can hack up anything onto his precious sofa. "I don't give a shit if you're a pussy ass lightweight, no way you're that hungover."
Freddy has no idea how hungover he is, the nuts and bolts crackling around in his skull could just as easily be from the stink as from the booze. He climbs shakily to his feet and follows Brown into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, no." Brown fiddles with the taps. There's water, but not much of it. "Fucking bullshit, shitting, fucking-"
"What's that fucking smell?" Pink comes up behind them, looking about as bad as Freddy feels.
"Whole water system's backed up, plumbing must have gone out on us." Brown passes out half full glasses of water to the three of them, rationing his patience.
Pink pointedly sniffs the air and his sallow skin sinks a few shades further towards translucent. "That don't smell like no blocked drain to me."
"Smells like shit." Freddy mumbles. The water feels good on his throat and horrible on his stomach. He breathes deep and holds everything down. "An' it's cold."
They check the radiators and find every one cold. Brown hops from foot to foot, buzzing like a fly as he tries to work out what to do. "Guess I better call the landlord."
The landlord doesn't pick up, rather predictably for nine am on the first of January, but by the end of the hour it becomes clear that this isn't a problem he'd be able to fix.
"What the fuck." Brown gasps, pulling up the blinds to the living room window.
The street down below is full of people in varying states of rage, wrapped in dressing gowns and wearing slippers, eyeing up the thick sludge trickling through the gutter. The front door opens and closes and Blue wanders in, red faced from the cold outside and carrying a bag full of muffins and four cups of coffee. He looks between the three of them, nodding good morning.
"Where've you been?" Pink asks, nonplussed.
"Getting breakfast." Blue sets his spoils down on the coffee table. "Don't open that window."
"What's going on out there?" Brown points to the street below through the trappings of his duvet.
"What's it look like? The whole street's backed up, the plumbing's fucked. Spoke to some of the folks out there and it sounds like everyone's still just about got water but it stinks to high heaven out there."
"It stinks to high heaven in here." Brown counters, wrapping a hand over his nose as if to emphasise his point.
"That it does." Blue shifts Freddy's duvet aside and sinks down into the sofa. "C'mon, eat. If you didn't get the kid too shitfaced last night."
Freddy has no idea how shitfaced he was last night. He doesn't remember much beyond Brown and Pink sneaking him into the back of some Irish bar and buying him the first whiskey. He tentatively takes one of the coffees, black and bitter, and sips on it as slowly as he can manage, staring down his muffin and daring it to jump into his mouth.
-------------
The cold gets to them pretty quick. By mid-afternoon the collective hangover has shrunk down to a manageable size and all anyone can talk about is how they're freezing their balls off in this shitty, no good apartment. Workers show up just after lunch and start fiddling with the manhole covers in the area, but they're sluggish and ill-disciplined and no one really thinks this shit is getting fixed anytime soon.
Freddy can't remember whose bright idea it was to get out of the house, but he knows he wasn't responsible for choosing the destination. They keep walking till the stink of sixty fourth street is way behind them, and then they walk some more till they come to the harsh cold lights and extraneous female figures of one of the porn cinemas. Brown, Pink and Blue go ahead, but he pauses on the threshold, looking up at the posters advertising some soft core, almost art bullshit, trying to decide if it's worth it.
Something different, something new. He thinks of writhing bodies, flesh pressed against flesh and wonders if he's supposed to be excited, if he's supposed to warm to it. He feels too young to be so desensitised. Or he just feels too fucking young.
"What are you waiting for?" Brown barks up ahead. The thing about New York is that he has to sneak into bars but no one bats an eyelid when he shows up at a place like this.
The decision seems easy once he's inside. The warmth of the theatre is galling compared to the thick chill of the apartment and Freddy can't believe he ever thought this wasn't happening. Brown picks a film out for them, because he apparently cares about the artistic merit of these schlockfests and the leading actress had great tits in some other film he saw.
Freddy doesn't know what he was expecting, but the cinema is weirdly full. He shrinks into himself on instinct, hiding away where his identity is safe, and doesn't look any of the other patrons in the eye.
Blue is asleep within minutes, and Pink sinks easily into a bored sort of stupor that doesn't miss a second of the movie but doesn't engage properly either. Freddy's still regaining feeling in his toes, looking at the images on screen as if they were abstract impressions of human bodies, rather than honest reflections of the real thing. For the first time, he thinks he understands how someone might misunderstand this as art. The images of nature, of fire, of lips clasping over the tip of a banana, they mimic the shapes and sounds of human coitus, till the flip between one and the next barely registers with him.
He's perched on the end of the row, with Brown at his left hand side, shifting and shuffling. Clearly engaged, but not sure what to do with it. It takes Freddy an hour or more to clock that the guy's genuinely aroused and stuck for what to do with it in a crowded cinema surrounded by people he lives with. He didn't think this through.
Maybe it's the immediate proximity they have to each other, maybe it's the fact that Brown is a real person and not just lines on a screen, but knowing that the guy is struggling to keep it in his pants does something strange to Freddy's insides. More than any dirty film he's ever seen, electric and potent. The thought of touching Brown is repugnant all on its own, but the context is exciting.
Freddy slips out of his trance and restlessness settles over him, keeping him shifting in his seat, trying to dredge up some memory of the plot as characters talk and fuck and talk and fuck and talk for god knows how long. He needs to get out of here, almost as bad as Brown.
The credits have barely started rolling before Brown is out of his seat and tearing down the aisle, muttering something about how he'll see them all outside. Pink barely seems to register that he's gone, prodding Blue awake and rising to his feet with boredom so perfect it could be practiced.
Freddy waits just as long as he can, then starts towards the men's bathroom. His feet hold him steady, but his fingers twitch and shake in his pockets of their own volition.
There's only one stall here, shut away at the very back of the building and not half a job to find. Freddy creeps up to the door and presses his ear flat against it, ears strained to catch anything.
The plywood is thin but Brown is careful. A few choked off groans are the only hint at what he's doing. Freddy tries to imagine what he looks like right now, and hates the thought of that stupid, ugly face twisted up in concentration, fist shoved in his mouth to keep the noise down. He doesn't think he could imagine anything less attractive if he tried.
The grunts come to an abrupt halt and Freddy tears himself away from the door. He takes off back towards the foyer, half running, and praying that Brown didn't get the door open in time to see him go.
---------
"Listen, Vic. Shit's hard right now. Do you think you could drop the fees just a little, this week?"
Vic Vega is unbothered by the persistent smell of faeces that has infested sixty fourth street. Truth is, Freddy doesn't much notice it either anymore. It's been two weeks since the pipes packed in and so far, no progress has been made on fixing it. It's not so bad, but there's been rain clouds gathering for the past couple of days and the street is collectively terrified that without working drains, buildings will start to flood with literal shit.
"I woulda thought." Vega starts, leaning in across the counter and not paying Freddy a bit of mind as he sorts through the stock backed up from the sixties for some of the less popular titles they stock. "That things being rough meant you needed my order all the more. Put a little extra cash in your pockets."
Brown glances nervously at Freddy who pretends he doesn't have the faintest idea that there's a conversation happening fifteen fucking feet away from him that he's not supposed to hear. "Man, c'mon! It's hard enough keeping the books straight as it is. I need a few real purchases coming in if I'm gonna sell it to the tax man."
Vega pretends to think about this, tipping his head to one side and scratching his chin. "You know what I think? I think you're pretty good with those books, and I think you got an agreement with my employer that you might wanna start taking seriously."
"I am taking it seriously!" Brown hisses. "I just gotta watch my own back. Look, maybe shift the bits of the order I can't take this time round down the year, y'know? I'll get it sorted."
"Oh, so now you can't take this order? And here was me thinking you were asking for a favour." Vega takes a step back and starts up through the comics at the front of the shop. He stops on Supergirl, again, smiling as he pulls the new issue out of the box. "Man, I love this one. The girl's so cute, but tough at the same time. She doesn't let shit get to her. It's all hopeful and shit."
Brown leaps on the change in conversation. "I mean, Kara Danvers is kinda hot. I always feel wrong jerking it to her though, she's like a legit kid."
The look of disgust Vega returns to him is priceless. Freddy would laugh, if it wouldn't blow his cover as a piece of the furniture. "I don't wanna fuck her." He says. "I wanna watch her save the world. She's really good at it."
In the midst of Brown's spluttering and clarification, the door opens and an honest to god customer walks in. It's so shocking that Freddy stops what he's doing and full on looks up.
His eyes immediately lock with a familiar dark brown pair, framed beneath a mane of russet brown hair. Sport flashes Freddy a wink and holds up a finger to his lips, fast enough to not be caught at it. Vega and Brown both turn round to look at him, Brown in particular looking like a freshly caught fish.
Vega points towards Sport. "See, that looks like a customer."
"Hey, it don't have stink out there." Sport laughs. "And in here. What's going on down here?"
"Problem with the drains." Brown replies, gormless. He's tense, hunched forward over the counter, desperate to ask what the fuck this guy is doing here when there are so many other comic shops in parts of the city that don't stink.
"I'll say." Sport smiles at him, then at Vega, whose neutral calm has picked up a tinge of rage that Freddy doesn't like one bit.
Vega stares Sport down. "What are you doing here?"
"What, you know me or something?" Sport's smile clicks into place like a gauntlet being thrown to the floor. "I heard something about this place, wanted to come down and see if it were true."
"What did you hear?"
Sport taps the side of his nose. "Secret. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He saunters over to where Freddy's definitely not doing a shred of stock work, slapping his hand down over an open box of old Charlton titles. "What do you do around here?"
"He's the stock guy. Ignore him." Brown urges. Freddy doesn't have the concentration to get a good look at him but it's clear that he's more interested in a prospective customer than what's currently going on with Vega, whose disconcerting steadiness has upped itself to dangerous levels.
"Stock guy, what does that mean?" Sport is looking right at Freddy. He's wearing a long coat today, with blue jeans and cowboy boots. Round his neck, a red ribbon tied with a bow, no hat. Why does he always have something round his neck?
"It means he deals with the stock!" Brown tells him, exasperated.
Sport shakes his head without taking his eyes off Freddy. "I didn't ask you."
Freddy's tongue is overlarge and useless in his mouth. He wants to move, to do something to break the self-imposed tension but his arms are stuck, the pages of the comic he's holding warping from the sweat. Which is ridiculous, they still don't have heating in this place. "I-"
"No, you know what? It don't matter." Sport spreads his arms wide and steps forward like he might be about to hug Freddy before thinking better of it. "This is a comic shop, right? You gotta show me some comics I should read."
"You don't read comics already?" Brown asks, confused. "Why'd you come out here if you don't read comics?"
Vega turns to look at him, nice and slow. "You got no idea how to build a customer base."
"Well, it's like I said." Sport shifts way from Freddy, who starts gathering up the comics he'd been sorting in a bid to get to the backroom. "I heard a little something about this place, and I wanted to see what the situation was for myself."
Even Brown's not dense enough to realise that Sport is talking exclusively to Vega. He nods towards Freddy. "Orange, get in the back."
"Orange?" Sport laughs. "The kid's name is Orange? What kind of a name is that?"
"S'a nickname." Brown clarifies, signalling to Freddy with jerky hand signals too hurry his ass up."
"You calling every sonofabitch that works for you after some kind of fruit?"
"Something like that."
"Who's he, Pineapple?" Sport points to Vega.
Vega's eyes narrow ever so slightly. "Nah, he calls me Blonde."
"I don't...not to your face!" Brown protests.
Blonde. It takes Freddy a moment to remember which one of the never ending list of colours that Brown has so far adopted the name corresponds to. The muscle guy, the one who works for the Cabots.
The fucking Cabots. Freddy's stomach sinks. He needs to get out of here. Not just right now, but for good.
"Pretty lousy nickname if you can't use it to his face." Sport's hands push back his coat as he lays them against his hips. He's short, but he's not afraid of a fight, that much is clear. Squaring up to Vega with a smile on his face.
"Orange, will you hurry your ass up!" Brown snaps.
"It's fine, it's cool." Sport steadies him with open palms. "Be cool, man. I'm not trying to start any trouble. Just trying to get myself a comic." He plucks the Supergirl issue from the counter, where Vega dropped it. "What's this one about?"
Vega decidedly doesn't answer, so Brown picks up. "It's about this girl, Superman's cousin-"
"Nah, I wanna hear Orange tell it." Sport smirks. He glances back over his shoulder to where Freddy is poised, ready to go into the stock room.
Freddy flashes an imploring look at Brown who rolls his eyes and nods like he expects him to talk.
It's not like Freddy's never read a Supergirl comic before, but he takes three tries to get the words to come out right. "It's like...I mean she...so you know what Superman is, right?"
Re: Sport/Orange - shady skeevey stuff - 11a/?
--------------------------------------------------
January dawns bright and cold, to the stench of blocked drains and sewage.
"What the fuck is that?" Brown whines, stumbling into the living room wearing nothing but a ratty pair of briefs and his duvet.
Freddy blinks, bleary eyed and fresh out of sleep. He gets three seconds of sweet confusion before the smell hits him hard enough to gag.
"Cut that shit out!" Brown snaps, pointing in the direction of the bathroom before Freddy can hack up anything onto his precious sofa. "I don't give a shit if you're a pussy ass lightweight, no way you're that hungover."
Freddy has no idea how hungover he is, the nuts and bolts crackling around in his skull could just as easily be from the stink as from the booze. He climbs shakily to his feet and follows Brown into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, no." Brown fiddles with the taps. There's water, but not much of it. "Fucking bullshit, shitting, fucking-"
"What's that fucking smell?" Pink comes up behind them, looking about as bad as Freddy feels.
"Whole water system's backed up, plumbing must have gone out on us." Brown passes out half full glasses of water to the three of them, rationing his patience.
Pink pointedly sniffs the air and his sallow skin sinks a few shades further towards translucent. "That don't smell like no blocked drain to me."
"Smells like shit." Freddy mumbles. The water feels good on his throat and horrible on his stomach. He breathes deep and holds everything down. "An' it's cold."
They check the radiators and find every one cold. Brown hops from foot to foot, buzzing like a fly as he tries to work out what to do. "Guess I better call the landlord."
The landlord doesn't pick up, rather predictably for nine am on the first of January, but by the end of the hour it becomes clear that this isn't a problem he'd be able to fix.
"What the fuck." Brown gasps, pulling up the blinds to the living room window.
The street down below is full of people in varying states of rage, wrapped in dressing gowns and wearing slippers, eyeing up the thick sludge trickling through the gutter. The front door opens and closes and Blue wanders in, red faced from the cold outside and carrying a bag full of muffins and four cups of coffee. He looks between the three of them, nodding good morning.
"Where've you been?" Pink asks, nonplussed.
"Getting breakfast." Blue sets his spoils down on the coffee table. "Don't open that window."
"What's going on out there?" Brown points to the street below through the trappings of his duvet.
"What's it look like? The whole street's backed up, the plumbing's fucked. Spoke to some of the folks out there and it sounds like everyone's still just about got water but it stinks to high heaven out there."
"It stinks to high heaven in here." Brown counters, wrapping a hand over his nose as if to emphasise his point.
"That it does." Blue shifts Freddy's duvet aside and sinks down into the sofa. "C'mon, eat. If you didn't get the kid too shitfaced last night."
Freddy has no idea how shitfaced he was last night. He doesn't remember much beyond Brown and Pink sneaking him into the back of some Irish bar and buying him the first whiskey. He tentatively takes one of the coffees, black and bitter, and sips on it as slowly as he can manage, staring down his muffin and daring it to jump into his mouth.
-------------
The cold gets to them pretty quick. By mid-afternoon the collective hangover has shrunk down to a manageable size and all anyone can talk about is how they're freezing their balls off in this shitty, no good apartment. Workers show up just after lunch and start fiddling with the manhole covers in the area, but they're sluggish and ill-disciplined and no one really thinks this shit is getting fixed anytime soon.
Freddy can't remember whose bright idea it was to get out of the house, but he knows he wasn't responsible for choosing the destination. They keep walking till the stink of sixty fourth street is way behind them, and then they walk some more till they come to the harsh cold lights and extraneous female figures of one of the porn cinemas. Brown, Pink and Blue go ahead, but he pauses on the threshold, looking up at the posters advertising some soft core, almost art bullshit, trying to decide if it's worth it.
Something different, something new. He thinks of writhing bodies, flesh pressed against flesh and wonders if he's supposed to be excited, if he's supposed to warm to it. He feels too young to be so desensitised. Or he just feels too fucking young.
"What are you waiting for?" Brown barks up ahead. The thing about New York is that he has to sneak into bars but no one bats an eyelid when he shows up at a place like this.
The decision seems easy once he's inside. The warmth of the theatre is galling compared to the thick chill of the apartment and Freddy can't believe he ever thought this wasn't happening. Brown picks a film out for them, because he apparently cares about the artistic merit of these schlockfests and the leading actress had great tits in some other film he saw.
Freddy doesn't know what he was expecting, but the cinema is weirdly full. He shrinks into himself on instinct, hiding away where his identity is safe, and doesn't look any of the other patrons in the eye.
Blue is asleep within minutes, and Pink sinks easily into a bored sort of stupor that doesn't miss a second of the movie but doesn't engage properly either. Freddy's still regaining feeling in his toes, looking at the images on screen as if they were abstract impressions of human bodies, rather than honest reflections of the real thing. For the first time, he thinks he understands how someone might misunderstand this as art. The images of nature, of fire, of lips clasping over the tip of a banana, they mimic the shapes and sounds of human coitus, till the flip between one and the next barely registers with him.
He's perched on the end of the row, with Brown at his left hand side, shifting and shuffling. Clearly engaged, but not sure what to do with it. It takes Freddy an hour or more to clock that the guy's genuinely aroused and stuck for what to do with it in a crowded cinema surrounded by people he lives with. He didn't think this through.
Maybe it's the immediate proximity they have to each other, maybe it's the fact that Brown is a real person and not just lines on a screen, but knowing that the guy is struggling to keep it in his pants does something strange to Freddy's insides. More than any dirty film he's ever seen, electric and potent. The thought of touching Brown is repugnant all on its own, but the context is exciting.
Freddy slips out of his trance and restlessness settles over him, keeping him shifting in his seat, trying to dredge up some memory of the plot as characters talk and fuck and talk and fuck and talk for god knows how long. He needs to get out of here, almost as bad as Brown.
The credits have barely started rolling before Brown is out of his seat and tearing down the aisle, muttering something about how he'll see them all outside. Pink barely seems to register that he's gone, prodding Blue awake and rising to his feet with boredom so perfect it could be practiced.
Freddy waits just as long as he can, then starts towards the men's bathroom. His feet hold him steady, but his fingers twitch and shake in his pockets of their own volition.
There's only one stall here, shut away at the very back of the building and not half a job to find. Freddy creeps up to the door and presses his ear flat against it, ears strained to catch anything.
The plywood is thin but Brown is careful. A few choked off groans are the only hint at what he's doing. Freddy tries to imagine what he looks like right now, and hates the thought of that stupid, ugly face twisted up in concentration, fist shoved in his mouth to keep the noise down. He doesn't think he could imagine anything less attractive if he tried.
The grunts come to an abrupt halt and Freddy tears himself away from the door. He takes off back towards the foyer, half running, and praying that Brown didn't get the door open in time to see him go.
---------
"Listen, Vic. Shit's hard right now. Do you think you could drop the fees just a little, this week?"
Vic Vega is unbothered by the persistent smell of faeces that has infested sixty fourth street. Truth is, Freddy doesn't much notice it either anymore. It's been two weeks since the pipes packed in and so far, no progress has been made on fixing it. It's not so bad, but there's been rain clouds gathering for the past couple of days and the street is collectively terrified that without working drains, buildings will start to flood with literal shit.
"I woulda thought." Vega starts, leaning in across the counter and not paying Freddy a bit of mind as he sorts through the stock backed up from the sixties for some of the less popular titles they stock. "That things being rough meant you needed my order all the more. Put a little extra cash in your pockets."
Brown glances nervously at Freddy who pretends he doesn't have the faintest idea that there's a conversation happening fifteen fucking feet away from him that he's not supposed to hear. "Man, c'mon! It's hard enough keeping the books straight as it is. I need a few real purchases coming in if I'm gonna sell it to the tax man."
Vega pretends to think about this, tipping his head to one side and scratching his chin. "You know what I think? I think you're pretty good with those books, and I think you got an agreement with my employer that you might wanna start taking seriously."
"I am taking it seriously!" Brown hisses. "I just gotta watch my own back. Look, maybe shift the bits of the order I can't take this time round down the year, y'know? I'll get it sorted."
"Oh, so now you can't take this order? And here was me thinking you were asking for a favour." Vega takes a step back and starts up through the comics at the front of the shop. He stops on Supergirl, again, smiling as he pulls the new issue out of the box. "Man, I love this one. The girl's so cute, but tough at the same time. She doesn't let shit get to her. It's all hopeful and shit."
Brown leaps on the change in conversation. "I mean, Kara Danvers is kinda hot. I always feel wrong jerking it to her though, she's like a legit kid."
The look of disgust Vega returns to him is priceless. Freddy would laugh, if it wouldn't blow his cover as a piece of the furniture. "I don't wanna fuck her." He says. "I wanna watch her save the world. She's really good at it."
In the midst of Brown's spluttering and clarification, the door opens and an honest to god customer walks in. It's so shocking that Freddy stops what he's doing and full on looks up.
His eyes immediately lock with a familiar dark brown pair, framed beneath a mane of russet brown hair. Sport flashes Freddy a wink and holds up a finger to his lips, fast enough to not be caught at it. Vega and Brown both turn round to look at him, Brown in particular looking like a freshly caught fish.
Vega points towards Sport. "See, that looks like a customer."
"Hey, it don't have stink out there." Sport laughs. "And in here. What's going on down here?"
"Problem with the drains." Brown replies, gormless. He's tense, hunched forward over the counter, desperate to ask what the fuck this guy is doing here when there are so many other comic shops in parts of the city that don't stink.
"I'll say." Sport smiles at him, then at Vega, whose neutral calm has picked up a tinge of rage that Freddy doesn't like one bit.
Vega stares Sport down. "What are you doing here?"
"What, you know me or something?" Sport's smile clicks into place like a gauntlet being thrown to the floor. "I heard something about this place, wanted to come down and see if it were true."
"What did you hear?"
Sport taps the side of his nose. "Secret. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He saunters over to where Freddy's definitely not doing a shred of stock work, slapping his hand down over an open box of old Charlton titles. "What do you do around here?"
"He's the stock guy. Ignore him." Brown urges. Freddy doesn't have the concentration to get a good look at him but it's clear that he's more interested in a prospective customer than what's currently going on with Vega, whose disconcerting steadiness has upped itself to dangerous levels.
"Stock guy, what does that mean?" Sport is looking right at Freddy. He's wearing a long coat today, with blue jeans and cowboy boots. Round his neck, a red ribbon tied with a bow, no hat. Why does he always have something round his neck?
"It means he deals with the stock!" Brown tells him, exasperated.
Sport shakes his head without taking his eyes off Freddy. "I didn't ask you."
Freddy's tongue is overlarge and useless in his mouth. He wants to move, to do something to break the self-imposed tension but his arms are stuck, the pages of the comic he's holding warping from the sweat. Which is ridiculous, they still don't have heating in this place. "I-"
"No, you know what? It don't matter." Sport spreads his arms wide and steps forward like he might be about to hug Freddy before thinking better of it. "This is a comic shop, right? You gotta show me some comics I should read."
"You don't read comics already?" Brown asks, confused. "Why'd you come out here if you don't read comics?"
Vega turns to look at him, nice and slow. "You got no idea how to build a customer base."
"Well, it's like I said." Sport shifts way from Freddy, who starts gathering up the comics he'd been sorting in a bid to get to the backroom. "I heard a little something about this place, and I wanted to see what the situation was for myself."
Even Brown's not dense enough to realise that Sport is talking exclusively to Vega. He nods towards Freddy. "Orange, get in the back."
"Orange?" Sport laughs. "The kid's name is Orange? What kind of a name is that?"
"S'a nickname." Brown clarifies, signalling to Freddy with jerky hand signals too hurry his ass up."
"You calling every sonofabitch that works for you after some kind of fruit?"
"Something like that."
"Who's he, Pineapple?" Sport points to Vega.
Vega's eyes narrow ever so slightly. "Nah, he calls me Blonde."
"I don't...not to your face!" Brown protests.
Blonde. It takes Freddy a moment to remember which one of the never ending list of colours that Brown has so far adopted the name corresponds to. The muscle guy, the one who works for the Cabots.
The fucking Cabots. Freddy's stomach sinks. He needs to get out of here. Not just right now, but for good.
"Pretty lousy nickname if you can't use it to his face." Sport's hands push back his coat as he lays them against his hips. He's short, but he's not afraid of a fight, that much is clear. Squaring up to Vega with a smile on his face.
"Orange, will you hurry your ass up!" Brown snaps.
"It's fine, it's cool." Sport steadies him with open palms. "Be cool, man. I'm not trying to start any trouble. Just trying to get myself a comic." He plucks the Supergirl issue from the counter, where Vega dropped it. "What's this one about?"
Vega decidedly doesn't answer, so Brown picks up. "It's about this girl, Superman's cousin-"
"Nah, I wanna hear Orange tell it." Sport smirks. He glances back over his shoulder to where Freddy is poised, ready to go into the stock room.
Freddy flashes an imploring look at Brown who rolls his eyes and nods like he expects him to talk.
It's not like Freddy's never read a Supergirl comic before, but he takes three tries to get the words to come out right. "It's like...I mean she...so you know what Superman is, right?"