Vertical Descent Point. PART 1

 

“You, you, and you,” said the bus driver in a deep voice, pointing at the rear-view mirror above his head, “this is your stop.”

 

The trio of people who sat at the very back of the bus against the throbbing, hot hum of the engine behind the thin plastic of their seats didn’t look up. At the zenith of a heated three-way discussion, they didn’t understand that it was them whom the bus driver spoke. Between two men sat a young woman with tattoos on every square inch of her face sat. She pointed into the face of the man on her right with her right hand, her left hand resting on his shoulder. The enormously fat man, at rapt attention, looked almost hungry for the tattooed woman’s words, was enormously fat. On the woman’s left sat a scrawny old man wrapped within the voluminous folds of a tattered trench coat. His chin drooped and levitated over and over again as he listened to the woman’s words, his head slightly cocked to the left.

 

Tattoo. Fat. Old.

 

None of them felt it when the bus slowed down and stopped in a place that was at least sixty feet from the next bus stop.

 

“You,” said the bus driver again, turning in his seat and peering at the trio through square glasses, “you’re disturbing the other passengers with your squabbling. I’ve asked you at least five times to quiet down, but you didn’t listen. You’re disturbing the other passengers and you’re disturbing me. I want you off this bus now.”

 

“See what you did?” said Tattoo loudly. She stood up and threw each of her companions a personalized grimace, then pushed the rickety back doors of the bus open and stepped into the cruel Michigan winter. She wore naught but a thin windbreaker to keep her warm.

 

“Your fault,” said Fat, grinning. He pulled an old Bulls Starter as far onto his frame as his girth would allow.

 

“Like hell,” said Old, picking his nose with a gnarled pinky.

 

The pair of them rose at the same time and fumbled off the bus.

 

The bus driver’s face, so dark behind his glasses that it barely gave the suggestion of a human face at all, sagged before he turned his attention back to the road and stepped on the gas.

 

A forty-degree temperature difference soon sapped the trio of the excitement that deep discussion always infused them with. Now their mouths were shut tight and they trudged down Colonial Way pulling their clothes closer to them. After ten minutes of silent walking, Fat came to a stop and said, “I’m starving.”

 

Old and Tattoo stopped simultaneously and turned to Fat, now standing five feet behind them.

 

“Always so famished, you are, Fat.” Old, picked at a spot on his wrinkled and drooping chin. “What’s that about, huh? Why are you always so hungry?”

 

“You know why,” said Tattoo, her face moving itself into an expression of faint exasperation in the bitter cold. “We both know why he’s always hungry, but that-“

 

“Doesn’t make it any easier to hear it day in and out, I know, I know,” said Fat in a morose voice. Contrary to the tone of his voice, though, he looked suddenly hopeful. His eyes, bottomless black, irises and pupils, widened. Where there hadn’t been one a moment before, a runner of drool gleamed on his chin.

 

As Old and Tattoo watched, the runner of drool slid from his face and onto the cold and cracked cement of Colonial Way.

 

“Ok, ok,” said Tattoo, waving a slender hand in the general direction of nowhere in particular. “We’ll find a greedy person for you to eat from and then we’ll have to walk double-time afterwards.”

 

“Where are we headed?” asked Fat. He drew the back of a large hand across his chin.

 

“As constant and unchanging as the Arctic winter,” whispered Old. He twiddled his skinny hands and stared into the pale sky, looking introspective. Although both Tattoo and Fat heard him, they didn’t respond to his words. There were other constant things, after all.

 

“I don’t know,” said Tattoo, starting to walk again, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “I only know that we’ve got to get there before dark, wherever we’re going. Tonight will bring killer cold.”

 

“Much better,” said Fat. He rubbed his hands together and hurled a greedy stare around the dining room of the McDonald’s that they’d walked into. The warm dining room was filled with the smells of fries, burgers, and soda syrup. Of the few people in the dining room, a family sitting behind them consisted of a tall withered looking man, a heavy-set woman with low jowls, and a boy of seven who keep giggling and pointing over his mother's shoulder at Fat.

 

Fat gave the boy a little wave behind his mother’s broad back. The boy returned the wave, put his hands over his mouth and grinned. The boy’s mother shifted in her seat and turned around. Fat hastily turned to his table and his companions. The woman frowned and twisted to her family and her meal. The boy’s father did nothing but stare at his small burger with a look of sulky disdain.

 

“She looks fit enough,” said Tattoo. Her eyes studied the woman’s back, but her hands fiddling with the piping hot apple turnover before her. “She should do. She looks fit enough to feed several of you, Fat.”

 

“That she does,” said Old. He gave a breathless chuckle and produced a dirty handkerchief, which he blew his nose into rather loudly. The large woman, now deep into the consumption of her meal with glorious abandon, looked around at him and snorted. Crumbs of hamburger flew from her mouth. She turned back to her family.

 

Old stared at his handkerchief, meanwhile, and nodded. “Good enough haul for such a day, innit?” He chuckled again and stowed the soiled handkerchief in his coat pocket.

 

“Get on with it, will you?” said Tattoo. She smiled at Old and chewed on a bite of turnover. Fat nodded at her. Tattoo nodded back and opened her mouth to show Old the half-chewed sea of food inside. Old giggled and slapped his knee.

 

“Droll!” he said in a merry voice. “Droll!”

 

Fat smiled and stood up. Pulling his coat closer to him, he stepped from within his booth and came to a stop beside the family sitting behind them. Immediately, the woman stooped chewing and looked up at him, dislike etched into the very fabric of her working face.

 

“Yes?” she said, her right eyebrow rising, seemingly of its own accord. Her husband didn’t look up from his meal. The boy slapped a hand across his mouth and tried his best to stifle a laugh.

 

“Pardon me, Ma’am,” said Fat, wringing his hands, which always came with the anticipation of a temporary end to his hunger. “I wonder, do you wish to lose weight?”

 

“What?” said the woman, her jowls now aquiver, both her eyebrows contracted and high. The boy, apparently unable to hold his amusement at bay, howled laughter. The cashier to their left glanced up from her wipe-down of the counter down and smiled at the boy. One sharp look from his mother quelled the boy’s humor. His hands plastered themselves over his mouth, his eyes wide with suppressed mirth.

 

“What is this?” asked the woman, now dropping her third Big Mac, which was really now a Slightly-Smaller Mac, onto her tray.

 

“I’ve got to ask for it, Ma’am,” said Fat. He didn’t look hopeful that his bid for nourishment would turn out in his favor. This woman seemed of the sort that found irritability as natural as breathing. The look and lay of her face told him that much. Inwardly praying to whatever gods there were who lay dead and rotting beyond reality’s firmament, Fat spoke again.

 

"Do you want to lose weight? This food is rich, so full of calories and fat and unease. Don’t you want to lose weight?”

 

The woman huffed and puffed and prepared to blow Fat’s trembling hope away, but before she could, her husband spoke with a reedy, monotone voice.

 

“Of course you do, Honey,” he said, putting a hand on top of his wife’s. “You been saying for a long time that you’d love to lose weight if you only knew a fool-proof way. Haven’t you?”

 

The woman glared at her husband, as if she’d never seen anyone quite as irritating. The boy stared at her, then at his father, who managed to give him a wavering smile. The woman sneered at him and sighed.

 

“Well of course I’d like to lose a little weight if I could, but what has that got to do with-“

 

“Thank you,” said Fat, smiling as widely as his face would allow. He looked transported with good cheer and satisfaction. He patted his huge stomach and returned to his table and his companions. The woman gawked, slack-jawed, at his back.

 

“Got to ask for it before I can get it,” said Old, grinning. “Can’t just take it, can we?”

 

“No, we can’t,” said Tattoo 

Reviews

[Hairy and Confused]

OMG. I'm loving it. I'm loving. I'm on the edge of my seat with filthy-minded glee.

[Dms]

Dude, I love the start of this. Somehow this trio reminds me of the homunculi from Full Metal Alchemist, but with a sharp Hawksmoor twist. Exellent hook, and the naming of them by their physical appearance gives them a sort of elemental quality.
I'm not going to highlight anything because Mag Belle has already taken the liberty, and of course no one edits quite as well as Belle.

[Magnolia Belle]

Hey, Broadie. First off, I have a little gift for you. I made an avatar for your signature line if you want it. Just copy it to your computer (if you want to).



As far as my review, I tried to smooth some of your 'heavier' sentences (so loaded down with description, I forgot what the beginning of the sentence was about by the time I reached the end). I also took an axe to passive voice.

Hope this is useful and makes sense. Of course, if it doesn't, just ignore my ramblings.

Love ya!

Belle

"You, you, and you," said the bus driver in a deep voice, pointing at the rear-view mirror above his head, "this is your stop."

The trio of people who sat at the very back of the bus against the throbbing, hot hum of the engine behind the thin plastic of their seats didn't look up. They were At the zenith of a heated three-way discussion, and as such they didn't understand that it was them to which whom the bus driver spoke. Between two men sat a young woman with tattoos on every square inch of her face sat. She was pointing pointed into the face of the man on her right with her right hand, her left hand resting on his shoulder. The enormously fat man, who was at rapt attention, who looked almost hungry for the tattooed woman's words, was enormously fat. On the woman's left sat a scrawny old man wrapped within the voluminous folds of a tattered trench coat. His chin drooped and levitated over and over again as he sat listening listened to the woman's words, his head slightly cocked to the left.

Tattoo. Fat. Old.

None of them felt it when the bus slowed down and stopped in a place that was at least sixty feet from the next bus stop.

"You," said the bus driver again, turning in his seat and peering at the trio through square glasses, "you're disturbing the other passengers with your squabbling. I've asked you at least five times to quiet down, but you didn't listen. You're disturbing the other passengers and you're disturbing me. I want you off this bus now."

"See what you did?" said Tattoo loudly. She stood up and threw each of her companions a personalized grimace, then pushed the rickety back doors of the bus open and disappeared stepped into the cruel Michigan winter. She wore naught but a thin windbreaker to keep her warm.

"Your fault," said Fat, grinning. He pulled an old Bulls Starter as far onto his frame as his girth would allow.

"Like hell," said Old, picking his nose with a gnarled pinky.

The pair of them rose at the same time and fumbled off the bus.

The bus driver's face, which was so dark behind his glasses that it barely gave the suggestion of a human face at all, sagged before he turned his attention back to the road and stepped on the gas.

A forty-degree temperature difference soon sapped the trio of the excitement that deep discussion always infused them with. Now their mouths were shut tight and they trudged down Colonial Way, pulling their clothes closer to them. After ten minutes of silent walking, Fat came to a stop and said, "I'm starving."

Old and Tattoo came to a stopped simultaneously and turned to Fat, who was now standing five feet behind them.

"Always so famished, you are, Fat." said Old picking picked at a spot on his wrinkled and drooping chin. "What's that about, huh? Why're you always so hungry?"

"You know why," said Tattoo, her face moving itself into an expression of faint exasperation in the bitter cold. "We both know why he's always hungry, but that-"

"Doesn't make it any easier to hear it day in and out, I know, I know," said Fat in a morose voice, although Contrary to the his tone of his voice, though, he looked suddenly hopeful. His eyes, bottomless black, irises and pupils, widened. Where there hadn't been one a moment before, there was a runner of drool gleamed on his chin.

As Old and Tattoo watched, the runner of drool slid from his face and onto the cold and cracked cement of Colonial Way.

"Ok, ok," said Tattoo, waving a slender hand in the general direction of nowhere in particular. "We'll find a greedy person for you to eat from and then we'll have to walk double-time afterwards."

"Where are we headed?" asked Fat. He drew the back of a large hand across his chin.

"As constant and unchanging as the Arctic winter," whispered Old. He twiddled his skinny hands and stared into the pale sky, looking introspective. Although both Tattoo and Fat heard him, they didn't respond to his words. There were other constant things, after all.

"I don't know," said Tattoo, starting to walk again, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. "I only know that we've got to get there before dark, wherever we're going. Tonight will bring killer cold."

* * *

"Much better," said Fat. He rubbed his hands together and hurled a greedy stare around the dining room of the McDonald's that they'd decided on and walked into. The warm dining room was warm and filled with the smells of fries, burgers, and soda syrup. There weren't many Of the few people sitting in the dining room, with them, but there was a family sitting behind them that consisted of a tall withered looking man, a heavy-set woman with low jowls, and a boy of about seven who keep giggling and pointing over his mother's shoulder at Fat.

Fat gave the boy a little wave behind his mother's broad back. The boy returned the waved back, put his hands over his mouth and grinned. The boy's mother shifted in her seat and turned around. Fat hastily turned back to his table and his companions. The woman frowned and twisted back to her family and her meal. The boy's father did nothing but stare at his small burger with a look of sulky disdain.

"She looks fit enough," said Tattoo. Her eyes were on studied the woman's back, but her hands were fiddling fiddled with the piping hot apple turnover before her. "She should do. She looks fit enough to feed several of you, Fat."

"That she does," said Old. He gave a breathless chuckle and produced a dirty handkerchief, which he blew his nose into rather loudly. The large woman, now deep into the consumption of her meal with something akin to glorious abandon, looked around at him and snorted. Crumbs of hamburger flew from her mouth. She turned back to her family.

Old stared at his handkerchief, meanwhile, and nodded. "Good enough haul for such a day, innit?" He chuckled again and stowed the soiled handkerchief in his coat pocket.

"Get on with it, will you?" said Tattoo. She was smiling smiled at Old and chewing chewed on a bite of turnover. Fat nodded at her. Tattoo nodded back and opened her mouth to show Old the half-chewed sea of food inside. Old giggled and slapped his knee.

"Droll!" he said in a merry voice. "Droll!"

Fat smiled and stood up. Pulling his coat closer to him, he stepped from within the his booth that he and his companions occupied and walked over to and stopped beside the family sitting behind them. He came to a stop beside their table. Immediately, the woman stopped quit chewing and looked up at him, dislike etched into the very fabric of her working face.

"Yes?" she said, her right eyebrow rising, seemingly of its own accord. Her husband didn't look up from his meal. The boy slapped a hand across his mouth and tried his best to stifle a laugh.

"Pardon me, Ma'am," said Fat, wringing his hands in anticipation, for the vicious hand wringing which always came with the anticipation of a temporary end to his hunger. "I wonder, do you wish to lose weight?"

"What?" said the woman, her jowls now aquiver, both her eyebrows contracted and high. The boy, apparently unable to hold his amusement at bay for even a moment longer, howled laughter. The cashier behind the counter to their left looked glanced up from her wipe down of the counter down and smiled at the boy. One sharp look from his mother quelled the boy's humor. His hands plastered themselves over his mouth, his eyes were wide with suppressed mirth.

"What is this?" said asked the woman, now dropping her third Big Mac, which was really now a Slightly-Smaller Mac, onto her tray.

"I've got to ask for it, Ma'am," said Fat. He didn't look hopeful that his bid for nourishment would turn out in his favor. This woman seemed of the sort that found irritability as natural as breathing. The look and lay of her face told him that much. Inwardly praying to whatever gods there were who lay dead and rotting beyond reality's firmament, Fat spoke again.

"Do you want to lose weight? This rich food, so full of calories and fat and solid unease. Don't you want to lose weight?"

The woman huffed and puffed and prepared to blow Fat's trembling hope away, but before she could, her husband spoke with a reedy, monotone voice.

"Of course you do, Honey," he said, putting a hand on top of his wife's. "You been saying for a long time that you'd love to lose weight if you only knew a full fool-proof way. Haven't you?"

The woman glared at her husband, as if she'd never seen anythingone quite as irritating. The boy stared at her, then at his father, who managed to give him a wavering smile. The woman sneered at him and sighed.

"Well of course I'd like to lose a little weight if I could, but what has that got to do with-"

"Thank you," said Fat, smiling as widely as his face would allow. He looked transported with good cheer and satisfaction, He patted his huge stomach and turned and walked back returned to his table and his companions. The woman gawked, slack-jawed, at his back.

"Got to ask for it before I can get it," said Old, grinning. "Can't just take it, can we?"

"No, we can't," said Tattoo.

[Magnolia Belle]

Oh, Broadie at his finest. I can dig into this if you want me to. bwahahaha

[Ben Umstead]

Nothing is going to be so ordinary with Hawksmoor. When I saw the names Fat, Tattoo and Old I could not help but think of War, Famine and Pestilence. This heartland street gothic attitude you have going here remind me of that and I like it.

But I don't see it fit to comment proper until I've read the whole piece. There are a few garbled "stop-in-your-tracks" sentences. Namely this one -

"The cashier behind the counter to their left looked up from her wipe down of the counter down and smiled at the boy."

Extra down, I guess, but we all commit typos. Not quite literary hit and runs.

[Inda Lauryn]

I'm already filled with anticipation but dreading what I'll find next. This isn't going to be pretty.

[Timely Disposition]

"See what you did?" said Tattoo loudly. She stood up and threw each of her companions a personalized grimace, then pushed the rickety back doors of the bus open and disappeared into the cruel Michigan winter. She wore naught but a thin windbreaker to keep her warm.

"Your fault," said Fat, grinning. He pulled an old Bulls Starter as far onto his frame as his girth would allow.

"Like hell," said Old, picking his nose with a gnarled pinky.

The pair of them rose at the same time and fumbled off the bus.-------

------you say that Tattoo went through the bus doors and then you say they all rise together to leave.
other than that, it seems like a proper story so far. I would say that there is a choppiness to the sentences that I can't quite put my fingers on. It's like they are missing the proper transitions. On to part 2.