Still have my audience of one, and it is only one, because the rest of you figured out the Centennial Hills title means reading a bunch of stuff you’re not interested in at the moment.  Fair, but I got one guy to entertain here!  Not stopping.  Also, without the context of the lead-up, you may still find something to amuse in the fucked-up hijinks of this entry.

Content Warnings:  Vomit, Classism, Organized Crime, Gambling, Alcohol and Chemical Abuse, Ableism, Menacing Vibes, Violence, Unkind Depiction of a Furry Pervert, Unpleasant Depiction of an Unhoused Person and Drug Addicts, Feral American Conservative Behavior, Queerphobia, a Disabled Child in Danger, Reckless Driving, a Car Crash.  The voice of the Universe does some fatphobia and body shaming, but it’s supposed to be, in that moment, close-third-person on the PoV of Nate, who is an asshole.  On at least two counts, one might reasonably consider the text Ageist.  I might alter those bits in a future edition.

Act Two proceeds with edgy edges.

–

CENTENNIAL HILLS CONTINUES

by Bébé Mélange

Nate peeped in one of the open doorways, then gestured for the rest to follow him in.

People were all thronged against the walls, leaving the middle space for bets and for action.  There were all kinds of people.  How were the Korean senior citizens cool enough to get an invite?  The shorty in the turquoise dog costume with anatomically accurate dildo in front?  The fat guy who let his gut bust out of his t-shirt?  Nate was annoyed he’d caught guff on the way in.

The show was weird.  A well-known local coke dealer was emceeing while they bet on anything and everything.  Fights between insects, different kinds of animals, strip poker between grizzled old cardsharps.  Whatever the contest, the emcee barked the odds and people threw their money on the floor in one of two nearby circles.  Emaciated hookers split the pot when the outcome was decided.

Snar looked this way and that, for anything resembling a kitchen.  But the crowd looked too dangerous to move past and look any further.  They slumped in despair.  Lita tried to encourage them, but then they caught trouble.

The fursuit got bored of the current action, and catching sight of Snar, came up and slapped them in the chest.  “Hey.  Showoff.  You think you’re better than me?”

“Ogay,” they barely whispered, the words disappearing in the parch.

Lita said, “Hey, that isn’t coo-”

“I’ll cut you, bitch!”

Rennie said, “She’s a girl, why you wanna-?”

“I’m a feminist, man.  I’ll cut anybody any gender who tries to outdo my ’sona.”  His dildo wobbled with his fury.

Nate reached toward him with murder in his eyes and the little weirdo backpedaled and stumbled, then hustled across the room to the coke dealer.  “Dad!  That alien tried to hit me!”

“What the fuck?”

The room hushed.

The emcee stood and held his arms out like eagle wings.  “Hear ye, hear ye!  My boy has to learn to stand up for himself.  I think you would all agree I am an excellent father, yes?”

The people nodded in agreement, all guests in apparent fear of the man.

“Then the next contest will be a fight between the alien and my boy.  Three to one against the alien.  Double payout if somebody is KOed within three rounds.”

“Dad, nuh…  Wait, ya know what?  Fuck yeah!  I can take her!”  He started bouncing and throwing air punches, the dildo now waving like a snake.

Nate said, “This is it.  This is where I turn my twenty into somethin’ we can use.  Smar, baby, you gotta have some kinda powers, right?  Poison spit?  Space kung fu?  A lightsaber in that belt?  Anything you can do, baby.  Anything, we gotta have it.”

He threw the twenty into the designated circle.

Rennie shook his head slow.  “Man, that ain’t smart.  Smar is wasted, bruh.”

Lita somehow always knew it would come to this.  Not this exactly, but this in a general sense.  A blessing would fall into her grubby hands, and she’d ruin it, and then she’d just die.  She went as weak at the knees as Snar.

Nate said, “Don’t naysay, bro!  Come on Ren!  Lita!  You know I got this.  Smar ain’t got the Force but she’s gotta have somethin’!”

Snar could barely keep their eyes open, but noticed faces all around the room staring, trying to understand what they were seeing.  Nobody found an answer with their probing eyes.  A young conventionally attractive white man with the most expensive non-fur-suit in the room had a particularly penetrating gaze.  He smiled and made Lita shiver and burn.

Cardsharp number one stood and dutifully took off his underwear.  His genitals weren’t too embarrassingly small in the warm muggy room, but they were as grizzled as his face and unpleasant to behold.  He picked up his clothes and slumped away.  His opponent was only stripped to the waist and threw his hands up for applause, his pale wrinkled flesh jiggling in the buttermilk-colored light.

Some young tough guys moved the table out of the octagon taped on the floor.  One gestured for Snar to come out into the middle of the room and Nate pulled them away from Lita.  Rennie put his hand over his mouth, low key appalled.

The coke emcee leaned close to Nate.  “What’s her name?”

Nate felt his aura of money and power and had a momentary impulse to lick his face and see what it tasted like, but he resisted.  “Uh, she’s Smar.”  He helped them out of the hoodie and overshirt.  “Are they gonna get gloves or is this-?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, sport aficionados of all ages and races, this is it!  The main event!  I know I said the titty wrestlers were going to be the highlight of the evening, but this is the real thing!  In this corner, it’s The Merciless Mutt, the Hecking Good Doggo, the fruit of my loins – CHARLIE!”

People roared in applause.

“And in this corner, The Alien Menace, straight out of Nevada’s very own Area Fifty-One, the beautiful, the sensuous SMAR!”

They felt like they’d been given permission to cheer for his son’s opponent and did so, except for a few cowardly boos from the corners.

The emcee beamed with pleasure.  What a scene!  He looked at the alien girl one more time, a twinge in his head like, Is that thing real?  Should I be doing this?, but he waved it away and resumed his seat on a mini-mockup of The Iron Throne.

The crowd shook and surged with anticipation.  Nate tried to communicate to Snar what was expected by making a little shaky fist gesture and pointing at their opponent, but was it getting through?  The turquoise dogboy threw air-jabs and howled.

“FIGHT!,” his father announced.

Nate gave Snar a gentle push into the octagon and stepped back, suddenly less confident about his bet.

Snar wondered if this was a dance, but thought it looked more like a fight.  They feebly imitated the fur-clad person’s air jabs and side-stepping.

Charlie lunged forward and thrust a fuzzy fist into their face with all his feeble might.  Snar’s head doubled over completely, bouncing off the top of their back, to the horror of everyone in the room.

Some gasped, some immediately vomited, some just vomited because the others vomited, and a few passed out.  But at least several vicious young men and women barked or growled their enjoyment at the display of violence.

For Charlie’s part, he stepped away quickly and covered his chest, mortified with his success.  The alien’s head wobbled back into place, a visible dent in the upper cheek causing an eyeball to bulge luridly, and then the creature fell to the floor.

“KNOCKOUT CHARLIE!  Collect your winnings and go to the next room!  We’re getting away from this puke.”

Somebody who had held on past the first round of shock vomited at the word puke.

Lita rushed out to tend Snar, joined by Nate and Rennie.

They looked them over, mortified.

Nate said, “Wait.  I got an idea.”  He grabbed their face around the collapsed cheekbone and pushed and squeezed just so.

Lita was about to protest when it suddenly worked.  Snar’s face popped back into shape, like working out a dent in a rubber toy.  A huge blue-violet bruise instantly spread there and a tear of purple blood ran down their cheek.

They heard a smooth powerful voice from above.  “You’ve made my life more special, my friends.  Accept this cocaine as a token of my esteem.  If I hear that you sold it in Vegas, I will have to kill you.  Enjoy it with your hearts.”

Nate looked up at the MC, his head silhouetted by the lights above like a halo.  “Thank you, sir.”  His eyes sparkled as he accepted a green plastic dinosaur with a cork shoved in its mouth.

Rennie nodded serenely.

Lita was fixated on the fallen.  “Speak to me, Smar!”  There were tears in her voice like the bile in the air.

Snar moved their mouth but it was too dry to make a sound.  That’s a clown, they thought, seeing the emcee tower above.

“She’s alive!  Oh, my angel, my poor dear!”

Nate said, “Psh.  ‘Poor dear’, what’re you, a grandma?”

Rennie gave him a little kick.

Another voice came from above.  The handsome man in the expensive suit stood there.  “I’m the reason you aren’t being crowded right now.”

“Whaddyou mean?,” asked Nate.

“I paid all other interested parties to fuck off.  Listen.  You look like you could use money – no offense.  I have money, and I’d like to take you to a better place tonight.  What do you say?”

Lita looked up, still brimming with tears.  “She needs beer, sir!  Can you help?”

“Ah, are you quite sure she doesn’t need water?”

“She didn’t like the taste of water.  She could drink some, but she’s really only been able to drink beer.”

“Well.  Come with me, and we shall see what we can do.”

By then the room was mostly empty, the crowd fleeing the vomitous air.  They walked out, bearing their fallen angel with great care.

 

Olivia wheeled Goose away, not sure where to go.  Surely her mother was driving around the neighborhood, maybe calling down an Amber Alert.  They had to act fast.  She wanted to help Goose, but there was no way this was going to end well.  She stopped in a random cul-de-sac to talk.

“What are we doing, G-use?,” she signed.

“A moment,” Tmai signed with a finger.  They pulled the Ainavian fragment out of their pocket and held it loosely enough in their fingertips that the tug happened.  They handed it to Bumbo with a secure grasp, to suggest they exercise care holding it.

Olivia held it just as Goose had, at first stiff, but then relaxing enough to see it point where it wanted to go.  She cocked her head in curiosity and handed it back.

Tmai pointed that direction.  They saw the distant high-rises of Las Vegas proper.

Olivia signed, “Las Vegas.”  Then she thought of something she’d never considered asking.  “What is your world called?”  She pointed to the sky.

“Ainav,” Tmai signed.

It looked to Olivia like “biscuit.”  She smiled and signed it back, followed with another point to the sky.

Tmai nodded, then asked the same question, pointing the direction they’d come from.

Olivia signed, “Centennial Hills.”

It was a very complicated gesture.  Tmai mouthed words and gestured like something coming out of the mouth, then cupped their ear to indicate hearing.

Olivia realized Goose wanted to hear the words, and was disappointed she wasn’t as deaf as she’d originally thought.  She shook away the sadness and said it out loud, as best she could.  “Centennian Hiwilss.”

Tmai realized it bothered Bumbo and made a contrite bow and head shake.  “No, no, no.”

She nodded to accept it, “Yes, yes, yes.”

“HEY!,” a man’s voice yelled.  “That’s an alien!  EVERYBODY!  IT’S AN ALIEN!”

A mature man dressed like Mr. Wilson from Dennis the Menace pointed at them and whooped to summon neighbors.  People were very reluctant to come to their windows and doors over his nonsense.  “Little girl!,” he yelled.  “That’s AN ALIEN!”

Olivia could just barely hear that he was yelling, though she couldn’t understand the words.  Either way, she knew it was bad, and hopped on the bike.

Tmai assumed the position to hop on the handlebars.

The old man bum-rushed them, grabbing at Tmai.  It worked.  He snagged them off the front of the bike, making Olivia fall over and skin the side of her shin on the sidewalk.  She yelped in pain.

Tmai spun around, their dress twirling.  They whipped their arm around like a skipping rope, easily shaking off his grasp, then slapped him in the face before he could think straight.

He collected his wits and squared up in a boxing stance.

Olivia distracted him by shoving feebly against his side, and while he was off-balance Tmai leapt up for extra force on a double palm strike to his chest.  The old man fell back hard, yelling in pain.

Olivia kicked him once in the hip, then picked up her bike.

The adrenaline of the moment kicked in and the man pushed himself upright.  He was pretty sure he had a cracked tailbone, but goddamnit, the aliens were real and they weren’t going to get away this time!

He hustle-limped up his driveway and clambered into his mint-colored convertible ’57 Corvette and roared with agony when he sat down.  A few neighbors were starting to converge on him.

“Walter, are you alright?  Did those kids assault you?”

“It was the aliens, goddamnit!  Call the President!”

After that he couldn’t hear them over the sound of his engine.

Two blocks away, Olivia pointed over Goose’s shoulder at Las Vegas.  She nodded agreement, and the girl pedaled her fastest.  It couldn’t be fast enough.

Walter was soon on their tail.  He almost lost his temper enough to smash the girl’s bike, but restrained himself.  She’s in it with the aliens, but let the Commander-in-Chief decide what to do about that.  He pulled alongside them.  The sight of the xenomorph’s silvery grey legs coming out of the dress reminded him of a water-slick drowned body and he shuddered.  Who was that dress and pink hoodie fooling?  Alien queer shoulda worn panty hose.

“PULL OVER, BRAT!  GIVE IT UP!”  He honked his horn.

She startled at the sight of him, the muted bleat of the horn in her head.  Tmai had heard his approach but had no idea how to adequately warn Bumbo while riding the handlebars, couldn’t decide in time.  Olivia scowled and jabbed her fist at the jerk one time, middle finger raised.

He veered dangerously close in response, nostrils flaring, eyes bulging.

She used a driveway to roll onto the sidewalk quick.  She would have gone between buildings – somewhere he couldn’t reach – but the neighborhood was so full of fences.  There was no way to travel except by the same paths a car could take.

Olivia saw another, smaller cul-de-sac and got an idea.  If he followed them in, they could reverse quicker and buy a bit of time.  But when she pulled in, she saw an alternative.  The fence stretching between the two houses there had an opening to a field of tall bone-colored desert grass.

She pushed hard for it and was out of car reach in moments.

Walter screeched to a T stop and considered his options.  No, the car was his only advantage.  He couldn’t get out.  He had to use it.  He backed up into a driveway across the street and revved his engine.

People started to come to their windows, see what was happening.  Nobody could make sense of the strange man’s actions in the brief moment before he floored the pedal.

The ’vette screamed as its metal twisted and sheared.  The windshield shattered.  The opening in the fence had been flanked by posts driven into the ground, and they violently reshaped his chassis.

Nonetheless, he made it through, smacking aside a piece of the vintage plate glass when it threatened to cut his throat.  The ’vette lost some momentum but was still more than a match for a bicycle.  He was tearing after the girl, tires ripping and slipping in the coarse loose dirt and wiry vegetation.

“ALIEN!”  He wished he’d thought to grab his gun out of the garage before approaching the bastards.

Olivia glanced back and saw the American nightmare.  No telling where the little path would lead, nowhere to go but forward.  They rounded the top of a hill and zipped down, the curve of the slope down and then up threatening to launch them into the air on the other side.

She wiped out, flipping into the grass.  The car was crashing down behind them, the bike’s chain was a tangled mess.  The fugitives scrambled to their feet and away from the car as it crashed – too long to ride through the acute angle of the dip.

No getting his baby out of this one.  Walter’s seatbelt held him fast at the impact and the windshield was already lost enough to not present much threat this time.  He had braced for the crash and recovered quickly, but getting out to keep up the pursuit was going to be a real challenge.  The kid and the monster had time to hustle through the fence on the other side.

Olivia and Tmai came into the middle of a group of teenagers.  The teens were looking through the fence at the crash and didn’t have time to register Tmai’s appearance before they hustled past.

They were in a park.  The shaved flat grass was half dead, the sparse population of trees about house-height and fluffy with green leaves.  But the park was in use, full of tents and foot traffic.  A jester juggled rings, maidens fair promenaded in hand-made gowns, and nerds in codpieces spoke in stilted pronouncements or laughed merrily.  There were plenty of comparatively normal people around too, eating snow cones and scones.  A few of those docile carnivores were around, seeming to enjoy the company of their captors.

“Whoa, nice alien!”  “What’s the hurry?”  A few people tried to figure them out, but they weren’t waiting around for the old man.  Olivia held Tmai’s hand and jogged with them to where the crowds were thickest.

The teens helped the old man scale the hill and get through the fence, only knowing that he had crashed and was hurt, not making sense of his ravings.  He looked across the Renn Faire in despair.

“Which way did the alien GO?”

–

I set out to write a story expressing my flavor of humanism, but I think more than that, it just ended up showcasing my view of America.  Either way, I have mixed feelings about the subject.

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