FFM1: Appeal

Why did it have to be now?"

"What do you mean by now" She threw a rock at him, narrowly missing his face.

"I don't know why you're angry at me." Brendan hissed, rubbing his shoulder. Cameron's face was still firmly planted against the other, and there was little room for movement.

"It's thanks to you that we're even here." She hurled another rock at his face, and Brendan only had two questions, really: why was this place a perpetual waiting room/ dmv love child, and what the hell had she said her name was.

"You still sound angry."

"We're dead, you asshole." Another rock headed towards his face. The girl was a terrible shot; it hit Cameron square in the mouth. He didn't even twitch.

"You know, you're a little violent for such a pulchritudinous face." She frowned at him, and threw the nearest thing- a magazine. Clearly she had run out of rocks.

"I hate you." She hissed. It was all she seemed to know how to do.

"That's nice," He paused. "I'm sure you'll get over it eventually." Another pause. "We have plenty of time." Brendan didn't even have enough time to blink before a magazine holder clipped him in the jaw.

"We have plenty of time because you and your idiot brother got us all killed while you were trying to impress girls that regularly pretend you don't exist-" She had graduated from hissing to shrieking, by some poorly aimed miracle. "And now we're stuck- together- in this... this... hellhole."

A loud bing echoed throughout the space as the number on the screen changed from '11478' to '11479'. A sharp groan of surrounding 'customers' ensued.

"Just think, only 700 more people to go, then it's our turn." He gave her a smile, and it was clear a cobra would have been more appreciative.

The next hour passed slowly- a snail pouring molasses in dead winter would have been faster, and far less colorful. The trio spent it in silence, marred only by occasional bits of vindictive taunts and hot tempered retorts.

Brendan, bored easily, quickly tired of prompting the girl's temper, and held just enough pride to refuse to ask her name. Instead, he tried to solve a different puzzle: where the hell would she have gotten rocks in the middle of a pseudo dmv?

He quickly grew bored of that, too, as their surroundings were generic and unspecific. Even the magazines were black, or covered in blurred, unintelligible words. Brendan searched his pockets fruitlessly, only finding a handful of old currency- stone, of all the possible ones- and a lint ball.

"What a waste."

Brendan did not justify her with an answer, instead searching his jacket pockets with slightly more success- a marker and a deck of cards.

"Well," He sighed. "It's better than nothing I suppose." A pause. "Do you know how to play poker?"

"No."

"How about gin."

"Not even a bit."