Intellectual Property Ch 3: Funeral Gray (Patreon)

Note: I know I spelled it with an A instead of an E...I write in American English, not British English. Thanks! 

- - 

Music pumped through low-grade speakers in Travis’s small, one-story house. Bass thrummed in Awsten’s chest while his ears rang with shrill cymbal strikes. He didn’t know what the song was, or who the artist even was. It wasn’t often that he found himself at a total loss as to what song was playing, so it must have been something pretty obscure.

Travis’s house was located near the northeastern corner of the city, one of the generally more run-down areas. The district had been cleaned up in recent years, but it still carried with it a certain reputation. One advantage of that reputation, however, were cheaper house prices, which allowed Travis to buy his own place about a year earlier. He’d texted Awsten the news, thrilled to put the era of roommates behind him. With his own standalone home, he also didn’t have to worry about sharing walls with neighbors and disturbing them with his incessant partying, although there weren’t particularly large gaps between the houses here. Probably somebody was still irritated with him tonight.

This was the first time he’d visited the new house, actually. Last time he was in town, he’d met up with Travis for a meal or two, but he didn’t have enough time to come see the place. Travis insisted it wasn’t ready yet anyway, that he should wait to see it in all its glory. Awsten never was sure if that was true or if he was simply deflecting.

Speaking of, he wasn’t sure where the guy was now. Awsten hadn’t seen Travis since he first arrived an hour prior, which was an impressive feat considering how few rooms the house contained. He must have been out in the backyard, where several coolers of beer were set up around an unlit iron fire pit. Meanwhile, Awsten was sitting by himself in the corner of the room that Travis had dubbed his library, which contained a multitude of bookcases brimming with movies. He was posted up in a plush, pink velvet lounge chair, scanning the rows of titles that—much like the song currently playing—he’d never heard of. There was a whole row dedicated to a series called “Jules Jayne Mysteries,” with goofy titles like Twice Seen, Jewel of the Barrens, Understudy, and like twenty more. This Jules Jayne fellow needed to switch up his lifestyle if he was getting sucked into so many damn mysteries.

Parties were never of much interest to Awsten, even when he was a teenager, ostensibly the time in a person’s life when you were supposed to be most attracted to the notion. He’d attended a few, of course. They were unavoidable, especially with Travis as a friend. But he’d made a promise to himself early on that he wouldn’t drink or smoke, even socially. He was all too aware of his addictive personality; every time he picked up a new interest, he dove into it with ferocity. He did not need to do that with alcohol. It would lead nowhere good.

So he gripped in his hand a red, plastic cup filled with orange juice. It was the only non-alcoholic beverage he could find in the fridge, and it was meant primarily to be a mixer. Regardless, the tart sweetness of it was welcome.

Suddenly someone stumbled into the room, crashing shoulder-first into one of the dark wooden bookcases. “Ahh, shit, sorry,” he mumbled upon sighting Awsten. His dirty blonde hair was long, draping either side of his face. He took a sip from his drink, and then a girl appeared at his side, running into him and pushing him into the bookcase again.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she said when she saw Awsten sprawled on the lounge chair. “We thought this room was empty.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” said Awsten.

The girl glanced at the guy as if asking what they should do. Whether they should copulate in this room regardless of the fact someone was sitting in it. The guy’s eyelids drooped and he swayed in place, seeming to give the idea some thought. Ultimately, he ushered her away to find somewhere else. Hopefully someplace outdoors, far away, so that Awsten wouldn’t have to hear whatever it was they were about to do.

The party was a good opportunity to get himself out of his parents’ house, but he was largely spending it chilling by himself, given how few people he knew in attendance. That was the trouble with moving away: the friends he left behind continued on with their lives, meeting new people, forging new relationships. Besides Travis, one of the few attendees he knew was Jawn, but he hadn’t actually shown his face yet. He usually got a late start on events like these, so that wasn’t much of a surprise. Thankfully he’d avoided being serial killed by Matano thus far.

Typically he was a people person and could make conversation with nearly anyone if he wanted to, but he was still stewing in his feelings of anger and hurt from earlier. He’d had to force himself to stop investigating the mystery man he’d seen on Ash’s profile, convincing himself that none of that shit mattered. If he had the opportunity to hire Jules Jayne to figure out who the guy was, though, he wasn’t sure he could resist. He tried thinking up a stupid title for the mystery, but came up short. His brain was ragged.

It was nearing eleven o’clock, and with no Travis or Jawn in sight, Awsten was just about ready to call it a night. At least at home he could watch some television.

He glanced out the library window, which overlooked the street past a diminutive patch of grass that could barely be called a front yard. A line of cars were parked along the street, taking up every available spot, which was surely another matter of annoyance for Travis’s neighbors. Awsten had booked a car to drive him over, since he hated getting behind the wheel of his mom’s busted old car.

A faint yellow glow drew his attention to one car in particular, a dented white sedan. The light emanated from beneath it, near the car’s front left tire. Some guy was crouched next to the vehicle, faintly illuminated by the yellow light. Awsten could scarcely make out the man’s silhouette, it was so dark outside.

Just then, a gooey red substance emerged from the guy’s wrist and slithered underneath the car, somehow dimming the light shining there.

Awsten was taken aback for a moment before realizing the red stuff was soulclay. He didn’t really understand the specifics, but it had something to do with Jekua summoning. It was stored in a device that Summoners wore on their wrists called kayets. That was what he thought, anyway. He wasn’t totally sure.

He stared out the window with rapt attention as the guy remained crouched near the car, gazing at something near the wheel.

It only took a few more seconds before his curiosity got the better of him.

Awsten shoved himself off the couch, sliding out of the library and heading for the front door. Maybe that gross couple would return now that the room was unoccupied, slipping into the closet to do their business. Travis would probably be livid if he discovered they planned to tarnish the sanctity of his movie library.

Outside, the warm Summer air clung to his skin. He marched toward the crouching Summoner, whose red soulclay was now returning to the kayet strapped to his wrist. The man then stood with a huge grin plastered to his round face, staring down at the metal device gleaming in the wash of moonlight.

“What’re you doing?” Awsten asked.

The question made the man jump, having somehow not noticed Awsten’s approach. His body was sheathed in a thick, gray sweater, which must have been sweltering in the night’s warmth. He tore himself away from his kayet, looked Awsten up and down, then said, “I just imprinted a Jekua.” He nodded toward the yellow light that still shone dim beneath the car.

“What is it?” Without waiting for a response, Awsten mimicked the guy’s earlier position, crouching down. The guy joined him and pointed.

What he pointed at was a tiny creature with an ovular, glowing yellow body. It looked a lot like a sentient lightbulb. The Jekua stood on two little red feet, and at first Awsten thought it had no face, but then he realized there were two dots that were a very slightly darker shade of yellow that seemed to act as eyes.

The creature’s body swiveled back and forth, looking between them. A light shiver coursed through it and it shifted its red feet nervously. Clearly it was scared being near such towering forces, but was too petrified to run away.

“It’s a Dunceling,” the guy said.

“Kind of a rude name.”

“They aren’t very smart.”

The two stood, leaving the Dunceling to whatever it had been doing under the car. Awsten took a few steps away, wanting to ease the Jekua’s fears, and the guy followed.

“Why’d you want one, then?” he asked the man. Most Summoners didn’t imprint a Jekua onto a memory card unless they intended to use the digital copy of the monster in a battle.

He shrugged. “I just like collecting Jekuas,” he replied.

“You don’t battle?” Awsten wasn’t sure whether collectors were common or not, but he didn’t think so.

“Oh, I do,” said the guy, “but I like to imprint things I’m not gonna fight with too. I’d love to imprint them all, eventually.”

Awsten scoffed. “That’d be a hell of a feat,” he said. “Aren’t there hundreds of those things?”

“Oh, yeah, it’ll take the rest of my life. It’d be fun, though.”

“I saw your soulclay through the window,” said Awsten. “It’s such a bright red, it’s so dope.”

“Thanks,” the man said, chuckling at the odd compliment.

“Is red your favorite color?” Awsten asked.

His response was a shake of the head. “That’s not how it works, really,” the guy said. “A Summoner doesn’t choose their soulclay color.”

“Really?” said Awsten. He actually hadn’t known that. “How’s it work, then?”

Now a shrug. “I don’t know if anyone really knows,” he said. “It’s just, like…innate in a person, I guess. You just learn what your soulclay’s like the first time you use it.”

That was lame. What if your soulclay color looked like shit? Like, literally shit—goopy brown soulclay would be…disgusting. Now, more than ever, Awsten wanted to abstain from trying out summoning. He couldn’t live with himself if he strapped on a kayet and his soulclay poured out and it was an ugly color. That would be so embarrassing.

“That sucks ass,” Awsten said. “If I had my pick, my soulclay would be, like…sparkly purple.”

The guy laughed. “I don’t think any soulclay is sparkly,” he said. “That’d look sick, though.”

“No sparkles? Fuck that,” said Awsten.

“Yeah, sorry. So is your favorite color ‘sparkly purple’?”

Awsten nodded. “I guess you could say that, yeah. It kinda changes. Right now I’m feeling the sparkly purple, though.”

“I don’t think ‘sparkly’ is a color,” the guy pointed out. “I think your answer just has to be ‘purple.’”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Just absolutely wrong,” Awsten teased him. “What’s your favorite color, then, if not red?”

Without saying anything, the guy pointed at his waist, at the sweater clinging to him. Awsten was suddenly reminded of just how hot he was standing outside in the Summer heat. It had cooled down when the sun set, but it still felt muggy outside.

“Gray,” said Awsten flatly, staring at the man’s sweater.

“Funeral gray,” he specified.

Awsten scoffed. “Is that a thing?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of funeral gray. What does that even mean?”

“It’s a thing,” the man assured him.

“I don’t think it is.”

“Don’t disagree with me.”

Awsten laughed and said, “Well, assuming that’s true, that’s not a color. It’s a shade of gray.”

“Are shades not colors?”

“I’m talking about the base colors, here. Like blue, not royal blue.”

“So purple instead of sparkly purple?” said the man mockingly.

Awsten’s mouth hung open. “Wow,” he said.

The guy smiled. It was a killer smile, one that immediately made Awsten swoon. He had wavy brown hair that looked messy, but in an intentional way. A silver nose ring pierced his left nostril, which was not something Awsten usually found hot in a guy, but somehow it worked on him. His eyes were big and blue, and Awsten wanted to melt into them.

Whoever this person was, he was cute, unfortunately. Awsten cursed himself for thinking so. Was this the sort of distraction he really needed right now?

He reminded himself that he was on vacation. Maybe this was exactly the sort of distraction he needed right now.

Right then, he decided to dive into the deep end.

“I’m Awsten,” he said, extending his hand. The other man took it and shook firmly.

He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but then he squinted, furrowing his brow. “I think I know you,” he said, letting go of Awsten’s hand. “I guess you’ve come to one of these parties before, right?”

“Not for a while,” said Awsten. “I live in Aya Toske, so I’ve missed a bunch.”

“Guess it’s not that, then,” the guy said. “I only met Travis this past Spring.” Given that they were only forty-five days into Summer, the comment left Awsten wondering just how many parties Travis had thrown since then. The man crossed his arms, sinking deeper into thought.

Awsten didn’t want to say it.

He didn’t want to say “I am a pop star.”

It was always such a humiliating thing to say about one’s self. Tooting your own horn. He hated it. In interviews, he loved it—and on social media, too, he had to be his own hype man to sell albums. But to some random cute guy at a party? No way.

Music drifted from the house’s open front door, pouring onto the dimly-lit street. Now it was something Awsten actually knew, a Basker Owens song that had come out last year. His biggest single to date. Something that Awsten personally thought was a bit trite, but the streaming numbers didn’t lie. For whatever reason, people loved it.

He listened to a few bars of the song, hoping that he wouldn’t have to explain who he was. A moment later, his prayers were answered.

The guy snapped his fingers, his brow lifting as a pleased smile crept across his face. “I got it,” he said.

“Did you, now?” If he said that Awsten was a pop star, that would be perfectly acceptable.

“You’re a singer, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Awsten confirmed.

“I knew it,” the guy said, chuckling. “I heard one of your songs on the radio just the other day, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Awsten. He flashed him a charming grin. “Did you turn it up?”

That elicited a laugh. “I might have, I might have…”

Awsten’s heart thudded against his chest. His smile grew wider, which suddenly made him self-conscious.

He was about to ask another question when all of a sudden, Travis slung himself over the other guy’s shoulder.

“Yo, dude!” Travis roared, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the ground. Awsten didn’t know whether it was directed toward him or the guy, or possibly both of them. They both said hello to their obviously inebriated host.

Travis proceeded to tap annoyingly on the guy’s kayet, a quizzical expression adorning his face.

“Please stop,” the guy said.

“Why’d you brought this?” Travis slurred, his gaze locked on the device. “You gonna blow up my house?”

“I don’t have any Jekuas that could blow up your house.”

“Good. That would suck.” Travis burped, then said, “C’mere. I gotta show you somethin’.”

With that, he grabbed the man by the wrist and dragged him onto the front porch before they floated away, vanishing inside the house.

It was then that Awsten realized he never got the guy’s name. Shit, he thought. Fuck Travis and his terrible timing.

Something about the man was undeniably alluring, though. It had to be that smile. That handshake had been awfully firm, though, so he liked to imagine there were some muscly arms underneath the baggy gray sweater. The funeral gray sweater, rather.

All he knew for sure was that he wanted to keep talking to him. At the very least, he wanted to get his name. He supposed he wouldn’t be going back to his parents’ place just yet.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the car where he’d met the guy and saw that the Dunceling’s glow had dissipated. The Jekua must have retreated to safety.

Awsten ducked inside the house, closing the door behind him for the neighbors’ sake. A hip-hop song was blasting through the speakers, its relentless beat drilling through to his core. He swept his gaze across the living room that was down the hall from the entryway, but he saw neither Travis nor the unnamed man among the throng of people chatting and gyrating to the music.

Next he entered the movie library, guessing that perhaps Travis wanted to show off some limited edition movie he had or something like that. But no one was in there aside from the guy and girl from earlier, who were now practically devouring each other’s faces on the very same chair upon which Awsten had previously sat. He quickly snuck out before they had a chance to realize he was standing in the doorway.

Back in the hallway, he took one step toward the living room before a call of “Dude!” resounded behind him.

Awsten turned on his heel and saw Jawn standing there, a look of wide-eyed wonder on his face. The front door hung open behind him.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” he said, surging forward to wrap Awsten in a tight hug.

Awsten hugged him back and said, “Yup, I’m here.”

Jawn patted him a little too hard on the back before pulling away. “How you been, man?” he asked. His hair was long, streaming down almost to his shoulders, and dyed blonde. Half the hair was colored dark by his roots, though, so it had evidently been a long while since he touched it up.

“I’m doing good,” said Awsten, allowing himself to relax.

He’d expected things to be weird and tense between the two of them, since the last time they hung out their appendages were inside each other, but Jawn was acting shockingly normal. It helped to put Awsten at ease.

“I’m actually looking for someone,” he then said. “Maybe you know him. Kind of a new friend of Travis’s.”

“Hit me,” said Jawn. “Although, I’m a little offended you’re already ready to leave me and go find someone else at this party.”

Awsten laughed. “We’ll hang, I promise,” he said, not knowing whether that was a promise he’d have to break. “I just want to ask him something real quick. He’s got brown hair, a nose ring…” He trailed off, watching Jawn ponder the description. He added, “He’s got a sweater on, for some reason.”

“Sorry,” said Jawn. “Not ringin’ any bells.”

“He’s a Summoner,” Awsten added.

“Half the people in Makanuele are Summoners,” said Jawn.

Awsten rolled his eyes. How was that not enough information for him? “Well, I’m gonna go look,” he said, turning to resume his journey toward the back of the house.

“I’ll come with,” said Jawn, inviting himself along.

As they walked, they made idle chitchat that was swiftly drowned out by the living room’s din. People’s loud voices combined with the blaring music made it nearly impossible to hear whatever it was Jawn was saying to him.

Awsten felt a tug on his arm, and then he was being ripped across the room into the kitchen.

“I’m a thirsty boy,” said Jawn with an eager grin. He grabbed himself a plastic cup and perused the drink offerings. While he did so, he asked, “You seen what Kalika’s up to?”

Awsten shook his head. He didn’t know if Kalika was at the party, but either way, he hadn’t seen or even spoken to her in years. His linkpad was too crammed with other bullshit for him to keep tabs on her social media.  Kalika was someone Jawn worked with at one of Makanuele’s many movie theaters, and together they were trying to get a feature film off the ground. She was a writer, while Jawn was good with a camera. All they needed were people to act in it and a decent budget. Maybe someday their movie might grace Travis’s shelves.

“She almost got busted selling stolen modchips,” said Jawn.

“Where did she get modchips?” Awsten asked, cocking an eyebrow. He knew different modifications could be made to a Summoner’s Jekua once they imprinted it, using mods purchased for exorbitant prices at Jekua shops. It seemed Kalika was taking advantage of the fact that there was a market out there for cheaper mods.

Jawn shrugged, deciding to first pour some whiskey into his cup. “I dunno. Some dude she knows, I guess,” he said. “I think his name’s Za. Guess he’s got some kind of hookup at Lakahlo Labs.”

“You said she almost got busted?”

“Yeah, it was crazy. Her partner’s in deep shit—they got him, but not her.”

“Poor Za.”

“For real, though. He’s gotta pay a huge fine. We’re talking, like, thousands. I think Lakahlo’s gonna press charges, too, but I dunno if they’ve done it yet.”

“What the hell is she stealing and selling modchips for?” Awsten asked incredulously. “She’s still got a job at the theater, right? Is she really that pressed for money?”

Jawn looked up from the drink selection, stared at Awsten a moment, then burst out laughing. “You serious, dude?” he said. “Man, Aya Toske’s got your brain warpedif you think the theater pay isn’t complete shit. We’ve got bills to pay over here, you know.” He resumed browsing the available beverages.

With no retort lined up, Awsten took a sip of his orange juice, which was getting low. While he waited on Jawn, he reached into the fridge and poured himself some more.

“Goin’ with the OJ, I see,” Jawn commented from behind him. “Not your preferred brand, though.”

That was true. The gallon Travis had was some generic brand, while Awsten was feral for the fresh-squeezed stuff a local grocery chain produced. This wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying, but he said, “It gets the job done.”

“And this will get my job done,” said Jawn, presenting to him a cocktail that smelled like gasoline.

“What is that?” Awsten asked with a scowl.

Jawn wafted the foul odor into his nose, somehow appearing to relish it. “It’s a mixture of whiskey, rum, grape juice, soda water, vodka, and coffee liqueur.”

Merely hearing all those things strung together like that made Awsten want to hurl. “You’re a menace,” he said.

Jawn shrugged and put the cup to his lips, gulping down half the cup in one go. He wiped moisture from the black stubble on his upper lip and said, “It gets the job done.”

They funneled back out into the living room, with Awsten taking one last good look at the crowd to see if he spotted the mystery man. No luck. Travis must have brought him into the backyard to see…something. What could be back there to see?

Awsten waded through the crowd, music beating against his eardrums. Jawn was just behind him, he assumed, though he didn’t look back to check. He squeezed past two women sharing a deep kiss by the back door and stepped out into the warm night air once more.

Jawn took another pull of his awful drink and leaned his elbow on Awsten’s shoulder. “So, who we lookin’ for?” he asked.

“I don’t know his name. That’s the point.”

“But he’s wearin’ a sweater?”

“Yeah.”

Awsten spotted him almost instantly. He was on the opposite side of the fire pit, chattering away with Travis, the two of them guffawing at something one of them said.

He started forward, nearly toppling Jawn in the process as he lost his balance, but then the blonde boy scurried along after him.

Flames flickered, biting at the night air, filling Awsten’s entire body with an intense heat. Travis’s face lit up at Awsten and Jawn’s approach. “Yo, check it out!” he beamed. “We got the fire goin’.”

The guy looked at Awsten. If he was a betting man, he would wager that the man was happy to see him again.

“Hey, popstar,” he said.

“Hey,” Awsten smiled.

“I got the fire going,” the guy then said, giggling at Travis trying to steal his credit. Turning to face Awsten again, he said, “Summoned my Simmerthrush and used an easy little Thermal technique to get it lit.”

Awsten had no idea what any of that shit meant, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “Dope,” he said instead, nodding along as if he understood what the guy was saying.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. They were Kharwaji Classics, the same brand Awsten’s uncle used to smoke. He pulled one out and slipped the slender white stick into his mouth, his saliva wetting the tip as he fished for a lighter in his other pocket.

“Why don’t you just get your Simmerthrush to light it?” Jawn joked.

Awsten mentally urged him to fuck off back into the kitchen or something. He should’ve made that joke.

“Hell, just lean forward,” Travis said, nodding at the massive flame roiling in the fire pit.

Travis could get lost too, as far as Awsten was concerned.

The guy chortled, then finally found his lighter. He flicked it, igniting a tiny flame and lighting his cigarette. He took a long, deep drag, then exhaled. Smoke billowed from his lips, getting caught in a gentle breeze and blowing right back into Awsten’s face.

Around a cough, Awsten sputtered, “That shit is gonna kill you.” His uncle could attest to that. Well, actually, he couldn’t. That was the point.

The man gave him a half-smile and said, “Well, now you’re gonna die too.”

In truth, that half-smile was what would kill Awsten. His heart beat ferociously in his chest, threatening to burst. Someone would have to call a hearse to take him back home at the end of the night.

Jawn nudged him. “Didn’t you say you had to ask him something?”

The guy’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Oh?” he said.

Again, Awsten wished Jawn would fuck off.

When he recovered from his embarrassing coughing fit, Awsten said, “Yes. That’s right.” He shot a glare at Jawn, who did not seem to notice. He was too busy downing his diabolical cocktail.

The cute guy stared at him, waiting for the question to be asked. Sweat beaded on Awsten’s forehead, sliding down the side of his face. It was due to the heat of the fire, but it made him look like a gigantic fool, like he was exceptionally nervous to ask his question.

He wiped the sweat away and said, “This fire is so fuckin’ hot. How are you not dying in that sweater?”

“That’s your question?” the guy said, laughing.

“No, no, it’s not,” said Awsten. “What I needed to ask was your name.”

“Ahh,” he nodded. “I guess we did get interrupted earlier.” He took a drag from his cigarette, and this time when he exhaled, he turned away so that it wouldn’t get in Awsten’s face.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No problem.” A pause, then, “To answer your question, my name’s Geoff.”

“Everybody knows that’s Geoff,” said Travis, all his words running together, nearly incomprehensible, so that it sounded more like errybudnahzizeff.

Geoff. He liked that name.

“Okay,” Awsten said, “I’ve got one more question for you, then.”

“What’s that?” Geoff said. He fluttered his eyelashes. Or he might’ve just been blinking. It was hard to tell for sure.

Awsten really wished that Travis and Jawn weren’t standing right beside them. At least Travis was drunk enough to not really know what was going on. Jawn, however, should’ve taken the damn hint and walked away already.

But no matter. There was work to be done.

“Can I get your number?” Awsten asked, taking out his linkpad and handing it over to Geoff.

Geoff grinned. He put the cigarette in his mouth and held it between his lips while he took Awsten’s linkpad and typed his number into a text message field. “There you go,” he said, handing the device back over.

Awsten typed Hey Geoff and sent it. Geoff’s linkpad lit up in his pocket, and he took it out, holding it on display to prove he hadn’t fed Awsten a false number. He swiped open the notification and typed a response.

The linkpad in Awsten’s hand vibrated lightly and he looked down to read the message. It read, Hey popstar.

Maybe getting involved with this guy would be a mistake. That risk was ever-present.

But Awsten didn’t care. Not one bit.

If all this did turn out to be a mistake, then he wanted Geoff to be the next mistake he was going to make.