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For reference:
Part 1 - Click Here
Part 2 - Click Here
Part 3 - Click Here
A purple light burned at the back of Carlo’s mind, then faded away leaving only darkness silhouetted by an impression of colour. The light burned again, only to fade once more. It was only on the third flash that he opened his eyes, sleep and tiredness blurring his vision. As the bright phosphor bulb evanesced a fourth time, he reached an arm out from under the duvet and thumbed the bedside array, turning off the alarm. In response, the bedroom luminescent array slowly lit the room.
Carlo threw the duvet aside, and sat with his feet on the floor. After taking a moment to rub his eyes, he glanced at the time and sighed. He really hated working the late shifts. For ten days straight, it had been 9pm to 7am. Not only was this the longest shift available, and the least interesting, but it played havoc with sleeping patterns. It was 3pm now, but even with the mood lighting kicking in from the ceiling above him, it felt like dawn. Real early dawn.
After staggering through into his small kitchen, Carlo poured himself some orange juice subs, and gulped it down. The cool, thick liquid brought life to his throat immediately, and he coughed gently as his body slowly began the process of waking up. He glanced up and noticed a short text message flashing in the bottom corner of the kitchen’s monitor indicating that a video recording had been left by an unrecognised address. Tapping a lazy index finger against the array on the sideboard, he began to play the message back.
A pale, thin face with wild, spiky black hair appeared on the screen. The man wore a cocky sideways smile that showed a lot of teeth. The grey lines under his hazel eyes seemed to indicate that he was stoned on something. Carlo recognised the man. It was Ilario Gallo, reprobate, waster extraordinaire, and bit-part dealer in quasi-legal recreational drugs. Ilario was far from a friend, and not really the kind of person Carlo wanted to be involved with at all, hence his array not recognising the caller address.
“Carlo, me Dixie!” a high pitched voice exclaimed through the monitor “It’s me.” Ilario’s hand passed slowly across the screen, and the gaunt man’s own eyes followed his fingers as though surprised to see them there.
“I’m sure Bo’s told you already,” he continued slowly “but she’s bought some, ah, merchandise from me, but can’t take delivery until later tonight.” His grin widened impossibly “So she asked me to drop it at your place.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Carlo muttered under his breath.
“She mentioned something about you sleeping something off, so I’ll pop over about 3ish.” The message ended and froze leaving a vision of Ilario reaching for his array, a look of elation etched into his face which was doubtless drug-induced.
Carlo heard that last line bounce around his head a while before the significance set in. It was 3ish now.
“You’ve got be fu…” he was interrupted by the sound of the door chime. Holding back a stream of curses, he sighed loudly before walking briskly back to the bedroom to dress himself quickly. A baggy pair of grey tracksuit trousers and a tighter fitting sleeveless T later, and Carlo watched his apartment’s access door slide away to reveal Ilario leaning lazily against the doorframe. He was wearing his ill-fitting brown leather flight jacket, and also sported what looked like a piece of straw between his lips which he was slowly turning over with his tongue.
Ilario winked a sunken eye at Carlo and strode into the room without saying a word. Carlo waited for the door to close before turning, and by that time, his guest was lying with his feet on the sofa, staring intently at the straw which was now held firmly between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Taking a deep breath, Carlo ran a hand through his hair and walked over.
“Ilario, buddy,” he sighed loudly “I don’t mean to be rude, but I just woke up and I’m not in the mood for company.” Ilario continued to stare at the straw in his hand for a moment, and then pursed his lips fatly before turning to look at Carlo and smiling broadly.
“No sweat, mate.” He said with the slowness of someone fighting the urge to spew out a stream of nonsense that would relate the drug-induced feelings of ecstasy bouncing around his skull. “I’ll be out of here in two shakes of a dog’s tail.”
Returning his gaze to the straw, Ilario closed one eye and bobbed his wrist back and forth as though aiming a dart, before letting the straw fall limply to the floor next to him.
“First though,” he said more quickly as he swung his feet off the couch “I’m obliged to give you some words on what your lady-friend has purchased.” He made a show of reaching into his flight jacket and pulling out a small black metal container the size of a matchbox. Holding it aloft, he shook it gently, and a wide smile spread across his pale features as something rattled inside.
“What’s that?” Carlo asked harshly “Joy pills? Are you kidding me?” he watched the smile fade from Ilario’s face, replaced briefly by a look of confusion. Then the smile came back, impossibly wider than before.
“You don’t know do you?” he said, half laughing out loud “Bo didn’t tell you what she bought?”
“What’s so damn funny?” Carlo demanded. He wasn’t fond of drugs at the best of times. It was a part of Bo’s life that almost allowed him to tolerate hating her. He certainly didn’t need this skinny little waster mocking him.
“I’m sorry,” Ilario answered, suddenly very sober. He gave the little box another quick shake, as though to reassure himself that the contents were still inside “What I have here is called Joygasm, but despite the name, it’s not a narcotic.” He smiled arrogantly “I’ll spare you the scientifics, but what this baby does is flick a switch in your brain that opens up a flood of happiness for no less and no more than 12 hours.”
“Sounds like a narcotic to me,” Carlo countered, unsure why he was being told any of this at all.
“Oh no, no, Carlo my friend,” the big face-wide toothy grin was back “there is a very real difference. This stuff is new, and it’s damn clever. This isn’t a drug, it’s a bunch of nanobots held inside a pill casing.” Carlo was too shocked to say anything witty “the nanobots activate the happiness in your brain, and then flush themselves out of your system.” If it was possible, Ilario’s eyes got wider “Impossible to overdose, impossible to abuse, and absolutely no side-effects whatsoever. Long-term or short.”
“I don’t believe it.” was all Carlo could muster.
“Believe it Dixie,” Ilario stood and proffered the black container “and here’s the clincher: it’s absolutely, totally 100% legal.”
Carlo didn’t notice Ilario leave. He must have though, because by the time he stopped staring at the box in his hand, he was alone in his apartment. He glanced over at the wall. 4:15pm, and apparently Bo was calling. Carefully placing the container on the coffee table, Carlo walked over and thumbed the lounge array. He had a word or too for little miss pretty.
Part 1 - Click Here
Part 2 - Click Here
Part 3 - Click Here
A purple light burned at the back of Carlo’s mind, then faded away leaving only darkness silhouetted by an impression of colour. The light burned again, only to fade once more. It was only on the third flash that he opened his eyes, sleep and tiredness blurring his vision. As the bright phosphor bulb evanesced a fourth time, he reached an arm out from under the duvet and thumbed the bedside array, turning off the alarm. In response, the bedroom luminescent array slowly lit the room.
Carlo threw the duvet aside, and sat with his feet on the floor. After taking a moment to rub his eyes, he glanced at the time and sighed. He really hated working the late shifts. For ten days straight, it had been 9pm to 7am. Not only was this the longest shift available, and the least interesting, but it played havoc with sleeping patterns. It was 3pm now, but even with the mood lighting kicking in from the ceiling above him, it felt like dawn. Real early dawn.
After staggering through into his small kitchen, Carlo poured himself some orange juice subs, and gulped it down. The cool, thick liquid brought life to his throat immediately, and he coughed gently as his body slowly began the process of waking up. He glanced up and noticed a short text message flashing in the bottom corner of the kitchen’s monitor indicating that a video recording had been left by an unrecognised address. Tapping a lazy index finger against the array on the sideboard, he began to play the message back.
A pale, thin face with wild, spiky black hair appeared on the screen. The man wore a cocky sideways smile that showed a lot of teeth. The grey lines under his hazel eyes seemed to indicate that he was stoned on something. Carlo recognised the man. It was Ilario Gallo, reprobate, waster extraordinaire, and bit-part dealer in quasi-legal recreational drugs. Ilario was far from a friend, and not really the kind of person Carlo wanted to be involved with at all, hence his array not recognising the caller address.
“Carlo, me Dixie!” a high pitched voice exclaimed through the monitor “It’s me.” Ilario’s hand passed slowly across the screen, and the gaunt man’s own eyes followed his fingers as though surprised to see them there.
“I’m sure Bo’s told you already,” he continued slowly “but she’s bought some, ah, merchandise from me, but can’t take delivery until later tonight.” His grin widened impossibly “So she asked me to drop it at your place.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Carlo muttered under his breath.
“She mentioned something about you sleeping something off, so I’ll pop over about 3ish.” The message ended and froze leaving a vision of Ilario reaching for his array, a look of elation etched into his face which was doubtless drug-induced.
Carlo heard that last line bounce around his head a while before the significance set in. It was 3ish now.
“You’ve got be fu…” he was interrupted by the sound of the door chime. Holding back a stream of curses, he sighed loudly before walking briskly back to the bedroom to dress himself quickly. A baggy pair of grey tracksuit trousers and a tighter fitting sleeveless T later, and Carlo watched his apartment’s access door slide away to reveal Ilario leaning lazily against the doorframe. He was wearing his ill-fitting brown leather flight jacket, and also sported what looked like a piece of straw between his lips which he was slowly turning over with his tongue.
Ilario winked a sunken eye at Carlo and strode into the room without saying a word. Carlo waited for the door to close before turning, and by that time, his guest was lying with his feet on the sofa, staring intently at the straw which was now held firmly between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Taking a deep breath, Carlo ran a hand through his hair and walked over.
“Ilario, buddy,” he sighed loudly “I don’t mean to be rude, but I just woke up and I’m not in the mood for company.” Ilario continued to stare at the straw in his hand for a moment, and then pursed his lips fatly before turning to look at Carlo and smiling broadly.
“No sweat, mate.” He said with the slowness of someone fighting the urge to spew out a stream of nonsense that would relate the drug-induced feelings of ecstasy bouncing around his skull. “I’ll be out of here in two shakes of a dog’s tail.”
Returning his gaze to the straw, Ilario closed one eye and bobbed his wrist back and forth as though aiming a dart, before letting the straw fall limply to the floor next to him.
“First though,” he said more quickly as he swung his feet off the couch “I’m obliged to give you some words on what your lady-friend has purchased.” He made a show of reaching into his flight jacket and pulling out a small black metal container the size of a matchbox. Holding it aloft, he shook it gently, and a wide smile spread across his pale features as something rattled inside.
“What’s that?” Carlo asked harshly “Joy pills? Are you kidding me?” he watched the smile fade from Ilario’s face, replaced briefly by a look of confusion. Then the smile came back, impossibly wider than before.
“You don’t know do you?” he said, half laughing out loud “Bo didn’t tell you what she bought?”
“What’s so damn funny?” Carlo demanded. He wasn’t fond of drugs at the best of times. It was a part of Bo’s life that almost allowed him to tolerate hating her. He certainly didn’t need this skinny little waster mocking him.
“I’m sorry,” Ilario answered, suddenly very sober. He gave the little box another quick shake, as though to reassure himself that the contents were still inside “What I have here is called Joygasm, but despite the name, it’s not a narcotic.” He smiled arrogantly “I’ll spare you the scientifics, but what this baby does is flick a switch in your brain that opens up a flood of happiness for no less and no more than 12 hours.”
“Sounds like a narcotic to me,” Carlo countered, unsure why he was being told any of this at all.
“Oh no, no, Carlo my friend,” the big face-wide toothy grin was back “there is a very real difference. This stuff is new, and it’s damn clever. This isn’t a drug, it’s a bunch of nanobots held inside a pill casing.” Carlo was too shocked to say anything witty “the nanobots activate the happiness in your brain, and then flush themselves out of your system.” If it was possible, Ilario’s eyes got wider “Impossible to overdose, impossible to abuse, and absolutely no side-effects whatsoever. Long-term or short.”
“I don’t believe it.” was all Carlo could muster.
“Believe it Dixie,” Ilario stood and proffered the black container “and here’s the clincher: it’s absolutely, totally 100% legal.”
Carlo didn’t notice Ilario leave. He must have though, because by the time he stopped staring at the box in his hand, he was alone in his apartment. He glanced over at the wall. 4:15pm, and apparently Bo was calling. Carefully placing the container on the coffee table, Carlo walked over and thumbed the lounge array. He had a word or too for little miss pretty.
Everpain wrote:
> I personally have two concerns. Firstly, the dialogue. I'm not
> used to writing so much of it, and have little experience of
> writing even small passages of speech.
I keep reading that dialogue is hardest thing to do - to get right, so I always have a vigilant eye on all passages of dialogue I read. I'm no expert but yours seems perfectly fine to me. You must have the knack.
> Secondly, complexity. The story is bouncing around my head,
> and plot lines and character are springing up from nowhere.
> I can see the story in my mind, but the reader may well
> become confused with the sheer number of characters.
I agree that this is something you need to be mindful of ... how the characters are connected; how you allot time to each one; how their parts are played-out and in what order. It might give you a few headaches as the story progresses. It's definitely an ambitious start.
> I personally have two concerns. Firstly, the dialogue. I'm not
> used to writing so much of it, and have little experience of
> writing even small passages of speech.
I keep reading that dialogue is hardest thing to do - to get right, so I always have a vigilant eye on all passages of dialogue I read. I'm no expert but yours seems perfectly fine to me. You must have the knack.
> Secondly, complexity. The story is bouncing around my head,
> and plot lines and character are springing up from nowhere.
> I can see the story in my mind, but the reader may well
> become confused with the sheer number of characters.
I agree that this is something you need to be mindful of ... how the characters are connected; how you allot time to each one; how their parts are played-out and in what order. It might give you a few headaches as the story progresses. It's definitely an ambitious start.
When I saw this "Artemis Fowl" instantly came to mind.
Colfer's the stuff.
Colfer's the stuff.
Thanks, it means a lot.
I personally have two concerns. Firstly, the dialogue. I'm not used to writing so much of it, and have little experience of writing even small passages of speech. Secondly, complexity. The story is bouncing around my head, and plot lines and characters are springing up from nowhere. I can see the story in my mind, but the reader may well become confused with the sheer number of characters.
I may be fretting over nothing though. We'll see.
I personally have two concerns. Firstly, the dialogue. I'm not used to writing so much of it, and have little experience of writing even small passages of speech. Secondly, complexity. The story is bouncing around my head, and plot lines and characters are springing up from nowhere. I can see the story in my mind, but the reader may well become confused with the sheer number of characters.
I may be fretting over nothing though. We'll see.
Enjoying this. Interesting characters, well-portrayed. I would genuinely offer some constructive criticism if only I could find something to criticize :) Definitely a polished beginning. If you keep this quality going, and the plotlines are interesting/exciting, by the finish you'll have a fine piece of work.
For reference:
Part 1 - Click Here
Part 2 - Click Here
Part 3 - Click Here
A purple light burned at the back of Carlo’s mind, then faded away leaving only darkness silhouetted by an impression of colour. The light burned again, only to fade once more. It was only on the third flash that he opened his eyes, sleep and tiredness blurring his vision. As the bright phosphor bulb evanesced a fourth time, he reached an arm out from under the duvet and thumbed the bedside array, turning off the alarm. In response, the bedroom luminescent array slowly lit the room.
Carlo threw the duvet aside, and sat with his feet on the floor. After taking a moment to rub his eyes, he glanced at the time and sighed. He really hated working the late shifts. For ten days straight, it had been 9pm to 7am. Not only was this the longest shift available, and the least interesting, but it played havoc with sleeping patterns. It was 3pm now, but even with the mood lighting kicking in from the ceiling above him, it felt like dawn. Real early dawn.
After staggering through into his small kitchen, Carlo poured himself some orange juice subs, and gulped it down. The cool, thick liquid brought life to his throat immediately, and he coughed gently as his body slowly began the process of waking up. He glanced up and noticed a short text message flashing in the bottom corner of the kitchen’s monitor indicating that a video recording had been left by an unrecognised address. Tapping a lazy index finger against the array on the sideboard, he began to play the message back.
A pale, thin face with wild, spiky black hair appeared on the screen. The man wore a cocky sideways smile that showed a lot of teeth. The grey lines under his hazel eyes seemed to indicate that he was stoned on something. Carlo recognised the man. It was Ilario Gallo, reprobate, waster extraordinaire, and bit-part dealer in quasi-legal recreational drugs. Ilario was far from a friend, and not really the kind of person Carlo wanted to be involved with at all, hence his array not recognising the caller address.
“Carlo, me Dixie!” a high pitched voice exclaimed through the monitor “It’s me.” Ilario’s hand passed slowly across the screen, and the gaunt man’s own eyes followed his fingers as though surprised to see them there.
“I’m sure Bo’s told you already,” he continued slowly “but she’s bought some, ah, merchandise from me, but can’t take delivery until later tonight.” His grin widened impossibly “So she asked me to drop it at your place.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Carlo muttered under his breath.
“She mentioned something about you sleeping something off, so I’ll pop over about 3ish.” The message ended and froze leaving a vision of Ilario reaching for his array, a look of elation etched into his face which was doubtless drug-induced.
Carlo heard that last line bounce around his head a while before the significance set in. It was 3ish now.
“You’ve got be fu…” he was interrupted by the sound of the door chime. Holding back a stream of curses, he sighed loudly before walking briskly back to the bedroom to dress himself quickly. A baggy pair of grey tracksuit trousers and a tighter fitting sleeveless T later, and Carlo watched his apartment’s access door slide away to reveal Ilario leaning lazily against the doorframe. He was wearing his ill-fitting brown leather flight jacket, and also sported what looked like a piece of straw between his lips which he was slowly turning over with his tongue.
Ilario winked a sunken eye at Carlo and strode into the room without saying a word. Carlo waited for the door to close before turning, and by that time, his guest was lying with his feet on the sofa, staring intently at the straw which was now held firmly between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Taking a deep breath, Carlo ran a hand through his hair and walked over.
“Ilario, buddy,” he sighed loudly “I don’t mean to be rude, but I just woke up and I’m not in the mood for company.” Ilario continued to stare at the straw in his hand for a moment, and then pursed his lips fatly before turning to look at Carlo and smiling broadly.
“No sweat, mate.” He said with the slowness of someone fighting the urge to spew out a stream of nonsense that would relate the drug-induced feelings of ecstasy bouncing around his skull. “I’ll be out of here in two shakes of a dog’s tail.”
Returning his gaze to the straw, Ilario closed one eye and bobbed his wrist back and forth as though aiming a dart, before letting the straw fall limply to the floor next to him.
“First though,” he said more quickly as he swung his feet off the couch “I’m obliged to give you some words on what your lady-friend has purchased.” He made a show of reaching into his flight jacket and pulling out a small black metal container the size of a matchbox. Holding it aloft, he shook it gently, and a wide smile spread across his pale features as something rattled inside.
“What’s that?” Carlo asked harshly “Joy pills? Are you kidding me?” he watched the smile fade from Ilario’s face, replaced briefly by a look of confusion. Then the smile came back, impossibly wider than before.
“You don’t know do you?” he said, half laughing out loud “Bo didn’t tell you what she bought?”
“What’s so damn funny?” Carlo demanded. He wasn’t fond of drugs at the best of times. It was a part of Bo’s life that almost allowed him to tolerate hating her. He certainly didn’t need this skinny little waster mocking him.
“I’m sorry,” Ilario answered, suddenly very sober. He gave the little box another quick shake, as though to reassure himself that the contents were still inside “What I have here is called Joygasm, but despite the name, it’s not a narcotic.” He smiled arrogantly “I’ll spare you the scientifics, but what this baby does is flick a switch in your brain that opens up a flood of happiness for no less and no more than 12 hours.”
“Sounds like a narcotic to me,” Carlo countered, unsure why he was being told any of this at all.
“Oh no, no, Carlo my friend,” the big face-wide toothy grin was back “there is a very real difference. This stuff is new, and it’s damn clever. This isn’t a drug, it’s a bunch of nanobots held inside a pill casing.” Carlo was too shocked to say anything witty “the nanobots activate the happiness in your brain, and then flush themselves out of your system.” If it was possible, Ilario’s eyes got wider “Impossible to overdose, impossible to abuse, and absolutely no side-effects whatsoever. Long-term or short.”
“I don’t believe it.” was all Carlo could muster.
“Believe it Dixie,” Ilario stood and proffered the black container “and here’s the clincher: it’s absolutely, totally 100% legal.”
Carlo didn’t notice Ilario leave. He must have though, because by the time he stopped staring at the box in his hand, he was alone in his apartment. He glanced over at the wall. 4:15pm, and apparently Bo was calling. Carefully placing the container on the coffee table, Carlo walked over and thumbed the lounge array. He had a word or too for little miss pretty.
Part 1 - Click Here
Part 2 - Click Here
Part 3 - Click Here
A purple light burned at the back of Carlo’s mind, then faded away leaving only darkness silhouetted by an impression of colour. The light burned again, only to fade once more. It was only on the third flash that he opened his eyes, sleep and tiredness blurring his vision. As the bright phosphor bulb evanesced a fourth time, he reached an arm out from under the duvet and thumbed the bedside array, turning off the alarm. In response, the bedroom luminescent array slowly lit the room.
Carlo threw the duvet aside, and sat with his feet on the floor. After taking a moment to rub his eyes, he glanced at the time and sighed. He really hated working the late shifts. For ten days straight, it had been 9pm to 7am. Not only was this the longest shift available, and the least interesting, but it played havoc with sleeping patterns. It was 3pm now, but even with the mood lighting kicking in from the ceiling above him, it felt like dawn. Real early dawn.
After staggering through into his small kitchen, Carlo poured himself some orange juice subs, and gulped it down. The cool, thick liquid brought life to his throat immediately, and he coughed gently as his body slowly began the process of waking up. He glanced up and noticed a short text message flashing in the bottom corner of the kitchen’s monitor indicating that a video recording had been left by an unrecognised address. Tapping a lazy index finger against the array on the sideboard, he began to play the message back.
A pale, thin face with wild, spiky black hair appeared on the screen. The man wore a cocky sideways smile that showed a lot of teeth. The grey lines under his hazel eyes seemed to indicate that he was stoned on something. Carlo recognised the man. It was Ilario Gallo, reprobate, waster extraordinaire, and bit-part dealer in quasi-legal recreational drugs. Ilario was far from a friend, and not really the kind of person Carlo wanted to be involved with at all, hence his array not recognising the caller address.
“Carlo, me Dixie!” a high pitched voice exclaimed through the monitor “It’s me.” Ilario’s hand passed slowly across the screen, and the gaunt man’s own eyes followed his fingers as though surprised to see them there.
“I’m sure Bo’s told you already,” he continued slowly “but she’s bought some, ah, merchandise from me, but can’t take delivery until later tonight.” His grin widened impossibly “So she asked me to drop it at your place.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Carlo muttered under his breath.
“She mentioned something about you sleeping something off, so I’ll pop over about 3ish.” The message ended and froze leaving a vision of Ilario reaching for his array, a look of elation etched into his face which was doubtless drug-induced.
Carlo heard that last line bounce around his head a while before the significance set in. It was 3ish now.
“You’ve got be fu…” he was interrupted by the sound of the door chime. Holding back a stream of curses, he sighed loudly before walking briskly back to the bedroom to dress himself quickly. A baggy pair of grey tracksuit trousers and a tighter fitting sleeveless T later, and Carlo watched his apartment’s access door slide away to reveal Ilario leaning lazily against the doorframe. He was wearing his ill-fitting brown leather flight jacket, and also sported what looked like a piece of straw between his lips which he was slowly turning over with his tongue.
Ilario winked a sunken eye at Carlo and strode into the room without saying a word. Carlo waited for the door to close before turning, and by that time, his guest was lying with his feet on the sofa, staring intently at the straw which was now held firmly between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Taking a deep breath, Carlo ran a hand through his hair and walked over.
“Ilario, buddy,” he sighed loudly “I don’t mean to be rude, but I just woke up and I’m not in the mood for company.” Ilario continued to stare at the straw in his hand for a moment, and then pursed his lips fatly before turning to look at Carlo and smiling broadly.
“No sweat, mate.” He said with the slowness of someone fighting the urge to spew out a stream of nonsense that would relate the drug-induced feelings of ecstasy bouncing around his skull. “I’ll be out of here in two shakes of a dog’s tail.”
Returning his gaze to the straw, Ilario closed one eye and bobbed his wrist back and forth as though aiming a dart, before letting the straw fall limply to the floor next to him.
“First though,” he said more quickly as he swung his feet off the couch “I’m obliged to give you some words on what your lady-friend has purchased.” He made a show of reaching into his flight jacket and pulling out a small black metal container the size of a matchbox. Holding it aloft, he shook it gently, and a wide smile spread across his pale features as something rattled inside.
“What’s that?” Carlo asked harshly “Joy pills? Are you kidding me?” he watched the smile fade from Ilario’s face, replaced briefly by a look of confusion. Then the smile came back, impossibly wider than before.
“You don’t know do you?” he said, half laughing out loud “Bo didn’t tell you what she bought?”
“What’s so damn funny?” Carlo demanded. He wasn’t fond of drugs at the best of times. It was a part of Bo’s life that almost allowed him to tolerate hating her. He certainly didn’t need this skinny little waster mocking him.
“I’m sorry,” Ilario answered, suddenly very sober. He gave the little box another quick shake, as though to reassure himself that the contents were still inside “What I have here is called Joygasm, but despite the name, it’s not a narcotic.” He smiled arrogantly “I’ll spare you the scientifics, but what this baby does is flick a switch in your brain that opens up a flood of happiness for no less and no more than 12 hours.”
“Sounds like a narcotic to me,” Carlo countered, unsure why he was being told any of this at all.
“Oh no, no, Carlo my friend,” the big face-wide toothy grin was back “there is a very real difference. This stuff is new, and it’s damn clever. This isn’t a drug, it’s a bunch of nanobots held inside a pill casing.” Carlo was too shocked to say anything witty “the nanobots activate the happiness in your brain, and then flush themselves out of your system.” If it was possible, Ilario’s eyes got wider “Impossible to overdose, impossible to abuse, and absolutely no side-effects whatsoever. Long-term or short.”
“I don’t believe it.” was all Carlo could muster.
“Believe it Dixie,” Ilario stood and proffered the black container “and here’s the clincher: it’s absolutely, totally 100% legal.”
Carlo didn’t notice Ilario leave. He must have though, because by the time he stopped staring at the box in his hand, he was alone in his apartment. He glanced over at the wall. 4:15pm, and apparently Bo was calling. Carefully placing the container on the coffee table, Carlo walked over and thumbed the lounge array. He had a word or too for little miss pretty.