Lost in Mexico

"Ghaaaaah," Meiz whispers, "this is the bee tee elllh, Plez... don't cha uncle ever come down here?"

"Nahways," says Pleasant, waving one hand in the air and using the other to push lank, blond hair off her face. She leads the way down the stairs, choosing her steps carefully. The cellar occupies the only sound corner of the old office building, above which her uncle runs his local 1-Stop Grocery. The stairs are rotten, and mould clings to the banisters grimly, unwilling to relinquish its hold in the dark. Pleasant is queen here, and she smiles as she jumps the last couple of steps and lands on the concrete floor, dust flooding into the air.

Meiz follows, his eyes roaming every inch of the small room, finally glancing up to the street light filtering through the tiny wall grate.

"Plez, good idea but it's swimming, sav? Ain't gonna put no electricals down here cos it'd be frying time." He pauses. "And sit down, wilya? A woman in your condition don't be standing in the wet." He grabs an old plastic, garden chair from the pile of rubbish and sets it up for his younger comrade to sit on.

Pleasant sits down, her expression amiable.

"It'd dry out. With some heaters. You can make it work. I know you could."

Meiz glances back at her briefly, barely registering the 'you'. He exhales sharply. "Maybe," he reluctantly agrees.

Minutes later, Frog and a younger boy pick their way down the stairs.

"Oh... um, wow, it's... ah... "

"Crap," the younger boy supplies. He is sweet-faced, despite the freckles, but his forehead is marred by a permanent frown.

Pleasant glances up quickly, hurt.

"You got a better deal, Mouse?"

Meiz smiles slowly, remembering the name they'd given to their shy newcomer when he arrived. He stands several inches shorter than the rest of them. Even Pleasant is taller.

"Nah. How's you gonna make sure your uncle never come down here?"

Pleasant grimaces, awkwardly pulling something from her pocket and waving it in the air.

"Cos he ain't got no keys, sav. It's been boarded up for years. Only the rats come down here. You know, like you, Mouse."

Mouse stares solemnly into Pleasant's eyes. He wasn't really thinking about the dive. VR was a bastard.

"Don't be bitching, Plez." Meiz smiles, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Mouse, why don't you keep a look-out up there. You know, take people's passwords and shit. Plez, you get the heater running off your uncle's electric. Frog, start clearing some of this crap so you gets to your wires."

Frog picks up the first thing that comes to hand - a dead iron. "Mouse gonna keep the door? Guess that kinda makes him our Door-Mouse. Dormouse. Sav? Like in the book?"

A row of blank faces greets his amused expression.

From the top of the stairs, 'Dormouse' sighs. For kids that were older than him they were surprisingly juvenile.

"Yeah, Frog. Whatever," he murmurs.

* * *

"Whacha call yerself, Meiz?"

"Wasted Tribe."

Grinning and poking at Miser's sedentary girth, "You a tribe of at least four or five, Meiz."

"Slide off, Frog. Me ancients were in Africa. Da women were's harpies with brass knuckles and iron fingernails. Da men brought da long rain. But they's all wasted now."

Frog tilts his head to the side, squinting to resolve the images on the flickering screen.

"Wos that then?"

"Flox, man. Dey some sweet shit. Foremost band of our age..."

"So we plugged and ready."

"Sav."

From the top of the stairs, the two boys hear the muffled sounds of Dormouse challenging entry. "Password? User name?"

"F's sake it's me, Mouse! Just open it."

"Ya gotta know the passwords, Plez."

Craning his head back in an awkward angle. "Let her in, Dormouse. Shouldn't keep a woman in her condition waiting."

Muttering under his breath, "she been in that condition for years", Dormouse leisurely unbolts the door and opens it wide enough for Pleasant to squeeze through sideways.

Softly. "What's with Dormouse, Meiz? He been bitchin at everyone for weeks."

Miser shrugs. "Dunno. He livin' in this Place with me. Plez been feeding him."

She nods, settling herself in the only cushioned chair.

Wistfully, "but he got family, sav?"

Jenna Manley, 14/11/01

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