Tevun-Krus #50

Dat A.S.S. - @rmcneary

"Dat A.S.S." originally appeared in Tevun-Krus #21: Comic SF

Note from angerbda, who selected it: Hope for a better life.

Sometimes, all it takes to see the brighter side of the moon is with some humor and a glass of Bourbon and Sprite. You can sit at the bar with Ursula, and she will tell you about how one has to do to save Dat A.S.S.

Dat A.S.S.

by rmcneary

"I'll say, you've never had a real threesome unless it involves the tongue of an Anastian."

I smile and take another sip of my bourbon and Sprite. The Minovian in front of me is dressed in their standard threads: a long red robe that unbuttons at the crotch, thick soled shoes and a platinum necklace with an amulet that looks like a broken rectangle or a V that didn't try hard enough depending on how you look at it.

I've spent several nights in Rolonin 7 and have been to a few bars. Somehow, no matter what dive bar I'm in, this Anastian woman seems to find me to try to convert me to Minoviste. In the grand scheme of religions I've seen worse. It mostly involves a lot of fucking in an attempt to reach a higher power.

"I've had Anastian tongue before," I say, running my fingers through my red hair. "But the Grillian dick is second to none. Find one and I'm yours for the night."

She squints the top pair of her four reptilian eyes. She's not offended, odds are she's had her share. But the probability of her finding one in this place is near zero. I've given her an impossible task.

She writes down the Anastian version of Mary in a series of glyphs and a communication access code. "Well, if you change your mind, here's my name and number."

Last time it was Lisa.

I nod politely as she rises from the bar stool, hips swaying in search of another soul to convert. She won't have to work so hard with her next prey and will be screaming 'oh God' tonight in one language or another.

As my glass gets low, I signal to the bartender for another drink. I tend to think better in this type of environment and after I've had a couple. The only real reason I turned away the tongue is business.

Happy Life has contracted me to fix the atmospheric system stabilizer in this backwater colony. The backup device lasts for around two years, so I should have plenty of time. However HL Headquarters, the genius bureaucrats that they are, dicked around for nearly sixteen months before giving me a ring.

I was in my shop in Yurande, arms drenched in dirty grease as I worked on a smell tester. It was a frivolous device, true, but after a really bad experience in a travel cube, I needed the ability to determine who actually dealt it.

The shop com, an off-white cube reminiscent of a 1970's computer, began screeching in the annoying 'important business' tone. That either meant Happy Life or my mum, so I connected the call.

An empty suit appeared on the screen. You know the type, navy blue suit, white shirt and red tie. Brick-patterned brown horns rose from the sides of his head and came to a dulled point. "Ms. Wayer?"

I put on the closest thing to a smile I could manage with my face completely filthy and a cramp in my neck. I imagine I looked like a constipated raccoon from his reaction. "That's me. What do you need?"