Drunk Incubi and CEC

51 10 12

After a long afternoon of whiskey shots, where would two demons go? Well, Corvin and Ignacio, incubi who firmly believed Latin was still alive, stumbled into a Chuck E. Cheese's, where a kid (or demon) could be a kid.

As soon as they entered, they received a "Welcome to Chuck E. Cheese" and an earful of childish shrieks—shrieks worse than the hellish noise of banshees. Swaying from their drunk stupor, Corvin and Ignacio walked to the red rope keeping folks back. Corvin, the pervert of the two, simpered at the auburn-haired kid-check lady, who mentally sighed when laying eyes on the wrecks.

The lady held out her hand, the kid-check stamp in her other, and said in a forcibly cheerful voice, "Please hold out your left hands." The two put up their rights, wrists upward. "Lefts please, and turn your hands." They looked at her with dopey expressions, so she sighed, picked up their left hands, and stamped them. They looked confused, Ignacio's dumbfounded expression more pronounced than the foolish blond's beside it. Still, they wandered into the restaurant to find a table, the kid-check lady rolling her eyes behind them.

The tables were wrecked from earlier customers, so Corvin and Ignacio settled for the cleanest one, which had two multicolored syrup rings from rainbow ice Dippin' Dots. Corvin, disgusted, attempted to wipe away the melted ice cream, but it smeared and left a larger stain on the table. Ignacio couldn't have cared less, scratching his thick, ginger mane and throwing his coat right over the smear. Corvin clicked his tongue and placed his belongings onto the seat, unknowingly into a puddle of pizza sauce.

Afterward, they were ready for play passes, the magical cards that allowed them to play the games. Cocky, as demons typically were, the incubi swaggered over to the front, to a less-than-friendly worker with dead eyes.

"Fetch us cards for the games," Ignacio slurred, smirking as if he thought he was cool; to Corvin, he was, and to the dead-eyed man, he wasn't, of course.

"Time or points?" the worker asked, frowning.

Corvin pushed in front of Ignacio, his eyebrows curved. "What's the difference?" he questioned.

Though the worker thought the question was straightforward enough, for he understood it without ever being explained the difference, he sighed, "Time is minutes you can play. Points are a solid thing you spend. You can either have unlimited points for an amount of time or just an amount of points."

"Which is better?"

Another common question to the worker. In no mood for further explanation, he said, "I'll go ahead and give you points."

Corvin, assuming he got the best cards, took them and strolled off. Ignacio would follow, but first, he only had food on the mind. He ordered a large meat lovers pizza, then ran into the game room to find his friend, nearly tripping over his intoxicated legs.

Corvin stood at the Dog Pounder game in the kiddy section, giggling like a deviant. He nudged Ignacio, who stared at the CEC clubhouse and wondered if he could fit inside. The ginger demon turned to the blond curiously.

"Hey, get a load of this," Corvin said, gesturing toward the title and the overall mechanics of the game.

However, Ignacio simply stared off, his head tilted slightly.

"Ah, ya damn drunken idiot. Forgot ya fricken glasses," Corvin groaned.

Without glasses, it was a miracle Ignacio even walked straight. But the fool managed whenever he abandoned them, which happened more often than not when he was inebriated.

Ignacio's attention slipped from Corvin, so the blond snapped his fingers, then started, "It says 'dog pounder', ya blind idiot."

After a quick chuckle from Ignacio, Corvin finished, "Ya've gotta slam tiny balls into the dog's mouth for tickets. Sounds like somethin' familiar to ya."

Enamored with CrimsonWhere stories live. Discover now