10/16/2022 NaNoWriMo, BANSHEE BEACH: 1254/35145.

Not as much wordcount today, but I’m not behind.

The leader of the Saffrons was a big guy, stripped down to bare chest and ken loincloth. The rest of his clothes were set out around him, because why spend money on laundry when the sun can bake out all the stink for you? That being said, he did have a bucket full of soapy water, which he was using to clean himself. He also sported an impressive number of bandages, which he was gingerly removing from his torso as we walked up.
This time, Lucas spoke up, first. “No stinks this side, bra.”
The Saffron looked at him. “You brown in all the Orange places.” He said it mildly. “You just posing, or you mean it?”
“I earned the tan, fair and square,” Lucas told him, also calmly. “We’re not in the north, though. Nobody I hung with had a flap with the Saffrons, and none of you had flaps with us. You’re in the Southlands now.”
“Don’t I know it,” the Saffron leader grumbled. “What about you?”
“Me?” I shrugged. “I just live here. But I do kinda have — what’s a ‘flap,’ Lucas? Beef, lawsuit waiting to happen, blood vendetta?”
“Yes to all three. It’s one of those useful words.”
“Thanks. —Yeah, I kinda have a flap with you guys. That coach you guys buzzed? I was in it. It wasn’t a fun time. Wasn’t for the coach driver, too.”
He started to puff up a little, I guess in indignation; but then he visibly stopped, and deflated. “Yeah, that was a dumbass move. Bad time, bad place. Look, I’m ‘Denny the Jumper.’” From the way he said it, it meant something, at least to him and his people. I just hoped it didn’t suggest a tendency to throw himself out windows.

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