“Good tomato juice,” says the blue clad Improvio, swigging it down.
“Coffee’s nice as well,” speaks Inertia in turn. “We’ll have to keep this place in mind. They have food too.”
“Met some people, auntie, while I was waiting for you. A couple. One of them said they lived around here. The other said she might move here. Can’t remember their names.”
“Don’t talk to strangers,” the pale woman warned. “The band’s the thing. I see you have the ring on.”
He exposed it more. “Yes, I love it. Thank you so much. Now I have the Spirit of Punk at my disposal. There’ll be no stopping me.” He gulped. “Us, I mean.”
Inertia smiled. “You were always my favorite, Improvio. Ruthless and dogged like me; that’s why I decided to give the ring to you and not Chroma or Earie. You will lead us to the promised land. Have you spoken to Rocky Racco yet? You must sway him to our side. That is a primary goal.”
“Primary color goal,” he added playfully.
“Yes,” she said, looking him over. “Red and yellow might as well be dead and stashed away in that tall grass beneath the train ramp.” Inertia then scowled toward the shop window. Both knew the cat listening in on their conversation would also have to be killed and put within same.