Page 60 of Lorran
Wyn gasped.
“You have been electrocuted. I knew it.” Lorran reached for her hand, searching for damage.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
Lorran inspected the recreation center again, trying to judge it from the perspective of his mate. Electronic games were sequestered to the left in a dark room. Screens flickered with ancient games. To the right was a concession area. He could smell the decaying remains of packaged food. No scent of rodents, fortunately.
Directly ahead was a rink, surrounded by a half wall. A silver ball spun overhead. Colored lights reflected off the orb, casting a spangle of colors across the floor. A possible dance floor.
“The decor is from the last century.”
“Doesn’t look Mahdfel.”
“Sangrin. It was a very…loud era.” He could not think of another word for it. His mother had family photos of her parents, who were youths during this time. Their clothes appeared garish, with excessive fabric for shirt collars and wide trouser legs. Apparently, they never met a color or print they did not appreciate. Worse still was how all clothing seemed to have been manufactured from an indestructible fabric. “I once wore my mother’s father’s clothing for a theme celebration at the Academy,” he said. Then added, “It was very itchy.”
Wyn pointed to a counter and the equipment stored behind. “Are those?”
“No,” he said, recognizing the equipment.
“They are!” His mate went around the counter and held up a pair of silver air skates. The iridescent material, still somehow shiny after sitting abandoned for years, sparkled in the light. “These were banned on Earth, so you know they’re fun. I always wanted to try air skating.”
“No. Those contraptions were banned for a reason. They are dangerous,” he said.
“Please. That ban was more about xenophobia than safety.” Wyn sniffed the boot. “Smells dry. What size do you take?”
“No. The maglev will be faulty. You will fall and hurt your—”
“Delicate little human feet?”
Yes, but he would not admit to it. Instead, he said, “Pride.”
“My pride has plenty of cushion. It can take a tumble.” She tossed him a pair of silver skates.
“A tumble?” He enjoyed the way the word rolled off her tongue. He especially enjoyed the way her face flushed when he repeated the word.
She fumbled at the boxy control panel on the counter. Electronic music, bright and bubbling, blared from ancient speakers. The flashing lights changed speed and colors to match the music. Her eyes went wide. “This is amazing!”
“It is loud!” he shouted.
“Don’t be a music snob.” She turned dials randomly. The volume decreased to a tolerable level. She nodded her head to the rhythm. “Come on. Show me your stuff,” she said.
When he opened his mouth to reply that she did not need an elaborate scheme to get him to display his stuff, she added, “On the dance floor. I’m all about the haunted discotheque vibe right now.”
Wyn
Lorran’s arms cartwheeled as he frantically struggled to keep his balance. Hovering an inch off the ground, he reached for the half wall surrounding the rink. He clung on as if it were a life preserver and he adrift.
“Oh, look, you’re an expert,” she said.
“This is not a sport. It is torture.” He tried to right himself but tilted too far, nearly falling back. He clawed at the wall, holding himself upright.
Wyn shouldn’t laugh, knowing she wouldn’t do any better, but his face, the pure grumpy deliciousness on his face? She had to laugh.
“Join me. Then we will see who laughs,” he said in a totally non-threatening tone.
She finished lacing up her boots and stepped onto the rink.
Air whooshed up her body, somehow going under her pant legs and right on out her shirt collar.
