Sitrus Friction

Prologue

Pitter, patter, the rain sang for the umpteenth time. Where is she, he wondered.

The blue and yellow-furred badger sniffled, feebly throwing a pebble that ended up landing an inch away from him. The Typhlosion didn't dare waste another percent of battery of his phone by trying to call that blasted woman again.

His tuxedo grew somber with him too, so soaked in the rain to provide any warmth it was supposed to. Yet, he lay motionless, allowing the winds push his weight and the rusted swing he sat on. He almost enjoyed the moment, as if he entered a calm and nostalgic memory with a girl who sat on the now-empty swing beside him. He weakly smirked, eyeing the gloomy skies as if they were a vast blue now.

But pitter, patter, the rain went again, splashing onto his head. Wake up, he imagined them saying.

He lifted his arm to glance at his watch, which was a challenge because of raindrops blurring the numbers. He finally read eight-o'-clock after some examination. "Damnation, she's thirty minutes late!" He mildly wished for the "swing memory" to return at this point of neverending boredom.

"Youse still usin' dat Old English, Monty?"

The fire type whirled, stunned by his old schoolmate, an baby-blue-colored alligator whose fangs grinned in sadistic pleasure. He wore a similar tux, with his bulky arm holding a wine glass carrying some Razz Berry Wine. His free one he offered to Monty.

"Hmph, if you must know, I'm keeping my image. You gave up maintaining yours, I presume?" Monty rolled his eyes, accepting his hand in disgust.

The feraligatr cackled, some of the wine leaping off from its glass. "C'mon, youze. All dis, I reckon, a teen's pre-hangover party! It's warmer inside toos, y'knowszs?"

The typhlosion chuckles with him, but he finishes it with a sarcastic tone.

"Very amusing, Rocco, but... I shan't. I'm waiting for that high school flame of mine."

"Dat Maxine girl? You twos are still an 'us'"?

Monty crosses his arms, cheeks lightly blushing.

"Oh pfft. High school ended, right, Rocco? 'We' never made it to college."

Rocco sat on that empty swing, finishing the rest of his wine with a satisfying "ah". He turned to face Monty. "Whatever ya say..."

A silence passed between them.

"Did your lady say she'd be a-goin' to the reunion?"

"Yes, why, she even e-mailed me." He replied incredulously. "She claims to be excited too."

"Maybe she's havin' dose scary secun' thoughts, chum?"

"Nah, she's too quick-witted for that." He proudly replied.

"Reckon she's quick-witted enough to have stood you up an' decided to make youze wait here."

"Maybe." He responded indifferently.

"S'ppose she don't have a care for youze anymores and she's a-sleepin' with a--"

Monty blushed and quickly cut his friend off. "--a-ah, don't go there. She detests...that."

"Doesn't mean she can't do no such thin'." Rocco mischievously implied.

"I hate you."

"Seriously, youze won't really come in widdout dat lady?"

"Well...there really is something I'd really like to tell her." He let out a disappointed sigh, cheek resting on his hand, kicking the ground to get the swing going.

"High school reunions are so hard to get by."

Rocco gave a sympathetic sigh at the comment, as he and his fire type friend stared at the slashing lines of water in the sky.

Pitter, patter, those lines went.