Simple Warm Ups (December)
Short warm ups that involve Yonic. Multiple scenarios.
The haze of sleep was met with the burning realization of needing release. Yonic rolled off the couch sluggishly and swayed through her living-room's hap-hazard placement of secondhand furniture. The flush echoed through her dark, one bedroom, apartment. All blinds were drawn shut, all but for the broken set hanging by a threaded panel in the kitchen window. She hissed as the mid day sunlight hit her eyes. "_Heck..._This is too early to be alive." A glance at the microwave clock. Very slow rubbing of the eyes. Another glance at the clock with squinted vision. It read 12:06. She sighed then slowly trudged back into the living room to curl back up under the woven Scooby Doo throw, "Good Night."
The carnival at night was a spectacle to behold with lights, and music. More happy with less chance of the gut busting roller coaster's bile smell to come breaking through the wafting aroma of fatty franks and gooey caramel corn. The carnival during the day however, ghost town dump heap. It was her pleasure to work the caramel corn caravan at dusk. Trading with the other vendors, sweets for treats. Her fur-less homosapien-esque paws. Her hands. Perfect for working with the sickly sticky treat and leaving the gooey gunk hair-free. The possum rolled in the high calorie riches, of which she ate a plenty. She was no stranger to consumption.
After being drenched in a late evening storm, Yonic found herself pushing through an unusual looking part of town. Looking for any building with unlocked doors to keep her dry and possibly warm. Black leather doors became slippery as wet hands pushed them open. No time to stop and smell the air, Yonic's eyes caught the flicker of an open fire place. She soon found herself deep within the belly of the beast. A romping sex club known as _The Back Room.
- - -_ "And that's when I said, 'Armadillo? I thought you said Burrito!'" The crowd erupted in roaring laughter. It caught the brick walls of the bar and seemed to echo into eternity. Lifting up, away from the Open Mic Night stage. She's floating. She's falling. Away from that spot light. The echoing laughter growing more distant as she fell deeper into nothing. She walks into the bar for Open Mic Night. Grabs a seat at a table near the stage as a nervous possum takes the center light. The joke is long, but well worth the punchline, "And that's when I said, 'Armadillo? I thought you said Burrito!'" She's laughing, tears in her eyes. She glances around to see the others enjoying the joke. She now swallows her fear as she approaches the stage. She takes a deep breath, "Just as you rehearsed Yonic. You got this." The alarm clock on the coffee table wakes her from her graceless slumber. With the opening of one eye she groans, "I hate Open Mic Night."