Damn the Man

[maddy_ricks]

At twenty-four years old, Madeleine Ricks was trapped in the body of a fifteen year old. Or so it appeared to the rest of the world. At 5’5”, she was of average height, but thin as a rail with limited curvature. The results were infuriating. Carded for alcohol, carded for smokes, and the latest insult, carded for Gore Fest at the Huntridge Theater. Only this time, she had stuffed cash in the pocket of her overalls and left her ID card at home.

The employee – who had barely scratched eighteen himself – suggested she bring her mother to sign a release form.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” she screeched. She slapped her palms on the plexi-glass that separated the ticket salesman from the throng of fans splattered in fake blood outside. Making a scene wouldn’t get her anywhere. On a cognitive level, Maddy understood it. But she had a hell of a temper. She grabbed the paper and rolled it up lengthwise. “Do me a favor, okay? Heh… you take this release form and you gently guide it up your pimple-covered ass!”

She left the window and paced in front of the building, chewing a hangnail.

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[maddy_ricks]

“You’re thinking beheading?” she asked, settling into her seat. The fabric was cool and faintly sticky from years of use. Overhead there was a balcony that had been roped off because it was deemed structurally unsound by inspectors. Every year, there was a fundraiser to pay for renovations, but it hadn’t panned out yet. The crowd who spent the most time at the Huntridge couldn’t afford to donate, which was okay to Madeleine’s thinking, because the last thing she wanted was for her favorite theater to be gentrified by a bunch of yuppie investors.

“I’m calling castration. We can try to guess what they’re using as testicle debris. I think grape jelly.” She sipped at her soda. “I always wanted to work in a props department. You could experiment with what looks most like entrails.”

[devin_capshaw]

"Can you imagine," he said, staring straight ahead at the sheer wonder of it, "being head of props on the set of the Shining?"

Devin looked at her.

"Redrum."

[maddy_ricks]

Maddy’s hands shot up. A few kernels of popcorn flew out of the bucket. “Stop, stop! Oh my god! Kids, man, kids, I hate kids! That little weirdo was scarier than Jack Nicholson.”

She shuddered.

"I wanted the evil bushes to get him, but they wrote the bushes out of the movie."

[devin_capshaw]

He scooped a handful of his own popcorn. "You mean you don't want a Jack Nicholson popsicle? Kill-joy." Devin looked around the theater. The audience was a ragtag mix of couples and college-looking kids.

"Okay, if we're going to be Gore Fest buddies, my name is Devin."

He studied her seriously for a moment. "You look like a...Joan."

[maddy_ricks]

“For real?”

She squinted in the dark theater. She didn't feel like a Joan, but as long as she was channeling Joan Jett and not Joan Collins, she could live with it.

“It’s Maddy. D’s, not T’s.”

She stuck her hand over the arm rest for a shake. A bit belated, she knew, since she had already molested his cheek, but hey. Better late than never.

[devin_capshaw]

He wiped his popcorn oily hand on his jeans -- they were about cashed, anyway -- and shook her hand.

"I took a stab in the dark," Devin said, grinning. "Get it? A stab in the...yeah." He leaned back against the chair, and there was already a foot solidly planted in the back of it.

He leaned forward again. "I can safely say I've never met a Maddy before."