Find out what
Arnold Slick
is up to
Arnold Slick
is up to
You're curious about Arnold Slick, who didn't give much away in his televised winner interview. Is he acting suspiciously, or is that just his vibe? The throwback James Dean garb looks a little ridiculous in this paradise garden, off his idling motorcycle — but he has a swagger that intrigues you as he slopes off towards the river, and you can't help but read something into the look he gave you when you first arrived. You attempt to follow at a distance, but he turns around immediately and fixes you with a cool stare.
“You wanna come with? I usually ride solo.”
“You wanna come with? I usually ride solo.”
He turns and stalks on. You're still so excited to be here, that you throw caution to the wind and run to catch up.
“You seem to know where you're going.”
At this, he visibly preens.
“Clever one, you. Know an expert when you see one. I spend most of my time around motors: making 'em purr. Lubrication is key, ya see. Your average bloke, he's not got a clue. You don't know your wheels til you flip open that bonnet and get 'er oiled up.”
You keep walking, wondering at what point you signed up for a mechanical lesson, and if Slick knows that lube isn't just for inanimate objects. Distracted, you trip over an exposed tree root — suspiciously bulbous and veined — and his strong arm shoots out, catching you by the waist. Suddenly you're face-to-face, and very close. His 1950s adherence to breath mints is appreciated.
“Whoa there, missy! Running like a generously-greased generator over here.”
“I-i guess too much lube can be dangerous”, you dare to breathe. You catch the scent of the pomade that's been combed through his slicked-back pompadour, intoxicated for a moment. So he's a bit of a bore, but aren't you, too? At that moment, the spell is broken by a rushing liquid sound. Slick's attention flickers over behind you.
“There she flows.”
You're out of his embrace as soon as you were in it, and it hurts a bit that he's forgotten you so quickly. Following his gaze, you have to admit that what you see is breathtaking. A slow-flowing, but powerful, glistening river of lube, the banks as treacherous as quicksand.
“Hold up, I got something to take care of.” He reaches down to the turned-up bottom of his retro jeans, and pulls out a very non-retro phone. You think back to Kisska's one wish, and feel enraged – how could he?! Before you can protest, he puts a finger to your lips. “Listen love, boundaries are all well and good. But this lube is something else. It's the only substance on earth suitable both for human pleasure and motorcycles. I'm this close to reverse-engineering it, but there's something off with my viscosity. If I can get a video of it flowing, I know we'll get somewhere.”
“We?” you venture.
He splutters, “Well, yeah. Me and the boys back in Aus, we clubbed together and bought up all the Scrumdiddlyhumpcious we could. We're a pack, y'know? Us riders stick together.” A smirk passes across his features, then he leans in towards you and asks: “How about you, Charli? Who sent you here?”
He reaches out to your choker, fingers lightly stroking your throat. You can't help but feel transfixed by him, even though you're disgusted at his bro-ness, his disrespect for Kisska. It's been so long without anyone's touch. You're warm for this moment, by this river, shaded by ferns and basking in your own luck. Then suddenly, you recall those DMs from last night. A shiver passes through you, as the delusion falls away. Reverse-engineering Kisska Brand Lube™, as if!
Slick notices as you suddenly freeze, but doesn't clock why. “No mates, eh? Too bad. They don't know what they're missing.” His flirting, so inviting a moment ago, now leaves you cold. He's just a sleaze trying to get photos of Kisska's factory and grab Slutworth's promised riches. As he turns away, your mind scrambles: how can you stop a slimeball ruining this paradise? The inelegant answer comes to you as he reaches the river's edge, angling his phone for the best shot: just one small push.
Without thinking, you launch yourself towards him, arms outstretched. He immediately loses his balance, already perilous on the greasy banks. The phone gives a loud plop as it falls into the river and sinks out of view. Slick himself is next to succumb, losing his footing and tumbling headfirst into the silky current. But you've misjudged your own force, and you too go skidding into the flow. Gasping, you both surface.
“What did you do that for?!” he sputters. “Now we're out of here!”
You realise what he means as the current picks up speed, winding away from the beautiful gardens and toward a pipe which clearly leads to the dreary outside world. You curse your choices: following a less-than-average man, when you had a fantastical world to explore.
“You seem to know where you're going.”
At this, he visibly preens.
“Clever one, you. Know an expert when you see one. I spend most of my time around motors: making 'em purr. Lubrication is key, ya see. Your average bloke, he's not got a clue. You don't know your wheels til you flip open that bonnet and get 'er oiled up.”
You keep walking, wondering at what point you signed up for a mechanical lesson, and if Slick knows that lube isn't just for inanimate objects. Distracted, you trip over an exposed tree root — suspiciously bulbous and veined — and his strong arm shoots out, catching you by the waist. Suddenly you're face-to-face, and very close. His 1950s adherence to breath mints is appreciated.
“Whoa there, missy! Running like a generously-greased generator over here.”
“I-i guess too much lube can be dangerous”, you dare to breathe. You catch the scent of the pomade that's been combed through his slicked-back pompadour, intoxicated for a moment. So he's a bit of a bore, but aren't you, too? At that moment, the spell is broken by a rushing liquid sound. Slick's attention flickers over behind you.
“There she flows.”
You're out of his embrace as soon as you were in it, and it hurts a bit that he's forgotten you so quickly. Following his gaze, you have to admit that what you see is breathtaking. A slow-flowing, but powerful, glistening river of lube, the banks as treacherous as quicksand.
“Hold up, I got something to take care of.” He reaches down to the turned-up bottom of his retro jeans, and pulls out a very non-retro phone. You think back to Kisska's one wish, and feel enraged – how could he?! Before you can protest, he puts a finger to your lips. “Listen love, boundaries are all well and good. But this lube is something else. It's the only substance on earth suitable both for human pleasure and motorcycles. I'm this close to reverse-engineering it, but there's something off with my viscosity. If I can get a video of it flowing, I know we'll get somewhere.”
“We?” you venture.
He splutters, “Well, yeah. Me and the boys back in Aus, we clubbed together and bought up all the Scrumdiddlyhumpcious we could. We're a pack, y'know? Us riders stick together.” A smirk passes across his features, then he leans in towards you and asks: “How about you, Charli? Who sent you here?”
He reaches out to your choker, fingers lightly stroking your throat. You can't help but feel transfixed by him, even though you're disgusted at his bro-ness, his disrespect for Kisska. It's been so long without anyone's touch. You're warm for this moment, by this river, shaded by ferns and basking in your own luck. Then suddenly, you recall those DMs from last night. A shiver passes through you, as the delusion falls away. Reverse-engineering Kisska Brand Lube™, as if!
Slick notices as you suddenly freeze, but doesn't clock why. “No mates, eh? Too bad. They don't know what they're missing.” His flirting, so inviting a moment ago, now leaves you cold. He's just a sleaze trying to get photos of Kisska's factory and grab Slutworth's promised riches. As he turns away, your mind scrambles: how can you stop a slimeball ruining this paradise? The inelegant answer comes to you as he reaches the river's edge, angling his phone for the best shot: just one small push.
Without thinking, you launch yourself towards him, arms outstretched. He immediately loses his balance, already perilous on the greasy banks. The phone gives a loud plop as it falls into the river and sinks out of view. Slick himself is next to succumb, losing his footing and tumbling headfirst into the silky current. But you've misjudged your own force, and you too go skidding into the flow. Gasping, you both surface.
“What did you do that for?!” he sputters. “Now we're out of here!”
You realise what he means as the current picks up speed, winding away from the beautiful gardens and toward a pipe which clearly leads to the dreary outside world. You curse your choices: following a less-than-average man, when you had a fantastical world to explore.
Inexorably sucked toward the dark, wet orifice ahead, Slick disappears from view. Suddenly, you feel a new resolve brewing. You stopped this creep! Kisska would be proud. Fuck it, you're proud! This is the new you, rebirthed in lube: no more CargoCorp. No more being a doormat for your flatmates. Time to live like the sexual maverick you always were! You become used to the current, floating on your back now, and gazing up at the last glimpses you'll have of that rose-tinted sky. Echoes of Princess Kisska's throaty laugh tickle your ears, from somewhere past the bushes.
