By Lord Pyro
"It was yellow."
"It was not."
Nathan sighed. "That car was yellow and you know it."
The foreigner looked out the back window at the rapidly diminishing car. "The sun is yellow, that auto was cream." His crisp accent betrayed no trace of the sarcasm that was really there.
"Your color blind."
"No, comrade," Ben said, "You are color blind."
"Bah!" Nathan huffed angrily. "It's a stupid game anyway." He gave up the argument, seeing that his friend was being as stubborn as ever and that he was not going to win. "You had an unfair advantage," he said presently. "I'm driving."
The human in question, Nathan Brickman, was seventeen. He was tall, which isn't saying much compared to his partner, and well built with thick arms and a broad chest. His bronze tinted eyes were focused on the road ahead of him, which was why Nathan was at a disadvantage to his gaming partner who could easily catch a "yellow." Ben, in turn provided a stark contrast to Nathan. He was short, stocky and had a refreshing Cossack background.
"It isn't my fault I'm short."
"Yellow" was a game. A car game taught to Nathan by his cousin when he was a kid. He, liking a challenge, taught Ben, whom was unfortunately for Nathan, better at it. The object was simple, spot as many yellow cars, PT Cruisers, Volkswagen Beetles, or cars with fake wood siding as possible. When spotted, call them and hit your opponent as many times as the game allots for each type.
They drove in silence for a few moments. Ben was looking out the passenger side window, trying to find some excuse to thwack his driving companion.
"Ben," he said, finally breaking the uncomfortable stillness.
The Russian looked at him. "Yes."
"Yellow semi truck, towing two PT Cruisers, a wood lock slug-bug, and a second yellow to the junkyard."
"Where," the vertically challenged man asked anxiously. Nathan pointed out his own window. Sure enough, the huge monstrosity was turning off to the right, carrying an unfortunate variety of cars, which were all in serious disrepair.
Ben's eyes went wide as saucers as he did his mental calculations. Much to his dismay, it came out a nice, even eight hits. Nathan hit him hard, eight times and a reddish-brown bruise was formed on Ben's head by the time the he was finished.
"Well played," the passenger replied after he rubbed the back of his head thoroughly. "Very well played."
Nathan smiled. "Maybe this isn't such a stupid game after all…"