San Myshuno hosted festivals throughout the year, a spectacular array of cultures found their way to the Spice Festival. Imagine tables of free spicy food samples, stands selling intense flavours to tantalise the taste buds and bright colours bringing the city to life. All those aromas, acoustic sounds from the resident guitarist and topping it all off with a mind-blowing explosion via the bubble blower.
Rylan’s latest novel brought dark humour to the cyber world, following a detective stumbling into a world alien to him. His book brought a freshness to a perhaps overused concept, a good cop gets the bad guy and a will they, won’t they romance with a haphazard forensic specialist. It captivated the audiences, the movie directors of Del Sol Valley, but his inability to translate to dialogue was a different matter. The director fell asleep reading over the first act, throwing the script on the fire, ordering a complete rewrite. Resistant, Rylan’s eyes scanned the screen, words jumbled in his head, he had spent hours planning each section, neglected his girlfriend, forsaken his friends and he was still no closer to igniting the excitement of his book for the screen.
Frustrated, Rylan slammed his keyboard, enough! he needed time to unwind, some hot food and a gorgeous woman in his arms. Emilie and a few friends were at the Spice Festival, Bhel Puri in hand, Rylan was looking for something with an extra kick. He challenged Maesto and Sai to savour the spiciest of offerings, Phaal Curry, three ghost chillies heated up the flaming tomato-based dish. Bitter notes hit their tongues, the effects of heat ignited throats, stomach, red-skinned and sweating the men battled on. Sai succumbed, his eyes and nose flooded, he dropped the plate, running off towards the Karaoke bar, what burnt on the way down, came back worse on the way back up.
Maesto felt the curry repeat on him too, he fought the urge, laying down his plate in defeat. Rylan fought, endorphins circulated his body, pain to pleasure response forcing him to devour every last drop. The coveted Chilli tee proudly won and attracting much admiration, Emilie swooned, impressed by her man. His friends groaned, Rylan bragged, snap chatting his achievement.
Rylan’s stomach remained unimpressed, the churning and nausea, it was hard keeping his discomfort a secret until Emilie went home. Believing milk would save him during the curry challenge, he drank at least a pint, ready for the festival. The resulting prize was worth the suffering he faced in the morning. Work beckoned, Rylan hoped his night on the town did the trick, but his sister’s arrival put an end to another days productivity. Fed up with getting no response, Ziva decided to confront him. He let her in grumbling, why did she come all this way, the phone is a perfect means of communication. Ziva scowled, they were family no matter the distance, they needed their space, besides he was putting the moves on Emilie. Cheeks burned, what he and Emilie were doing was private, he turned back to his computer, grinning, maybe it having the house to him was an excellent idea after all.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 