"Look at these heifers lining up for the slaughterhouse."
"Oh shut up!"
A pale skinned brunette with tied back hair took a look at her friend after a drag on her vape unit. "I'm serious, Magdalene, those people in the queue are downright fat. How many corndogs have they consumed by this point?"
"Wren, you're just projecting because you've got a hint of a tummy. News flash, real women don't have to look anorexic thin to be skinny." Although the speaker, Magdalene, was the standout example of the 'real women have curves' adage. She had full breasts, a round rump and plump thighs, a knockout beauty with her blonde kissed honeyed-hair and bronzed skin. If admittedly on the chunky side.
Contrariwise, Wren would have her beanpole physique lost under hoodies, fishnets, thrift jackets and chain studded skirts. Except for a budding hint of potbelly above a loosened belt, that she angrily obscured by stuffing the front pouch of her sweatshirt with stuff she would normally keep in her pockets.
"I'm still saying quite a few of them are downright fat," Wren snarled as she put away her vape pen, trying to avoid the curving of her tum as her hands jostled through her effects.
"Do you want this churro anymore or am I going to have to eat everything?" Magdalene challenged. "You're the one who made me drop everything to get here without having supper. Foster isn't here yet so we might as well have something while we wait."
Wren had to relent her unlikely friend on that point as a churro and hotdog combo was pressed into her hands. Starch, meat and fat in equal measure. Wren would be lying to say that she wasn't hungry, as the options at the horror attraction popup were limited. The two young women hang been hanging out since junior high, once on the fringes of each others friend circles. Wren had terrible taste in art, worse in music and particular interest scary movies, yet she was also a major science buff that raised money for endangered animals. Magdalene was a former cheerleader/beauty queen type once on a music theory scholarship, if it wasn't for the fact that she had 'relaxed' considerably after her formative years on the pageant circuit, with her closest friends in the know about her lazy and somewhat disgusting habits.
Such as the echoing belch after wolfing down her combo in the time Wren ate half of hers. "You eat too quickly, Mags," Wren chided.
Magdalene stuck out her tongue, letting the rest of the gas escape her system. "I'm just getting anxious before we enter the attraction."
"It can't be that scary given their flimsy budget," Wren munched thoughtfully, making a note not to stand downwind of Mags when she was frightened.
"Don't act so stoic, Wren, you were the one who couldn't wait to come here."
"Foster was the one who organized everything," Wren deflected, licking mustard off her lips.
"You're the one who gave him the idea," Magdalene said, before turning and letting a cacophonous sneeze spray all over a dead tree nearby, without covering it in any way. "You always fancy letting other people take the initiative on something you really want to do."
Wren stayed silent as she swallowed the last of her hotdog. Luckily, the awkward truth in the conversation was diverted by the arrival of their friend Foster. A lean, sandy-brown haired guy a head taller then the gals.
"Where's everyone else?" Magdalene asked.
"Coming over from parking," Foster replied with a laid-back tone. His chief interests were basketball and science fiction series, so it had taken some strong armed hinting by Wren to convince him to propose the idea of the outing to Gerbert's Scarefest. "Oof. I feel like we should all be younger, or old enough to have kids of our own."
"It's a public attraction," Wren insisted. A primordial fear of how having kids might wreck her body shifted to a private image of how much Mags would have swelled popping out a few babies. Anything to avoid catching themselves in the oddly weighty demographic of the queuing guests.
"Have you tried these new pie flavors?" Foster offered some handheld pies still steaming in the foil bag picked up from a nearby corner store. A treat from a shared haunt that Wren, Mags and Foster all hung out at. "The limited edition pumpkin pie & cream cheese flavor."
Wren's burning stare and handful of garbage from the meals should have clued off Foster, but she had to reluctantly accept his generosity after some ribbing from Magdalene. This soon segued into a discussion about promotions, brand mascots, and what little prior exposure they collectively held to the urban legends surrounding the space themed family entertainment eatery that inspired this attraction.
Enough conversation to last them until the rest of the group arrived for the reason they were at the Scarefest to begin with; Wren, Mags, Foster and co were all...
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