"What kind of place do you have anyway?" Leo asks. "Is the diner you mentioned going to be part of the bowling alley? I just have the hardest time imagining what an Al Amarjan bowling alley can be like!"
"Yeah, it is part of the building. As you look at the bowling alley, all the windows to the left of the double entrance doors look into the diner. It is called, predictably enough, The Spare-a-Minute Diner. The lounge is the King Pin Lounge, the Little snack bar/vending machine/locker area is called 7-10. You know, a take off of 7-11?"
Leo looks doubtful at the last one, but nods hesitantly.
"Anyway the place has to be made ready for customers, the bowling equipment works but the amenities are lacking. I found a dead duckbilled platypus jammed into the oven vent in the diner. It... looked fresh, I cannot explain or even come close to explaining that." He pauses, sighs and looks around, blinking when his eyes pass over Ingar.
Leo winces at the cruel death of the anonymous platypus.
"So I need staff to help do all the dirty work and to brainstorm ideas and such, also there are a couple of rental spaces at either end of the building and I have to speak with the tenants of the one that is rented and find out just what has been going on around the place lately. Part of me just does not want to know, but If I am to make a go of it I must know everthing." Another pause.
"I have spent some time in bowling alleys, and I would like to capture that feeling. I want it to be a place where parents can take their kids and not have to worry, where everybody can have a good time. That's the plan anyway."
"I've never been in a bowling alley," Leo comments, a bit unsure. "But I saw 'The Big Lebowski'," he adds, brightening up. He hesitates, then asks: "Do you think someone actually jammed the platypus there, or did it just crawl around and get stuck?" He pauses again, thinking. "I don't think a platypus would be running around the island unless it was an escapee. Aren't they native to Australia? Maybe you could ask at Insta-Pet, here on the Plaza of Flowers. I understand they rent exotic animals."
"I don't think they fly or jump real well, so it had help getting into that vent. Did you say they rent animals?" Chris gestures as he talks, "What good is a rental animal? What could you possibly..." His mouth drops open, his gestures cease and an alarmed look comes into his eyes. Several unwelcome and unwholesome images flash through his mind. He thinks: 'Well, I guess Ingar is not the weirdest thing ever, in fact he is reassuringly freakish.'
Leo chuckles. "Well, some people rent animals to film movies," he points out, "and I don't mean 'that' kind of movie. Or to impress visitors. Or even to try it out, see if they'd like having, say, a duckbill platypus as a pet. I understand it's pretty popular in Japan."
"Ahhh, maybe I will have a talk with them, find out who lost their rental deposit," Chris muses.
"Exactly. Or who might have bought a platypus in the past. Was it a male or a female, by the way?"
"The purchaser? No, you mean the platypus. Of course. I have not the slightest idea."
After a while, Sheena returns with a tray full of glasses and bottles and pots and other vessels for liquids. She slaps the beverages on the table, and although she didn't forget anything, she completely ignores who ordered what. Then she turns again and walks back, piping freshly: "Food will be done in a few moments."
Chris grabs his drink and swallows about half of it in one gulp, he then paces himself with the rest.
Ghishu silently takes his tea and slowly sips from it. He then turns to Leo, talking in a very calm and distant voice, "Thanks for ordering for me, Leo." Turning to the others sitting with him around the table, he tries to explain his behavior in an apologizing manner, "It looks like I'm still getting used to this place. It's just too much for one day".
Leo nods, looking around. After nodding his thanks to the waitress, he props his elbows on the table and his chin on his fists, contemplating the long, busy first day they've had on The Edge. "I know what you mean," he sighs. "I hope you're OK?"
Ingar grasps his glass and the mug of water, each held gingerly with three fingers, pours himself a drink and pours it down his maw.
Chris decides not to pace himself and slams the rest of the drink down his throat.
Leo stares with fascination, vaguely reminded of a head-in-the-lion's-maw act one of his colleagues used to have. One of his deceased colleagues. Oh well, long time ago, way before the animal-less circuses of today. (The visual effect is actually more like "head in the great white shark's maw").
Doctor Forn joins in: "This is truly an extraordinary place, and I must say that I was not quite aware of Al Amarja's many divergences from other Mediterranean cultures before I came here. A quite varied place, but, if I may say so, rather weird." (Seemingly, he is oblivious of the fact that this is the pot calling the kettle black). "I must admit that I have found my first day here rather stressful, but also rich in experiences."
"Ya know, Ingar, with the way you speak, I am starting to suspect that you are a head shrinker," Chris says.
"Indeed, I am a Doctor of Psychology," answers Ingar with a grin that might look friendly if not for the nasty, big, pointy teeth. "So far, I have been forced to confine most of my work in the field to research, but I am beginning to hope that in such a cosmopolitan area as Al-Amarja, I might be able to establish viable therapist-client relationships. In Norway, all people - except the hallucinating schizophrenics and people in deep comas - found my appearance too startling to confide in me." As he utters the last sentence, he loses the grin and looks down at his glass as he carefully refills it.
Chris thinks, Maybe it is because they think you are going to eat them. He smiles and says "Norway, eh? I once stayed a couple of days in Haugesund at the Rica Maritim Hotel. Beautiful place right on the water, the service was outstanding. And the women! Well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you about the women."
"Well, I once stayed at the very same hotel myself, and I found it very much to my liking as well. As for Scandinavian women..." he smiles shyly, with his lips closed, "...it is generally agreed that they are quite beautiful. This is, of course, not meant as a derogatory statement regarding other ethnic groups."
Leo shakes himself from his reverie and turns back to Chris. "So where exactly is your bowling alley situated?" he asks. "Having now seen a few of the barrios, I'm starting to have some appreciation for the old advice: 'location, location, location!'"
"It's just around the corner, on Bilge Street," Chris says.
"I must say that you're pretty good, Leo", Ghishu comments, "With everything that was happening today you actually managed to pay attention to where we were. I wouldn't even know how to get a taxi, let alone get to places around here. Too confusing." Then, like something lit up inside his mind, he starts looking through his pockets. Coming up with a crumpled piece of paper he says to Leo, "I forgot to call Li".
Leo nods emphatically. "Li seems like a great gal," he comments. "Why don't you call her from here? I think I saw a sign for the restrooms and the phones over there," he points towards a corner of the establishment. He chuckles, remembering the Emir's Feast. "Tell her she can come smell the beer and food!"
He turns back to Ingar and Chris and explains: "At lunch she bought this huge meal, then announced Ghishu had to eat it since she just wanted to smell the food. Said her chi allowed her to draw energy from the air." He grins. "That diet hasn't been made popular yet, but she seems to do great on it!"
"Humph", Ghishu sighs as he is reminded of lunch. "I think I'm going to give her a call. I'll be right back", he says as he leaves in the direction of the pay phones.
Leo unfolds a little tourist map of The Edge and peers at it. He traces the path of Bilge Street with his finger. "Hmmm... Is it in Flowers or in Great men? Because I think that would make a huge difference on your future." He reaches for his Trappe and takes a sip, unconsciously humming his appreciation of the rich beer.
"Just around the corner, about a block. It's next to Arne Frank's Dairy," Chris says.
Leo groans at the name, but brightens up.
"The name got me too, you won't believe the service they provide," Chris says smiling. "I mean, I thought it was a regular dairy, I was soooo wrong. Oh, I'm sorry, I interrupted, please go on."
"Flowers is good," Leo says, his eyes twinkling. "It's clear that this barrio attracts not only the artistic crowd, but those looking for the night life. You might want to think about innovative combinations. How about a poetry night, or a costumed night, or a reggae night on the monthly calendar? Wine tasting and bowling, or --" He glances at Ingar with a mischief in his eyes, "a therapeutic night, bowl-and-howl."
Ingar quietly ignores this suggestion.
The sudden mental image of Ingar in a bowling shirt and bowling shoes causes Chris' right hand to spasm, this would not be noticeable or a problem except for the fact that that was the hand in which he was twirling the swizzle stick that came with his drink. The stick arcs gracefully through the air to land with a soft plish in Goodness' unattended Jamison. Other than that, he remains rigid and in perfect control of his emotions so that not one giggle, guffaw, snort, laugh, bray, titter, snicker or chortle escapes him.
Chris relaxes and pulls out some fliers that he had stuffed into his back pocket, he leafs through them until he comes to the one he wants.
"Something like this perhaps?"
The flier is from someplace called Orchard Lanes in Chico, California and is promoting XTREME BOWLING which is bowling with all the main lights out and nothing but strobes and lasers and other carnival type lights. The flier actually uses the phrase 'mind-blowing.'
"Yeah, there is music playing, its midnight, it would involve the people that live on this island who are bowling in the dark, everybody has access to blunt, aerodynamic objects and are in a competitive situation. What could possibly go wrong?"
Chris takes his pen and using another flier writes down all of Leo's suggestions. The other fliers all concern various bowling clubs one could join, or charity events that could be run. Nothing really Edge-like.
"I'm up for anything that draws crowds and has a low casualty rate, I really want it to be a family place"
Leo listens with attention, nodding every once in a while as he envisions the place. "So what are you going to call it?" he asks. "The alley, I mean, since you already mentioned names for the lounge, snack bar and diner. It sounds like a cool concept, I'd like to see the place. And at some point you'll have to tell me about Arne Frank's Dairy."
He turns to Ingar. "I'm not sure I've explained," he says, "but Chris has offered me a job in the bowling alley he's inherited. Kind of an unusual place for me, but I've performed in weirder places still. I'm a circus artist, a juggler and contortionist. Chris saw me auditioning at Home Brew."
"That seems like very nice job. You truly get to develop your own unique abilities, and spread joy and wonder. Very nice," mutters Ingar, with a placid, closed-lipped smile.
"It is called Rick's Bowling Palace, but you couldn't tell that by the signage." Chris cranes his neck looking for the waitress and a refill. "The Dairy, now, I should have suspected something because of the painting on the outside. It looked liked a Neiman, but I doubt he painted it. Anyway, I walked in. I was hungry and was hoping to get some milk and a pastry or two... the first thing I see is a woman wearing a bright silver jump suit. Did you ever watch those old fifties and sixties science fiction movies or TV shows where everybody in the future wore bright silver clothing? Well, that's what this woman and her coworkers were wearing, as if that was not startling enough I then spotted the cows."
"Right, you would expect that there would be cows somewhere in the area, but not IN the building! You see this was a self-self milk bar, the cows are restrained on platforms about five-six feet up, the customers then...... ah......... drink directly from the udder. They don't milk the cow and then drink from a glass, no no no no no, they are nursing."
Chris grabs his pen and starts twirling it, he seems unaware that moments ago he launched a swizzle stick into low earth orbit.
"I see all of this, and then stupidly say 'Oh, it's this kind of dairy, ha ha ha my mistake, sorry.' As if I'm familiar with this concept. As I turn to leave I see a sign that says 'ALL OF OUR COWS PROUDLY INJECTED WITH BOVINE GROWTH HORMONE, other injections to order.' The place was crowded, some cows had a line four to five deep waiting for a turn."
He sighs deeply, "But other than that it was a normal place."
The man has dark olive, Mediterranean skin, black shoulder length hair, and a look of mild desperation. He has a cigarette crammed into one corner of his mouth. He looks fairly tough, but in a rather distracted sort of way. When he speaks there is the smell of alcohol on his breath.
The woman appears to be Indian, with very dark skin and close cropped black hair. She is wearing a blue tank top and matching blue pants, leaving her muscular midriff and arms bare. Her face is oval, and appears broader than it is high which gives her a mildly sharklike appearance. She walks a couple of steps behind the man.
As he approaches the table the guy puts on what seems to be an attempt at a friendly grin - it doesn't quite come off as he hoped it would, but it isn't totally cheesy either.
Ingar, of course, grins back, genuinely friendly and genuinely frightening (though whatever the man is on may of course mediate his experience).
"Evening folks," the man says. As a sales pitch goes it isn't bad, aside from the fact that it is obvious from the moment he opens his mouth that he is selling something. The accent is pure Al Amarjan. "Any of you lookin' for some action tonight. I'm packin' Blue Shock, Slo-mo, Wings, Jumpers, some Deep. All with or without Relapse. Good prices folks, and very clean stuff. Very clean. Anyone interested?" He looks around the eager businessman's face tinged slightly with hope and anxiety.
"Pardon?" says the wild-visaged psychologist, looking bewilderedly at the salesman.
"What? Blue Shock? Slo-Mo? What are those?" Chris asks, almost simultaneously.
Griffin shakes his head, saying in a friendly tone, "No thanks, mate, that stuff'll kill yah quick." He watches the man and the woman closely, wondering how desperate they are, and if they might start trouble.
While his companions decide on the merits, or lack thereof, of Blue Shock and other candy, Leo remains oblivious to the two new arrival. Instead, he's looking at the crowd lined up along the bar. He points to one customer, a man dressed in nothing but blue jeans and a pair of Doc Martin boots. The man's bare chest sports a large number of scratches and gouges, some quite fresh and crisscrossing with old scars. His body language radiates contained menace, and despite the crowd the stools on either side of him are empty.
"I've seen that guy fight," says Leo in a hushed voice. "And he was in a good mood at the time. If he gets in the cage to fight, all my money goes on him. He's the baddest S.O.B. in this joint, no doubt about it." He looks a bit sheepish when he adds: "I've already lost money betting against him, I'm not going to repeat the mistake."
Griffin swivels his head to look more closely at the man. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, clean cut features, and a well-muscled body. Around six feet tall. Fortyish. Lithe and wiry - a bit moreso than one would expect from a street fighter type, which is what he otherwise looks (and dresses) like. Reach is about the same as yours. The number of scars is surprising, but none look debilitating (though it looks like he wrestled a cougar sometime recently - and apparently won since he is still around.) In addition to abrasions, contusions, stab wounds, scrapes, and some blunt trauma injuries, he has some old scars on his wrist and neck suggestive of shackles and a collar.
Griffin cannot judge his skill. He cannot touch his chi, sense his crease, view his aura, or examine his stance. From a skill perspective the guy emanates no distinctive presence at all.
Sheena comes back again, balancing a myriad of various plates, pots, bowls, baskets and what not, while making it look like she grew up with the national circus. And again, charming as ever, she slams all of the things down on the table, spreading a good part of it on the table. noticing the 'sales-person', she quickly takes out a huge black purse. "Okay, people! Time to pay up, before y'all go and waste my money on him!" she say pointing at the man.
Picking up half his calamari from the table, Leo looks unhappy. Clearly, the girl is skilled enough to balance the trays, but too slovenly to care. He glances at the Slo-Mo salespeople that have Sheena of the Jungle so worried. "Look, lady, don't get your garters in a tangle. As far as I know, no one's buying anything from your friend here." He pulls out the amount owed for his dinner and puts it down on the table in a little puddle left by Sheena's deftness. Chris gathers in his food, but makes no move to pay.
"Hey!" yells the man, abandoning his friendly demeanor and dodging some random food items. "Shut yer fuckin' mouth, bitch! I was just havin' a friendly conversation here!" He glances down at the table. "Sheeeit! A one-armed baboon with a broom handle up its ass could do a better job of waiting tables than that! The only tip you're going to get is advice that you find another job!"
While this tirade is going on, the man's female companion says nothing. Those who give her even a glance note that she seems to be waiting for a cue from the man before doing anything.
Griffin is suddenly in the man's personal space, standing in front of him. In a very quiet voice he says "I think you should apologize to the lady, now."
Dr. Forn stops in mid-move while taking out his wallet, and looks with some consernation at the ensuing aggression.
Temporarily he ceases wondering how much he should tip a person whom is undeniably serving slovenly but whom might on the other hand need precisely a bit of kindness, working at a rather demoralizing place such as this, and begins searching his mind for some friendly comment which might defuse this situation. This task is rendered quite difficult by the simultaneous effort to ignore the fact that part of his mind is howling atavistically for blood and making snide comments at other, more timid parts of his mind at the same time. And there is something about the tentacles of that calamari which still another part of his mind keeps picking at, like a scab. And how much should he tip? Blood at the tip of his tongue! Tentacles! All in all, it is mental cacophony.
He smiles helplessly and looks quite frightened and slightly nauseated, and not at all helped by the fact that the beat of the music sounds like some huge, alien heartbeat, and the jiggling being done on stage is somewhat akin to certain sacred (or perhaps "obscene" might be a better word) dances done prior to human sacrifice.
The man takes a couple of steps back to place Griffin back outside his personal space. The look on his face is a mixture of fear, anger, and frustration all bunched together.
"Me? Apologize? What about her spilling' food on my shoes, huh? Making' a mess all over the table, huh? I don't see you getting' in her face to apologize for nothing', so how come you're picking' on me, huh?" Apparently noticing Kyle's collar for the first time, the man says "Hey! You're a slave! I don't have to take any shit from no slave! Why don't you mind your own business, huh slave?"
Meanwhile, his female companion continues to watch him, only sparing Kyle an occasional glance.
Griffin steps forward into the man's space again -- or tries to... He finds his path blocked by the man's female companion.
His eyes are locked on the other man's, looking very intense he says quietly, "Ingar, go get Goodness, he knows first aid." There is a cracking/popping sound, that everyone realizes is the sound Griffin's knuckles have made as he bunches his hands into fists...
Behind Griffin's back, Leo looks frantically at his companions, mouthing: "What the hell is with him?" His arm snakes to rest on Griffin's chair, ready to send it sliding behind the man's knees if testosterone poisoning completely shorts blood flow to the brain and he takes a swing. Chris shrugs, he picks up Ingar's water glass and tests its heft.
"Please sit down sir," the woman says pleasantly. She has a lilting Indian accent.
"Who's your master slave?" says the man, in a bantering tone. "Maybe I can buy your contract?"
"Please sit down, sir," repeats the woman politely but firmly.
Grffon snorts, and doesn't say anything, he's still standing
"Hey!" says the guy, looking past Griffin at the table, "One of you folks own this slave? How much for his contract? I'll give you a hundred bucks. I can sell him at the D'Aubainne Clinic for spare parts and clean up!"
Leo shakes his head. "He's just being obnoxious," he murmurs for Chris and Ingar's benefit. "From what I understand, a master can't order a slave to do anything that would result in death --" He pauses, as the implications of such a clause, when striclty interpreted, become clear. "Then again," he continues at last, "I suppose removing only one kidney, or both corneas, or one lung, isn't fatal..." He makes a mental note never to get himself into a 'voluntary' slavery contract.
Sheena looks really frustrated and tired. she watches while the two men strut their macho stuff, then, at the right moment - which is approximately when they aren't paying her any more attention - she also steps into close-combat-space with the two men. Working at Sad Mary's teaches valuable lessons in life. "Did you just call me a bitch, you half-assed little faggot punk? You want me to kick your salted peanuts all over the floor and make some peanut butter? Is that it?" She spits on the floor, rather not lady-like, but it curiously seems perfectly in place with her. "LUCIUS! JONATHAN!" Tragically, both Lucius and Johnathon seem to be on break at the moment.
Leo shakes his head sadly. "Just once, I'd like to be able to finish a drink and meal," he sighs. He picks up his plate and glass and gets up. "I think I'll go finish this at a quieter table. I've already paid anyway. Guys, I'll be happy to see there?"
He starts moving away from the all the happy people. "I can't believe there are so many folks who would rather fight for free than get their $100 for fighting in the cage," he grumbles. He keeps an eye on the quartet as he edges away, in case things start flying.
Chris reaches forward to find his steak and rolls. In his experience one never knows when the next meal will be, he then moves to where Leo is.
Goodness returns to see that the food ordered by the group has arrived, and seems to be generously slathered over the entirety of the table at the moment, with only incidental bits and pieces of individual orders yet remaining on the correct plates. A man and a woman are facing off against Kyle and another woman who is obviously a waitress. As Goodness approaches he catches the man's next words.
"Fuck you, bitch! You come around interfering' in my business and then get all high and mighty about it! Maybe you should figure out how to wait tables before you start fuckin' around with others livelihood, huh?"
"Ma'am, please step back," the Indian woman says to the waitress politely.
"You want to go a couple of rounds, is that it?" the man yells at the waitress. "I'll wipe the floor with your sagging bitch ass!"
"Sir," the Indian woman says, directing her comment at Griffin, "Please sit down."
"Come on!" the man screams at the waitress. "Lets see what you got! Take your best shot bitch! I ain't gonna start this, but you take a swing and I sure as hell will finish it! Come on! Come on you chickenshit bitch! Take a shot! Come on!"
"Ma'am, " repeats the Indian woman to the waitress, "please step back."
"Right." says Goodness, "What's all this then? Someone having trouble wi' me slave?"
"Your slave?" says the man, "This sagging sack of shit," he points at Kyle for emphasis, "is yours? How much for his contract? I want to walk him down to the D'Aubainne clinic and see what I can get for him."
"Sir," says the Indian woman politely, turning to Goodness, "Please ask your slave to sit down."
"No. It's actually someone having problems with me," grumbles Sheena. She spies over her shoulder, but there's no sign of Lucius or Jonathan. With a sigh she decides to take matters into her own, very capable hands. "Your slave", she adds raising an eyebrow, "is being extremely helpful. but I think he should can his macho attitude, though."
"Ma'am" says the woman to Sheena, "please step back."
"C'mere," says Goodness, gently steering the man and his companion away from the gathering crowd. "Slave, ye've got a fight comin' up soon. Sit. Please." He regards the waitress for a moment, and the table of what should be plates of food. "Jest a sec, miss," adds the agent with a calm smile. "We'll get all o' this straight, an' then ye ken go back to makin' mudpies out of oor main coorses. Oh, an' slave, I'm no dietician, bu' air cheese fries really a good idea thairty minutes afore a match?" He finishes by throwing a glance at Ingar, and jerking his head slightly in the direction of the highly-strung Griffon, and attempts to remove Mr. Potty-Mouth and Lady Please Step Back to a more distant location.
"A'ight", says Sheena reluctantly. "But I ain't forgettin' and I'll be comin' after that shithead!" Turning to the remaining people: "and I didn't forget you lovelies neither!" She smiles. "Time to pay up!"
Grumbling Griffin sits down again. Reaching into one of the inner pockets of his vest he pulls out an old battered wallet. Fishing inside quickly he comes out with the money needed for the food. Handing the bill to the woman he says, "Keep the change."
"You want me, you know where to find me, bitch! I'll be waiting for you!" yells the man as Goodness leads him off, his female companion trailing behind him.
After a bit more posturing, the guy follows Goodness' lead. The woman follows behind him, shooting him a grateful glance.
"Hey, it was nothing personal!" says the man to Goodness, "That bitch spilled food all over my shoes. Then your slave starts getting in my face over it. You need to teach him some manners! But that's all water under the street now, heh?" he says, trying to be jovial. "You interested in a little financial transaction? I got Blue Shock, Slo-mo, Wings, Jumpers, some Deep. All with or without Relapse. Good prices my man, and very clean stuff. Interested?"
"Neh," says Goodness with a smile. "Unless ye got any Communion? Oh, hey, by the by, et cetera, an' so foorth, air ye truly interested in buyin' the slave's contract? 'Cause I'll sell 'im to ye fer three hundred. Think aboot it. He'd make a good bodygaird, oor, as ye said, ye kin sell 'im fer pairts. He'll fetch a lot moor than three hundred at the Univairsity, oor even Ahmed's of sairtin rumors air t' be believed." He looks to the wall to see what number is flashing, and then glances at the woman. "M'lady," he says with a bow.
"Nah, I already got a bodyguard," says the man, nodding towards the
woman (who in return nods at Goodness). "As for Communion, sorry
but I don't carry that. You might try Madam Vylaska's Party Favors
across the plaza, or the Church of True Sensation."
"Hey, beats the heck out of me," responds Leo, clearly miffed. "It's clear that this guy Mr. Goodness calls his slave is here for the fighting, but he's too much in a hurry to wait for the bell to ring. We were sitting there chatting when the two drug hustlers walked, just as you were leaving for your call. No one was interested, but the waitress made a beeline, to get paid before we spent all our money on them, she said. She spilled our food all over the place in her hurry. Then Mr. Salesman-of-the-Month starts calling her names for interfering, Mr. Slave starts muscling in on Mr. Salesman, Sheena of the Jungle starts threatening Mr. Salesman, Ms. Backup starts ordering everyone to sit down, and Mr. Goodness comes back to settle this. By then, I had decided I wanted to finish just one meal in peace."
He turns to Chris: "Did I forget anyone in this madhouse? There's poor Dr. Forn still hoping everyone would just get along, I guess." He pauses, looking critically at Sheena's antics. "If you haven't paid already, you should throw her something," he comments to Ghishu. "Just so she'll stop spilling things on us."
"I don't think so," Chris says through a mouthful of steak. "I'll pay when when I'm done, I plan to rub the money around on the plate first."
"Hey Leo", Ghishu says to his friend nodding towards the man with the blue jeans and Doc Martin boots sitting by the bar, "Isn't that Norbert? The guy from Kuan Tun's? You know, he doesn't look too out of place here. How about we go say hi?"
"Mmmm, I don't know," says Leo slowly. "He seems to be... brooding, if you see what I mean. He doesn't look like he's here for small talk. But hey, if you want to ask him for a rematch, I noticed there was a clinic right next door!" He shakes his head. "No, I think I'll pass on saying hi. I'll look him up at Kuan Tun's about those capoeira lessons, though. That is SO cool." He smiles.
Something attracts his attention, and he looks over Ghishu's shoulder at the table they left a moment ago. "Ah, seems like Goodness is sorting things out. Nice job. Now if he can just get a couple of deep drinks to his slave, maybe the guy will chill." He pops a calamari in his mouth.
Ingar seems to have forgotten all the strange and frightful conversations going on around him. Equally oblivious to the fact that he has not yet paid, he absentmindedly clutches his wallet in both hands, like a drowning man grasping at a straw. Not adressing anybody in particular, he utters the syllable "IAI" in a drone of such low pitch that it is barely audible to the human ear. As both his hands are occupied, he leans forward over the table, positioning his face over his beef tartar. As Ingar's legs are still not bending at the knees, the maneuver leaves him jack-knifed over the table. There is a brief sucking sound, like an airline toilet, and he raises his face again. The beef is gone.
Soon after consuming this bloody morsel, things lighten up inside Dr. Forn's cavernous mind. Returning to the mental level of gregarious tool-users, he grows suddenly self-conscious. Ingar slips his wallet in his pocket with a deft movement. Grabbing a napkin, he dabs it furiously around his mouth. This exercise is worse than useless, as his lips were entirely free of any stain as he started, but as he wields the napkin, he leaves smudgy traces of Sheena's less than graceful delivery around his mouth. "So sorry, bit of an action slip there, I'm afraid", he squeeks, his gaze darting from person to person, in a vain hope that they may have been to occupied with their own business to notice his little faux pas.
Well, no such luck for Chris. After talking to the ginslinger about the food delivery fiasco Chris turned to look in the direction of that table to see what was going on with Goodness and the wandering merchants. He unfortunately looked just as Ingar took his bow.
Chris says "Nggg." A moment later he adds "Gah." The greasy roll he was holding? If you thought the launch of the swizzle stick was impressive.........
As Chris reaches to pick up his steak and rolls, and Leo waits, a quick glance at the bar shows that the bartender has slung his towel over one shoulder and has left his traditional position. More surprisingly, he is walking in the direction of the table. He stops a few feet away and regards the mess with evident concern. "Is there a problem here?" he asks.
The bartender turns in the direction of the conspiratorial conversation between Goodness and the man. "Damn it Sandy," he says, apparently to the woman, "I thought I told you to keep Knobs out of trouble."
The Indian woman shrugs a reply. "I am sorry Mr. Germaine. He became angry when the waitress dumped the tray containing that table's food down with enough force to spill some of the food onto his shoes," she replies.
The bartender turns back to look at both Chris and the waitress, and raises one eyebrow. "Sheena, are you making a mess of customer's orders again?"
"Oh, come on, Mr. Germaine! You know that it isn't my fault! You said that it wouldn't matter if my spastic cramps act up again, when you hired me! I'm really taking my medication and I'm giving my best!" Sheena shrugs. "Besides, I was just about to kick that limpdicks ass!" she says pointing at Knobs.
The bartender regards her for a moment. "You had your chance," he says finally. "Back to the dressing room - you'll go on stage after the fights. Tomorrow you're back upstairs." He turns to those at the table. "The meal's on the house. Sorry for the inconvenience."
Sheena, properly chastened, heads off towards the dressing rooms. The bartender says, "next drink is on the house," and goes back to the bar. After a few minutes spent chatting with a woman at the bar, Goodness returns, and everyone settles down to consume their respective (though now somewhat mixed) meals.
Chris, still staring at Ingar, is unaware his meal has just been comped.
If you could see into Chris's mind you would see some sort of parliamentary discussion taking place.
Representatives from the entire brain have come together for an emergency session.
"I say a complete collapse is in order!" shouts Mr. Cerebellum.
"You have to go through me, pal" retorts Mr. Spine.
"Gentlemen, Gentlemen please stop your bickering, we will get through this if we just act together," Mr. F. Lobe says, trying to bring the assembly into order.
"Mr. Cerebellum has the floor," a clear authoritative voice declares.
"Thank you, Temporal. What I am saying is that I am ready to dump the bowels and go into a full foetal, just give me the go sign." He pauses. "This is the best way to handle this, it really is." There are murmurs of assent from Mr. Infundibular Stalk and Mr. Pituitary.
"NEVER!" Spine shouts. "We will not disgrace ourselves as long as I am around." Pointing at Cerebellum he says, "Do you just want to give up? That is your best idea? We have faced too much to be brought low by some steak inhaling Scandi freak! I will have none of it! Do you here me, NONE OF IT!" He nudges his usual partner, the well developed and quite large Mr. Fornix. "Wake up man, I need you with me."
"Whaaaa?" mumbles Fornix "Wha time is it?
"Time to stand tall and not back down, time to fight" says Spine.
"Fight!" Fornix is alert now. "Who? Where?"
"Not physically, mentally. We are fighting off fear."
The ramrod straight Mr. Spine walks to the center of the assembled, followed by his hulking friend. "We will not give up, do ya here?" he asks softly. "It is bad enough that we are locked into some worthless startle reflexes." He flashes an angry look at the Colliculi brothers. They both flinch. "I urge you to choose another path, one that leaves us some dignity." He returns to his seat.
"Ummm, we could just forget it ever happened. Put a smile on our face and get on with things," Mr. Hypothalamus says. "It worked after that drunken threesome with Judy Tenuta and Emo Phillips."
There is a loud, sustained burst of applause form most of the group. Spine knows he can't get all of what he wants and accepts the compromise.
"Mr. Motor Strip, send out the signals if you will please," orders Frontal Lobe.
"Aye, aye. Signals away!" shouts M. Strip.
Chris' eyes light up and smile comes to his face. "So, big guy, you enjoying your food? That's great, glad to see it." He turns back to his plate, something worrying at the back of this mind. What is it? He thinks hard and suddenly it comes to him. "Free food! Fantastic!" Chris is happy.
"The Assembly is dismissed!" shouts T. Lobe. There is a huge sigh of relief, and much shaking of ganglia from all.
Dr. Forn nods and smiles happily. It worked! For once, a person was able to see beyond appearances and perceive his friendly intentions. Bathed in a happy glow, he easily squelches an internal objection to "the very idea of friendly intentions".
Chris looks up as he is munching away. He nods deeply to Ingar. He thinks, "I really like vanilla, I will have some for dessert."
Leo, however, heard the bartender loud and clear. "Thank you!" he exclaims. He makes a bee line for the table where he left payment for his meal, hoping the bill are still there glued in the grease and sauce spilled by Sheena. On his way, he vaguely considers making a detour to say hello to Norbert, but almost instantly decides against it for for the sake of his continued health. Norbert looks mean tonight.
Ingar smiles gratefully at the bartender. After putting his wallet back in his pocket, he begins eating his vegetables, spearing each daintily with a fork, putting it in his mouth, removing the fork and then chewing the vegetable. All done with care and elaboration. But still, despite all the deliciously healthbringing and nutritious plant matter, he cannot stop thinking about blood, meat, blood, marrow, meat, blood, meat, intestines, blood, kidneys, meat, blood, meat, grey matter, meat, Chris, blood, serious embarrasment, meat? Suddenly self-conscious, Ingar swivels his head with all the langour and discression of a whiplash, taking in the full image of the shocked man through his bovine eyes. He then flashes a smile of the kind which God might have given used car salesmen if he intended for them to eat their merchandise.
"Knobs, eh?" says Goodness, with a nod towards Frank Germaine. "Ye look like a man who gets around, Knobs, an' you too, miss. If I needed someone t'keep an eye oot an' an ear t' the ground, with the promise of financial recompense, d'ye think ye'd be intairested?" He seems to say this as much to the woman as the dealer.
Sally looks to Knobs, who responds with confidence. "I'm your man. Talk to me."
Goodness nods to the pair. "Not at the moment, mind. I'm thinkin' aboot goin' inta business fer meself soon, an' it's always good t' have an ear t'the ground. If ye think ye'd be intairested, I sure wouldn't mind comin' t' ye fer a word oor two from time t' time. What do ye think?"
"I'm up for it," says Knobs. "You can leave word for me with Germaine."
"Can do," says Goodness, shaking hands with the pair. "Keep yerself healthy 'til then, Knobs. An' you too, Miss." The Scottsman returns to his table and settles in to take a sip of his scotch, then remembers the woman at the bar, and takes his drink with him.
Griffin quits paying attention to everyone else. Finding a bottle
of catsup he shakes it, before opening the bottle. He tips the bottle
over the fries, putting a good amount of the sauce on them. Setting
the bottle down heavily he looks around the table for the salt. Seeing
it just out of his reach he says, "Hey, can somebody hand me the salt please?"
"Hey Burger!" the diminutive cabbie says with a wave, then stops abruptly upon getting a look at Ingar. After a moment's shocked silence she begins to leap about, hissing and spitting and yowling like a cat in heat, making warding gestures and magical signs with her hands.
Leo leans towards Ghishu. "Uh, I think you should make introductions before we have more misunderstandings," he suggests. He waves at the cab driver, though he has fairly low odds of actually eliciting a sociable reaction. "Hi, Li!" he greets her, hopeful.
"What's with her?" Chris asks.
Upon seeing Li, Ghishu smiles and gets ready to get up, only to abruptly stop upon seeing Li's reaction to Ingar. A bit shocked at first, he is brought back to reality with Leo's words.
Ingar, however, is having a date with sur-reality. The Norwegian's face becomes warped and swollen, his jaw juts forwards making his teeth seem even larger than usual. Above it, his eyes widen in fright. Moreover, Ingar's already stout girth is bulging out, straining at his leather belt, and an observer not sufficiently sceptical might claim that it was squirming.
His voice a strained drone, the Doctor of Psychology states: "Lady, your behaviour is superstitious, chauvinistic and totally uncalled for. Please stop. Please! Phhh! Phhh!" Forn stumbles heavily to his feet.
Standing up, Ghishu smiles at Li and says "Hi Li!". He reaches to grab her hands before her strange gestures turn into something more violent. Li, however, has other ideas and dances back out of the way, still yowling in Chinese and making weird signs with her hands.
"Li, calm down. This is Ingar. Although his looks may be a little disturbing, you will find him to be a very pleasant man."
Li pauses long enough to scream "NO CHI, STUPID SCARAB! NOT ALIVE! DEMON!"
Ghishu, still trying to restrain his date, continues gamely.... "And next to him is Chris". Turning to Ingar and Chris, he introduces Li "This is Li. She's a cabby that we met earlier today". By this time people are beginning to stare.
Ingar is quite vocal about something. However, he is speaking only in consonants ("fnngh!", "hph!", "mrmh!", "gh!", "rh!"). He wobbles away from Li, remincient of a slightly spastic and rather non-confrontational Frankenstein. Hopefully, he is heading towards the men's room, but he himself is not entirely sure.
"Now you have just frightened the poor man," Chris says. "Can't you see he is sensitive about his looks?"
Concerned about Ingar's reaction and wondering if the Heimlich manoeuvre is in order, Leo gets up. "I think I'd better accompany him, just to make sure he's all right, " he says hurriedly. He sidesteps Li's gesticulations and Ghishu's attempts to calm her down, and follows Ingar hurriedly.
"Doctor Forn... Ingar!" he calls behind the hulking Norwegian. "Are you all right? Do you need medical help?"
"M'jw's'lckd'p! Bt'll''b'fn'n'mnt. Thnk'jw'fr'skng." responds the Norwegian, waving his hand in what he hope will be perceived as a dismissing gesture. Wobbling from one foot to another he desperately swivels around his own axis, trying to spot the men's room and steer clear of actively superstitious individuals.
Leo hesitates a bit, not wishing to intrude on Dr. Forn's privacy, aggravate him, or worsen his episode by causing him added stress. On the other, hand, this might be a seizure and Ingar may need some help. Come to think of it, in The Edge, it would not be far-fetched to imagine petty thugs trying to take advantage of the situation and mugging a defenseless man.
At this point in Leo's cogitations, he remembers the sudden disappearance of that steak on Ingar's plate, and the circus artist has a fleeting vision of would-be thugs disappearing the same way.
Leo gives Ingar a comfortable headstart, then heads for the restrooms as well, his pace now considerably more sedate.
As Ingar totters off in the direction of the Men's Room, closely followed by Leo, Ghishu manages to capture Li's hands.
"STUPID BURGER! YOU NO LISTEN!" Li screeches in response, "DEMON! DEMON!!!! NO CHI! RUN, BURGER, RUN!!!" She tries desperately to disentangle herself from Ghishu, but without much success.
By now many of the patrons are staring. Over at the bar, Norbert turns to regard the little tableau, his face mostly a mask of boredom.
"Demon? C'mon, he may be a freak, he may be a mutant, but a demon? No way. He's Norwegian," says Chris with an emphatic nod of his head.
"Li", Ghishu tries to calm her by talking in a calm voice as she writhes in his grip, "How can you tell he's a demon just by looking at him? He's not a demon. It's just his looks that is a little different. You want to tell me that you've been living here for a while and you find that intimidating?"
Seeing that his words won't calm her down, Ghishu tries another approach. "Lets move over there for a minute" he suggests. As he makes an attempt to move with Li towards a small vacant table a couple of tables away from the gang, he tries to loosen up his grip a little.
Li struggles for a moment, then gives it up when it becomes obvious
that it isn't getting her anywhere. "Ghishu, ugly burger HAS NO CHI!"
she says emphatically. "NOT ALIVE! Why you never listen when
Li tell you something? When Li say 'demon' you say, 'No, no!
Li crazy! Li not know what she talking about!' So fine, Li
not know what she talking about and that that. But in last seconds
of your life when demon grow big long stinger and start sucking your guts
out through your anus or dissolving flesh from your bones or something
like that, you no better be laying negative energy on Li! You better
remember then what Li told you and not come back and haunt Li because you
got your own self into trouble, and Li tried to get you out, but you Burger
know everything there is to know about what is demons and what is not demons
and what is dangerous and what is safe."
"RGH!" quips the sharp-witted Ingar, stopping short right inside the door. Polychromatic, caustic slime - like a melted rainbow - begins running from his eyes and nostrils, and bubbling forth in froth between his teeth. The shirt covering his stomach begins to pulse outwards rhythmically. After a couple of seconds, he pulls his jacket tightly together over his abdomen, controlling his abdominal disturbance to some extent. Then the much-abused Norwegian aims for a free stall, if there is such a thing in this place.
Leo comes in after a suitable pause, and sees Ingar walk into a stall. He spares a sideways glance for the fauna of the dismal restroom, then dismisses it at relativelu harmless. He walks closer to the door, staring at his feet (it's rude to look through the door crack!), coughs politely, then asks with hesitation: "Mister Forn, do you need a doctor?"
The immediate response is a trio of jolts as the back of Ingar's head slams against the stall's door, and his hands slaps into its sides, shaking the entire structure. This causes an immediate and surprisingly high-pitched scream from the adjacent stall. This followed by Ingar's distinct basso profundo growling out something so entirely unlike any human language, yet so implicitly meaningful that it would give Noam Chomsky lifelong nightmares. It is also so loud that it can not only be heard, but felt through the entire body. The growl is accompanied by more highly-pitched sounds reminicent of a sackful of cats being boiled alive in hot slugde. The noise is mercifully brief, and as it dies down, a moist, slapping sound as if a baker's dozen of beached eels were skipping around inside the stall can be heard.
The sream also carries some meaningful information - "OHGODOHJESUSOHGODNONONONOFUCKINBITCHOHMYCOCKOHJESUSHELPMEHELPMEAAAAARGH!" Accompanied by a wet gurgling sound somewhat akin to someone trying to shriek while vomiting.
"Goddamn FUCKING Democrats," says the geezer at the urinal, waggling his weiner to rid himself of that last, stubborn drop.
"UM - LÊÔ, I ÂM SÔ GRÂTEFÛL FÔR YÔÛR CÔNCÊRN -" Ingar begins, his words ringing out slowly like a Final Judgment, the voice from the stall then skips into a pleasant, quick-paced tenor "- I was a bit frightened by the young woman's hostile behaviour, and I am afraid that my fright set off a latent physical condition under which I suffer. I need a couple of minutes to get myself together and presentable. Do you think you could be so kind as to get my satchel? I think I left it behind at our table." The slapping sounds gradually cease as Dr. Forn waits anxiously for a response. An acidic stench wafts forth from the stall, mingling with the already repulsive atmosphere of the room.
By this time the shrieking in the adjacent stall has fallen to a low moan. The door bursts open and a woman, unclad from the waist up, bursts out. She has profuse quantities of blood on her face, particularly around her mouth, and a look of abject horror on her face as she sprints out of the men's room as fast as she can go. The door to the stall slams shut after she leaves.
Leo tries to swallow, but discovers his throat is to constricted for this. A trip into this bathroom should into this bathroom should do wonders for anyone's dieting plans. He takes an involuntary step back, pauses, then takes a couple of voluntary steps back.
"Uh, sure, Doct... Ingar," he says, his voice a little shaky. "I'll be right back..."
He steps backward to the bathroom door, much like doomed characters in typical Hollywood horror movies insist on walking backwards until they run into the monster, and hurries out.
Leo backs out of the restroom, leaving Ingar momentarily alone, or almost so. A moment later the flush of the urinal, followed by receding footsteps, indicates that the geezer too has departed.
This leaves only the agonized moaning coming from the stall next to Ingar's. From that direction comes the powerful, coppery smell of fresh blood.
Realizing that Leo has left, Ingar sighs and returns his abdomen to a presentable state. He roughly cleans himself with toilet paper, pulls his shirt and the other stuff he is wearing back down over his stomach and buttons his suit jacket carefully. He strives valiantly to keep his mind off the scent of human blood, which (he mutters) "is not at all tantalizing, it connotes suffering. I hate that smell. Terrible." Having had a good roar, he finds this managable.
Staggering out of his stall, he peeks guardedly into the next and asks the moaning resident: "Sir, are you all right?"
His only reply is another low, agonized moan.
After his short visit to the men's room, Leo comes hurrying out, looking a bit shaken. He looks around, as if getting his bearings, spots the table where the rest of his companions are still sitting, and approaches.
"Hmm, uh, I think doctor Forn needs his medication," he explains. He looks around the chair where Ingar was sitting, and retrieves the satchel left there, lifting it in plain view as if to emphasize his explanation. He looks at his companions, and his eyes stop on Goodness. He approaches the Scotsman and murmurs a few words in a voice too low for the rest to hear.
"I'm not sure what's going on," Leo adds in Goodness's ear, "but it doesn't sound -- or smell -- normal. Maybe there's something to Li's excitement... Ingar shut himself in a stall and the whole thing was shaking. It sounded like... Well, like nothing I've ever heard outside a movie."
Goodness nods to Leo and murmurs, "I'll look t' him. Air ye comin'?" Without waiting for a reply, he heads to the men's room.
Li observes the goings on - and out of - the restroom calmly, then looks back at Ghishu as Leo emerges and hurries over to talk to Goodness. "'No Li, friend is not demon'" she comments, glancing down at her hands (still held by Ghishu).
As the two approach several other things happen. The loud dance music stops and the woman who had been doing her act up on the stage walks back in the direction of the dressing room. The bartender gets up on stage and pulls out a cordless microphone.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" he announces, "Here at Bar and Girl we strive to give the customers what they want - booze, sex, and violence!" There is a cheer from the regulars and some laughter at this. "It is therefor with great pleasure that I announce the first of our fights tonight. On one side, a newcomer - but one who is sure to be a hit. Lets give a warm, Bar and Girl welcome to GOODNESS SLAVE!!!!" A spotlight begins moving around the crowd, clearly looking for the person who is supposed to be getting up to fight. A spotlight begins moving around the crowd, alighting on Griffin just as he rises to head in the direction of the Men's Room.
"AND, in an EXCLUSIVE ENGAGEMENT here at Bar and Girl, for ONE WEEK ONLY... FROM AMERICA! You know him, you hate him! from american tv and the WWF the one, the only, GOON OF DOOM!"
At this the spotlight swings in the direction of the dressing rooms and picks out a man dressed in wrestling tights and a mask, advancing on the stage, flexing ferociously.
Griffin grits his teeth slightly, he will really have to have a talk with Goodness. He takes a drink of water, then quickly strips off all of his jewelry and watch. Putting these in one of his vest pockets he slips out of the vest, saying, "One of you watch this for me please." Putting the vest on the table he walks up towards the stage, pulling first one arm, then the other across his body, stretching. For the first time anyone who is looking really gets the idea that Griffin is in incredible shape.
Chris is glad to watch The Slave's stuff. Gives him the perfect excuse not to think about what may be going on in the men's room.
Unnoticed by most, an old geezer steps out of the Men's Room and surveys the scene. "Goddamn fucking ASSHOLE Democrats," he mutters and heads for the bar.
Leo hesitates, then starts following Goodness back to the men's room. But at the announcement of the contenders for the first fight, he freezes in place. Wild-eyed, he whips around to stare at the aforementioned Goon of Doom. Wow! They let him out after all!
Leo reflects that the Goon has shown no love for him in the past, and is higly unlikely to have improved his opinion since. He turns once again towards the men's room and hurried in after Goodness to check on Ingar.
Ghishu, obviously puzzled by the restroom related events, sits there quietly for a while. He then releases Li's hands. "Well, Li, I really don't know what to say. As strange as this may seem, I still can't believe that he's the demon you believe him to be. There was something about him. He's not evil."
"Will you excuse me for a minute? I want to go and see if Leo needs my help". Not expecting any objections from Li, Ghishu stands up and heads towards Leo.
Buttery, Leo, and Ghishu all arrive in the Men's Room within a few seconds of one another, just in time to see Ingar standing outside one of the stalls. "Sir, are you all right?" he says as Goodness enters, eliciting an agonized moan from the interior of the stall.
In addition to the aforementioned smells noted last time people came into the bathroom, the smell of blood is noticeably present.
Dr. Forn turns to his friends. His suit is rumpled and creased, and part of shirt is hanging out over his trousers, but otherwise he seems fine (apart from being a big, ugly, smelly freak). His eyes wide and dog-like, his mouth an O of concern, he whispers rather loudly: "I think this gentleman requires medical attention." Ingar then stands aside to give a more nimble and appealing person access to the stall (after the traffic accident victim's attempted suicide he tries to avoids giving first aid to conscious people). He continues "From his recent yells, I guess that he has suffered some kind of injury to his genitalia, but I do not know how."
"Engar," says Goodness in an agitated voice, "What the bloody hell happened to ye oot there? Tha' woman stairts yellin' aboot yer 'chi', the next thing yer runnin' inta here, an' now yer all consairned fer some Burger who got kneed in the nuts? I'm missin' the slave's fight oot there!" The agent punches himself in the leg out of frustration and mutters, "Christ on a coffee bender, I'm havin' a bad day!"
Leo listens with a look of apprehension. "Mr Goodness..." he finally injects. "I don't think it's a case of someone being 'kneed in the nuts' -- that woman's face was dripping with blood."
With an uneasy grimace, he waves Ingar and Goodness out of the way, and approaches the door to the closed stall. "Sir?" he calls. "I'm going to come in and try to help you, OK? I'm here to help, so don't get jumpy on me. I'll get you some medical help."
The interior has become quiet - a quiet which is suddenly broken by the flush of a toilet within. Leo turns to the other two and mouths: "Doctor." Then he gently tries to pull the stall door open.
The door opens easily (it is not, in fact, latched) to reveal an almost empty stall. There is a small puddle of blood on the floor in front of the toilet, and in that puddle rests a severed human penis.
Goodness glances over Leo's shoulder, into the stall. "I'd say he looks a bit flushed," offers the Scottsman.
Leo, aghast, takes an extra half-second to process this. Then he shoots a reproachful look to Goodness. He turns to Ingar: "Are you sure he didn't run out of here?" he asks, perplexed. Ingar stares puppy-like back at him, perplexedly wondering what kind of trick question this is.
Leo looks up at the ceiling, then back at the toilet. Then all around the men's room. No shimmer like that guy "V" at Gun Metal. No "obvious" secret doors. He looks at his companions again.
"Maybe he's like what they did to senator Kelly in the X-Men movie? You know, turning into a puddle?..." He grimaces, thinking of the abandoned member which apparently remains at least semi-solid. "I'll get ice and take it to The Good Doctors for better packing. We can put an ad in the papers, I understand torn off body parts can be reattached nowadays if they're kept fresh..."
Dr. Forn queries timidly: "An ad? Wouldn't that take a bit too long time? I think this man needs immediate help, don't you?"
The severed penis squirms like an obscene snake until it is pointing at Leo. The praeputial sphincter opens and closes in an obscene parody of a mouth. "come to the house," it squeaks, 'we need you. come to the house. we need you. come to the house. we need you. come to the house...."
Ingar stares at the paranormal little piece of tissue. "Coming to think of it, I am increasingly of the opinion that I need immediate help."
Leo takes an involuntary step back. He looks frantically at Buttery and Ingar, his eyes wide. "What the hell is that???!" he exclaims. "And what the hell does it mean? That's what the dead barista said, 'Come to the house, we need you'. What is going on here?" He whirls back on Goodness, who is the only official 'Martian in the bathroom right now. Well, except for the loquacious praepuce. "You ever seen anything like that happen?"
"Oh, aye," says Goodness, backing up as well, and moving behind Ingar. "All the time. In fact, there's a disembodied vagina at Mama Mia's that keeps wantin' me t' try the chicken." He arches an eyebrow. "What air ye, nuts?" He looks around Ingar at the talking willie. "No offense," he adds. Goodness makes a move for the door. "Look, it's obviously a message fer ye, an' maybe yair friend as well. If Engar's na in trouble, I've got a slave that's hopefully gettin' his ass kicked. Soory again, penis. My advice? Go t' the bloody house." He exits the men's room hurriedly, wondering what else could happen to him today.
As Leo and Ghishu exit the bar they both spot Ben Crutcher being led
towards a table near the back. With him is a rather nondescript guy
with a big bandage on his nose.
To Be Continued...