The Mud Clod (Walk In/Open)
Karen laughed, shaking her head, gripping firmly to her self-image. She grabbed her glass, not to drink, but to ground herself. "And yet you are right," she teased. "I am much older than you are, and it did used to be quite a bit more fun. Boats, wishes, coins. We have more modern methods now, of course," she added. "Anyway, enough about the bad old days. Would you like a new drink?" She stood and went towards the bar before he could respond. Changing her aspect like that had unsettled her nearly as much as it had Booker, and she could use a moment to compose herself. Besides, he was sitting at her table, which meant seeing to his needs was her duty as host. Old habits died hard, after all.
Liked by: Tindome
"It's all so impersonal now!" Booker agreed. "Overpopulation, that's what it is. Too many corpses, overloading the system." He nodded, pleased with himself in the manner of an old man who'd just turned small talk with a younger man into an unexpected screed. Not necessarily qualified, but definitely opinionated, and always happy to share as if those opinions had inherent educational value."Su…re?" She'd left before he could finish agreeing, and he hoped he hadn't made her uncomfortable. Maybe he should have been more supportive of her… terrifying death face. He cupped his hands around his mouth to call after her. "Dirty martini!" he called after her.
Not to be rude, or anything. Just wouldn't want her getting it dry on the rocks. A waste of good gin, was what that was.
She heard him call out and raised a hand in acknowledgment. She retrieved from the bartender a martini for him and a bourbon for her. A nice modern drink, bourbon. Hopefully it would ground her in the now. As an afterthought, she ordered french fries for the table as well, to be delivered soon. Food was part of playing host, and she didn't want to offend by offering something Booker wouldn't eat. If he drank martinis, he likely ate potatoes.
Karen slid back into her chair and passed the martini over to her companion. "The bartender knew your order, so I got another of what you already had," she informed him. "I needed a moment to compose myself--I apologize for leaving so abruptly."
Liked by: Tindome
Booker accepted his new drink with a gracious nod of his head. "He's a good egg, that one," he said, having been coming here a long time. Never stopped him from being paranoid, though. He was real particular about his martinis."Don't worry about it," he assured her. "We've all been there." He paused. "Well. Not exactly there. Maybe less of the, er, shadows and all. In general, I mean. You need a minute, you take a minute, and you won't get no guff from me about it." He tapped on the table. "Anyone tries to look at you sideways for it, you bring them here and old Booker will set them straight."
The fact that he was younger, smaller, and not a living avatar of Death all went unmentioned.
"Feeling better now?" he asked hopefully.
Karen smiled, touched. It had been a long time since anyone offered to stand up for her. The fact that she didn't need protecting was immaterial. "I do feel much better, thank you. And I have been terribly rude to you, Mr. Booker. I have spent so much time complaining about my life--well, existence--that I scarcely know anything about you besides your "odd jobs." Would you care to elaborate, or is it the kind of job that is best left unspoken?"
She took a sip of her bourbon and sat back to listen, willing to let Booker take his time to decide what to say and how truthful it should be.
Liked by: Tindome
He beamed. Then he shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat. "Aww, well." He scratched at his hair. "I'm nothing to write home about, really. Or maybe that don't seem fair, when I've been such a nosy bugger." He crinkled his nose, looking a little awkward. "I'm just… a fella. I like listening, and dirty martinis, and bowling. Talking to pretty girls, if a pretty girl will talk to me."
"Do you like bowling?" he asked suddenly, a little hopefully.
Karen frowned. "A listening ear is a rare thing, and not "just" anything, but I will hold my peace. What is bowling? Is it one of your new mortal games?"Due to the nature of her job, Karen didn't often meet people who were in any position to be going bowling, or really doing any sport. Her last lover had liked to watch football from her hospital bed, but Booker didn't seem like the type to play that kind of sport.
"Aww," he said, with a bashful sort of smile. "That's real sweet of you to say, so thank you."He perked up in interest and surprise when he realized what she'd asked. "You're not – you don't know about bowling?" It wasn't the cruel kind of incredulity, but instead excited by the prospect of being the one to introduce her to the concept. "It's – oh, man. It's just great, is what it is. What about ninepins? Have you heard of ninepins? It's simple enough, you know, just knocking down pins with a ball, but it takes real skill to get them all down with just one throw – and the game's only half the fun, you know, getting drinks and all."
Karen considered. "I know of similar games," she admitted. "I may recognize it when I see it now that you have described it... I go all over for work, of course. I may have seen a bowling game and not known it for what it is." His sudden interest made her want to smile. That was always her favorite part of speaking to mortals: the moment their eyes lit up with enthusiasm for some ephemeral thing. That spark of love and creativity is what had created her and the other psychopomps, after all.
It was nice sometimes to remember that she was a metaphor made manifest by belief, rather than the static, never-ending spirit she felt like lately. "Would you please show me a bowling game sometime? If you enjoy it so much, it must be entertaining."
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »