Monday, August 9, 2010

Dead Rite chapter 18.01

"So how did we die?" Dill toyed with the dregs in his glass. "I don't remember dying. Shouldn't there have been a bright light and our mothers welcoming us with open arms?"

"I bloody hope not. Mine's still alive." Sam turned around on his stool to face the room. The two men Julie had pointed out as werewolves had left, leaving their breakfast plates on the table. He could see the remains of an egg among the toast crusts. "it wasn't that sort of dying, was it? We're still here, I mean. We just sort of detached from out bodies."

"Why though? Was it the weed that geezer gave us? He said it'd blow our minds."

"It's a puzzle. all right." Sam slid off his chair and approached the abandoned plates.

"What is? Why we're dead, but not?"

"Hmm?" Sam spared him a glance. "No. Why anyone would leave an egg on their plate." He dug his fingers into the cold, semi-congealed yolk. "Look! It was a fertilised egg, too."

"Oh, that's disgusting." Dill shook his head and stared into his drink, the image of the egg altering in his head until it was a parturient chick complete with feathers and beak and wide, staring eyes that Sam was consuming. He blinked away the image. "Mr. Bernard?"

The bartender looked up from his paper, surveying the now empty bar then across to Dill. He straightened and stretched, his hands clenching into fists as he yawned and his yellow-orange wings quivering with muscle tone.

Dill stared in awe at the wings as the bar flooded with a musky, woody scent reminiscent of his grandmother's house when he was little. She lived in the countryside in a small village of a few hundred houses. Bernard's wings smelled like walking along the canal towpath near her house.

The barman closed his wings and his mouth and opened his hands, ambling along the bar to Dill. "Just Bernard is fine." He gave an upward nod to Sam. "Oy, kid. Bring those plates over, would you?"

"Could we have a couple of breakfasts?" Dill opened his wallet. "I know you've been more than generous already but we haven't eaten properly today. We were on our way to the union building at college, but the lady told us to stay here."

"Sure." Bernard picked up a waiter's pad and wrote 'Break x2' in copperplate handwriting. "That'll be seven quid."

"Ah." Dill displayed the empty pockets of his wallet. "Any chance we could have credit?"

2 comments:

stephanie said...

1. You did switch PsOV and just in time, too!

2. Once more, I feel for the lads. I hope he gives them brains and eggs, a southern delicacy you know. ;)

Leatherdykeuk said...

Ah! If only I could write Americans!