~ Jordan Tay
The tavern bustled with hoards of dying livers and other brainless folk, and it smelled of rain. Water sloshed in and it rested in dirty puddles along the liquor-stained floor.
She paced across the room carrying drinks she hadn't cared to identify due to their obscure contents.
A fattened, pudgy creature hailed her with an impatient wave, and after distributing the drinks she approached him, wiping her hands on the front of her coarse dress.
“What?”
He spoke again and she leaned closer.
“Speak up, pal,”
She didn't flinch when his dry lips brushed her ear. “Time, I say, have you got the time?”
“6:32,” she answered, and the man gave a satisfactory nod, though 6:32 had passed seven hours ago. Hurrying back to the kitchen, she wiped her hands on her dress again before taking more drinks and orders from Lanec. The nights were long and dull. She didn't dress to please and she didn't play.
The time was 3:56.
Somehow she had gotten herself trapped in the bench seat, and she knew well that Lanec wouldn't want her moving around and causing the men to get flighty on him. The five remaining patrons played cards and bought drinks. She was tired, and as counting sheep worked for some, she found counting cards worked even better.
Someone touched her arm, and she recognized Lanec’s calloused fingers. They were alone and the lights had been turned down.
“The baby’s crying, mate.”
“Oh,” she said, sitting up. Her eyelids dragged. She wondered if the child had crawled into the fire, and for a while she sat in an awkward, gory fantasy.
Bah, innocence. Stupidity, more like.
She shifted out of the bench seat, looking haggard.
Lanec ran his rag over tables and collected bottles.
She slipped through the kitchen and found the toddler out of the soda crate, crying near the exposed fire. Her eyes glanced round before she crossed the room toward the child. She checked his hands for burns, but found none.
“Lanec,” she called, lifting the child to her hip, “maybe it's hungry.”
“Then you feed it, girl.”
“What food?”
He said something, but she didn't hear him.
“Lanec,” she entered the kitchen with the child strung round her hip.
“I'll get you something. You know your poster’s up?” He grunted, pulling a slip of paper out from beneath the sink. He looked at it, then shook his head.
“Someone here turned in the information yesterday.” She said, wincing as the child's fist tugged at her dress.
“Moss, probably.”
“No, it was Gian.”
“Ah. Half-off drinks didn't cut it, then.”
“They get hot,” she said. “Nervous and hot, and then they just start saying things.”
Lanec nodded and pulled a loaf of cornbread from the pantry. “See if it will eat that.”
She sat at the bar stool and unwrapped the faded packaging, rolling chunks of bread off the loaf with her fingers. “I can't take the kid.”
“Aye. Well, I can't either.” He flicked the poster towards her and she pinned it to the countertop. “You should cut your hair.”
“Think they'd kill the kid?”
“Maybe. They'd take it, I think.”
“Which is worse,” she muttered. The toddler took bread from her palm with cold, wet fingers.
Lanec set his rag down on the countertop. “Aye.” He walked around and began taking her hair out. “Leave it at a church, or something.”
She gave a rueful smile.
He let her hair down and ran his fingers through the damp brown strands. “Aye, the laws are changing, and the declaration may stay the same, but the fools who wrote it weren't half as specific as they could have been.” His words mumbled together and he grew quiet. “All the words get all twisted up, real horrible like, and they start meaning things they aren't supposed to mean.” He took a gentle fist full of hair.
“But coexisting with mythics seems behind us, no?”
“One day we did.”
“Yes, but those days seem gone.”
“It's different for you, Tay.” The dull scissor blades crunched through her hair. “You've got a fighting chance at survival here, and if you win you won't die, and if you lose you probably won't die either. You got use some way or another, till you're old I guess. Folks like me aren't like that. We die first.”
The toddler hiccuped, and she ran a hand over its soft, blonde hair, then wiped it off on her dress.
“We make bread and drink for the big guys. If they're happy, we're happy. You don't have to be like that, Tay. Be the ones being made happy, and be gracious while you're at it. If communism is where we're at, then be on top.”
She sat still for a long moment. “You live with lots of regrets?”
“Sure.” He said, and his rough fingers grazed her neck. “I'll take the kid. You get out of here.”
“Blessings, Lanec.” She stood and passed the child off to the wide man. “Do you want to know where I'm going?”
“No.”
The toddler reached for her. “I am the furthest thing from a mother.” She said to the child. “Stop lying to yourself.”
Lanec waved her out of the kitchen. “Don't
take the money bag.”
She didn't seem to hear him.
She paced across the room carrying drinks she hadn't cared to identify due to their obscure contents.
A fattened, pudgy creature hailed her with an impatient wave, and after distributing the drinks she approached him, wiping her hands on the front of her coarse dress.
“What?”
He spoke again and she leaned closer.
“Speak up, pal,”
She didn't flinch when his dry lips brushed her ear. “Time, I say, have you got the time?”
“6:32,” she answered, and the man gave a satisfactory nod, though 6:32 had passed seven hours ago. Hurrying back to the kitchen, she wiped her hands on her dress again before taking more drinks and orders from Lanec. The nights were long and dull. She didn't dress to please and she didn't play.
The time was 3:56.
Somehow she had gotten herself trapped in the bench seat, and she knew well that Lanec wouldn't want her moving around and causing the men to get flighty on him. The five remaining patrons played cards and bought drinks. She was tired, and as counting sheep worked for some, she found counting cards worked even better.
Someone touched her arm, and she recognized Lanec’s calloused fingers. They were alone and the lights had been turned down.
“The baby’s crying, mate.”
“Oh,” she said, sitting up. Her eyelids dragged. She wondered if the child had crawled into the fire, and for a while she sat in an awkward, gory fantasy.
Bah, innocence. Stupidity, more like.
She shifted out of the bench seat, looking haggard.
Lanec ran his rag over tables and collected bottles.
She slipped through the kitchen and found the toddler out of the soda crate, crying near the exposed fire. Her eyes glanced round before she crossed the room toward the child. She checked his hands for burns, but found none.
“Lanec,” she called, lifting the child to her hip, “maybe it's hungry.”
“Then you feed it, girl.”
“What food?”
He said something, but she didn't hear him.
“Lanec,” she entered the kitchen with the child strung round her hip.
“I'll get you something. You know your poster’s up?” He grunted, pulling a slip of paper out from beneath the sink. He looked at it, then shook his head.
“Someone here turned in the information yesterday.” She said, wincing as the child's fist tugged at her dress.
“Moss, probably.”
“No, it was Gian.”
“Ah. Half-off drinks didn't cut it, then.”
“They get hot,” she said. “Nervous and hot, and then they just start saying things.”
Lanec nodded and pulled a loaf of cornbread from the pantry. “See if it will eat that.”
She sat at the bar stool and unwrapped the faded packaging, rolling chunks of bread off the loaf with her fingers. “I can't take the kid.”
“Aye. Well, I can't either.” He flicked the poster towards her and she pinned it to the countertop. “You should cut your hair.”
“Think they'd kill the kid?”
“Maybe. They'd take it, I think.”
“Which is worse,” she muttered. The toddler took bread from her palm with cold, wet fingers.
Lanec set his rag down on the countertop. “Aye.” He walked around and began taking her hair out. “Leave it at a church, or something.”
She gave a rueful smile.
He let her hair down and ran his fingers through the damp brown strands. “Aye, the laws are changing, and the declaration may stay the same, but the fools who wrote it weren't half as specific as they could have been.” His words mumbled together and he grew quiet. “All the words get all twisted up, real horrible like, and they start meaning things they aren't supposed to mean.” He took a gentle fist full of hair.
“But coexisting with mythics seems behind us, no?”
“One day we did.”
“Yes, but those days seem gone.”
“It's different for you, Tay.” The dull scissor blades crunched through her hair. “You've got a fighting chance at survival here, and if you win you won't die, and if you lose you probably won't die either. You got use some way or another, till you're old I guess. Folks like me aren't like that. We die first.”
The toddler hiccuped, and she ran a hand over its soft, blonde hair, then wiped it off on her dress.
“We make bread and drink for the big guys. If they're happy, we're happy. You don't have to be like that, Tay. Be the ones being made happy, and be gracious while you're at it. If communism is where we're at, then be on top.”
She sat still for a long moment. “You live with lots of regrets?”
“Sure.” He said, and his rough fingers grazed her neck. “I'll take the kid. You get out of here.”
“Blessings, Lanec.” She stood and passed the child off to the wide man. “Do you want to know where I'm going?”
“No.”
The toddler reached for her. “I am the furthest thing from a mother.” She said to the child. “Stop lying to yourself.”
Lanec waved her out of the kitchen. “Don't
take the money bag.”
She didn't seem to hear him.
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