darkenergy**: bitch you did not just go there with my chicken !

loseratlife122: Bitch-- I just went there with your chicken !

Lilly said that Jack sounds like an amusing person. She has no idea...

And I envy that.

~~~

I don't know Mamie that well, so forgive her out of character-ness. She just seems like a bitch to me, is all. Oh yeah, and Landis in the last chapter. I like Landis but don't know him a lot. All I know is that he's waaaaaay creepy.

But so am I.

~~~

~~~

I'm a mess. I don't deserve to live.

...All right, I was exaggerating. But any which way you look at it, I'm a mess.

I think I slept a total of five minutes last night, though I wouldn't know because I don't have a--

Yes, Nash, we know.

Fuck you. Not only did you talk me into kissing her, then you make me feel horrible for not going through with it.

Boo-hoo-hoo. Don't blame me for--

Oh, I blame you. I blame you.

You're not fun when you're serious. I'm out of here.

Great! Just great! Leave. See how much I care, you adulterous jackass.

I still can't believe it. This is terrible. How could I let this to happen? I'VE WORKED FOR TWO DAYS AND I'M BROKE AGAIN.

...Oh yeah. And Chris is probably really mad at me for last night. But that can be easily solved; at breakfast, I'll go over to her, tell she looks beautiful, make light of something or other, and then we kiss and make up.

Of course not literally. If it weren't for this kissing business I wouldn't be thinking so much. All I want is for everyone to love me. Is that so much to ask?

I think this as I walk down the hallway, my wavy hair disheveled and shirt wrinkled (because I can't afford to have it ironed) when I find my eyesores of necklaces by the clock. I pick them up, figuring my persuasiveness can probably get me at least a few potch out of these. And some is better than none.

I pass by Borus's room, waiting for him to stomp out in preparation for a day of harassing well-mannered fellows such as myself, when I notice the door to his room is wide open. And he's not there. AND there's a book on his bed.

Need I remind you that Borus is probably too stupid to read? Hence I have come to a conclusion: it's his diary. Shifting my eyes back and forth to make sure the coast is clear, I sidle into Borus's room, putting the necklaces down on his bed as I grab the book with the thrill of a child on Christmas morning (or me on Christmas morning).

I'm gone for five minutes and already you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.

I'm only going to read one page. Just one page, honest to God.

Let's see:

...She's an inspiration to us all. I'd do anything for her. I only wish she'd notice from time to time.

Gee. I wonder who he's talking about.

The man is a depraved whoreson who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as she does. It disgusts me how he treats her with such blatant disrespect.

I merited a footnote. It's good to know my blatant disrespect is never far from his mind.

Milady's completely perfect in every sense of the word. All else pales in comparison.

Yawn. This is incredibly boring. This is almost like extreme boredom. You know, boredom so extreme it's almost exciting, but not quite.

I flip through the pages. Chris...Chris...Chris...Oh! Well look at that! Now he's talking about a silver-haired female knight with an undisclosed name.

I love everything about her, from her silvery tresses to her caress of a name. Even sitting next to her at supper is an experience that's beyond description. When her knee accidentally nudges against mine, when our hands touch while she reaches for her glass, when I feel her sighs of boredom gently brush against my ear...

...I wish I hadn't read that. Let's skip down some.

Huh? What's this?

I went too far tonight.

Oh God. I read the line again with an impressed smile. Maybe Borus just might be interesting after all!

It was horrible, immoral, disgusting. But he looked so incredibly regal, elegant... everyone, pulled to him like a moth to the flame. I knew what he wanted. It's what I wanted, also, but I couldn't simply just allow it to happen...

I drop the book for a second. This is incredible. Borus is talking about going too far. With a man. Christ all mighty. Gripped, I pick it up again.

I felt powerless. I could tell he was going to make a move. I was scared, frightened even. Possibly even jealous of that physique. I daren't move. I daren't move a thing.

I begin to shudder as I get an unwelcome mental image. Well, who'd've thought! Maybe Borus just pines after Chris as a beard for his life on the, as you might say, down low. Taking a deep breath, I continue.

And just as he least expected it...

This is it. Do I really want to hear about Borus's wild ride?

No, but I'm going to anyway.

I stabbed the living daylights out of the bloody bastard for even looking at Lady Chris in such a method. How dare he assume he could be sweet on her! As I see it, it's one less man I have to worry about disgracing Milady's honor. Victory shall be mine.

....Whoa.

Uh. Whoa.

Yeah. Whoa.

Instantly wishing I had kept my nose where it belonged, I put Borus's diary down. That was incredibly disturbing. Just when there's a glimmer of hope that Borus could be an attention-grabbing, or even kind of interesting, person... he just proves he's as creepy and insecure as ever.

If God's out there, I'm sure he's laughing his ethereal socks off.

~~~

Budehuc's always so hectic in the morning. The afternoon, too. And more times than not, the evening.

...Ahem, so in any case, Budehuc's a hectic place. Finding Chris is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack, so I go about it in the most professional way possible: skulking.

Here we go. There's Ace and Joker having some sort of argument (if I wasn't busy, I'd probably go and watch), there's Borus looking at everyone with a scowl, most likely ready to lash out with his homicidal tendencies--ah, wait. He's going upstairs now, probably to write about his recent victims in his diary. There's a beautiful girl walking across the foyer avoiding eye contact with me, but I can't concentrate on her because Jeane's two feet away and spilling out of her dress, if you know what I mean.

Wait. Back up. A beautiful girl avoiding eye contact with me--well this doesn't take a genius.

Lucky for you.

That was so funny I forgot to laugh.

You're loosing your touch.

No, you're loosing your touch.

I take the subtle approach and step in front of her, but without even looking, she turns away and continues walking as though she hasn't noticed me. Which is bull because I was thisclose to her.

"The silent treatment isn't very becoming, kid," I mumble, knowing she's too far away to hear it. Raising my voice, I say, "Chris, a word?"

She stops but doesn't face me. "About?"

I can tell she's playing stupid, but I don't have the heart or the energy to set her straight, so I play along. "About last night."

She flusters like I had meant last night in a more erotic sense, such as we had made love and pretended like it never happened. "Yes, what about it? I helped you and left."

I knit my eyebrows together, stepping in front of her again. "Not quite, if I remember correctly. And I do."

"Fine then. Whatever happened, it happened, as long as we're in agreement." Despite her diplomatic tone, she sounds discomfited. She pushes right past me and continues.

I grab her hand on an impulse, and she double takes on it in surprise. I try to keep my voice even, but this whole situation is really starting to make me exasperated. "I just don't want you mad at me."

"I'm not mad. I simply don't see why we're having this conversation, as there is nothing more to say."

"There is something I want to say, if you'll climb off your high horse long enough to listen!"

There's a silence as she frowns at me icily. "My high horse."

I scratch my head. "Ahm, not my best choice in words."

"I'm listening, Nash."

"Good." I nod, trying to keep on my feet. I really should've prepared something to say here. A sorry would probably be nice, but it seems sort of naked there by itself. Maybe I should say, I realized I can't let myself be ruled by the head below my waist. Talk about eloquent. "I don't want to dwell on it, in all honesty. But it caught me off guard--"

"Nash, it caught me off guard as well. Perhaps it was best we stopped when we did."

Seeing her point, I shrug. "I guess that's the gist of things. Friends?"

"Until you show me to think otherwise, fine." There isn't even a hint of a smile on her face. It's incredible, if you think about it. If it were me in the body of a young, beautiful millionaire with legs that went on forever, I'd manage to smile once in a while. Plus, I'd be throwing money left and right--but I digress. "I'm in a hurry, as it happens, so if you'll excuse me."

"To where?"

"There's a celebration today in tribute to the Goddess. Didn't you know? No, I suppose not."

I smile at her jokingly. "Is it anything like Christmas? Because I have mistletoe in storage, if you're interested..."

"Honestly, don't start with that."

"All right, all right, I'm skating on thin ice, I get it." I feel a stab of jealousy at the thought of all the Zexens having fun while I'm wasting away inside boring old Budehuc, but I ignore it.

Well. With that out of the way... whoa, that didn't take as long as I estimated. I've got the entire morning free now, as a matter of fact. I could go back to my room and start pondering about how I'm going to make more money, because I'm starting to get worried, and I never worry. I never worry. So I guess I could go and start thinking up new plans.

You know. In theory.

In actuality, though, I won't because it's just too discouraging.

And when the going gets tough, the tough get drunk.

~~~

Lovely as always. I forgot one reeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaal tiny little detail: booze cost money, and if I'm trying to cut back, I have to squeeze every penny. But, oh God, I can't. Everyone in the bar is so happy and giggly and drunk. I bet they're not worrying about their financial mishaps, now are they?

But I simply can't bring myself to reach into my wallet for any money. I physically can not. So I sit at the bar looking sadly at a bottle of something that looks reasonably strong. Maybe someone will feel bad for me and buy it. Maybe...

I spot Mindy finishing up an order when she notices me. She waves, notepad in hand as she swiftly tucks her pen behind her ear. She's kind of cute, in a pointy way, and she's always been nice to me, so I wave back.

"Hello, Mr. Clovis," she greets with a sarcastic cheeriness to her voice, and I laugh. She smiles and flips open her notepad. "May I get you something to drink?"

I stop my laughing abruptly. I have two options as of now: I can tell her that I'm not going to order a drink (like hell she'll believe that), or I can run.

As I'm deciding, she closes the book and grins again. "Well, since you're such a good customer, it's on the house."

At first, I think thank the lord, but then I see the sympathetic look on her face. Oh God. Oh God. She knows I'm broke. I can't let her pay for my drink... but on the other hand... Errrrr. Screw it. I need something to calm my nerves. "Well, it's six o'clock somewhere."

"What can I get you?"

As I'm about to answer, my all-time favorite Bummer Twins kick in: guilt and morals.

Guilt guilt.

Morals morals.

I can't take advantage of her generosity, especially just so I can drown out any bad thoughts. Hm. Actually, now that I think about it, taking the drink sounds really inviting. Hell yeah.

Guilt.

Morals.

Okay, okay. Just a thought.

"It's a nice offer, but I can't. Alcohol's bad for your skin. You kids are lucky in that you don't have to worry about it."

"It's only one drink. It'd be rude not to accept it."

As I'm about to protest again, I realize there are two ways that I can go through life; by disagreeing with everything or by agreeing with everything. Either way saves me from thinking.

I grin. "You talked me into it. Bring me the usual."

~~~

And all I can say is thank God. Thank God for the man who created alcohol in all its glory. He's right up there with the guy who created coffee, if not higher.

Even still, I can't help but slightly sulking. This is horrible. I never thought I'd say this but I'm... ahm, I'm... well, I'm poor. There, I said it, and I feel a lot better. This is all that damned pigeon's fault. When Dominguez finally comes, I'm eating him.

Well, after he pays me, of course.

"I've never known you to be so quiet," Mindy says with a cocked eyebrow as she cleans the counter off.

I don't reply at first, mainly because I'm thinking about what Dominguez would taste better with. Pepper sounds too weak, but barbeque sauce might be overkill, if you'll ignore the pun.

"I'm sorta broke right now," I confess, pulling a face.

"That's what's got you so upset?" She stops cleaning for a moment, slicking back her ashy bangs with a knowing look. "You know, money can't buy happiness."

"Yeah, but it sure makes living in misery easier."

She leans in closer to whisper. "Listen. We need help around this joint, if you're interested. The pay sucks and it's wrist-slashingly boring at times, but I'm sure I could get Mamie warmed up to the idea. Does that sound good?"

"You had me at wrist-slashingly boring."

~~~

"You're not serious."

"Oh, yes I am."

"No."

"Come on. What if you just--"

"No."

"Fine, but don't come crawling back to me when you starve to death."

I run a hand over my face, gazing at my reflection with a mixture of fascination and horror. "I look ridiculous."

Mindy giggles with a dark grin, straightening my V-neck, pastel colored shirt where it has bunched up on the side. "Aw, no you don't. You just look... okay, you do look ridiculous. But fifteen-potch-an-hour ridiculous."

"Gee, was that supposed to make me feel better?" I pause, waiting for an answer, but she doesn't respond. "Are you sure all workers in the restaurant have to wear these?" I can't wear this. Not in public. Not even in private. It's a hideous little number that gives the effect of man-cleavage. I guess this is what I get for the one time that I cheated on my taxes.

Damn you, karma.

"Now, she just has a few routine questions to ask you," Mindy tells me, giving me the once over in the mirror, trying and failing to hide her laughter. "Nothing too difficult. Knock her dead."

And if she doesn't give me the job, Mindy, I just might do that. Rest assured.

~~~

"Nash Clovis," Mamie mutters when I enter the kitchen. "You're looking for a job, I hear."

"Yep. I'd really appreciate if--"

"Don't go sweet-talking me. This is a serious occupation. Thus, you must take it seriously. I have no problem firing you if I ever catch you slacking. Is that understood?"

"Uh. Sure."

"What?"

"I mean, yes ma'am!"

"All right. Now tell me, Nash, do you cook?"

"Some call me the Skillet Guru." I'm lying my ass off. My food is to cooking what this revolting shirt is to society. "My specialty is boiling water."

"I hope that's a joke."

I freeze for a second. "Of course it was a joke."

I look at what she's cooking for a second and suddenly frown. It's chicken, and just thinking about how that could be one of Clucky's long-lost sisters makes me sad. Imagine all the little baby chicks, watching their mothers and fathers being rounded up and shoved into cages and wondering when they'll come back, only to learn they're being eaten by some greedy wife and husband and their 2.5 kids.

Oh God. Now I can never eat meat again.

Then I start thinking about all the little apples growing on trees, swaying in the springtime's gentle wind with their mother and father apples until some selfish apple-picker comes and plucks them away. Then they're sliced and diced and ground and... ugh. I can't eat fruit again either.

But what will I eat?

"Have I lost you, Nash?"

I realize that while I was lost in thought, she was explaining some sort of technique for cooking. I nod slowly. "I've been doing that since before I cracked two plus two, Mamie."

"And finally, I have one last question." She lowers her eyelids severely, as if this is the height of the whole interview. "As you know, this job involves multitasking; not only must you cook, you must take orders and wait on tables." She inhales sharply. "Are you familiar with the alphabet?"

I search her face for a second, looking for a line of sarcasm, until I realize she's completely serious. What the hell does the alphabet have to do with anything? "Yeah, I know the alphabet. Well, half of it, anyway."

I guess she's picked up on the heavy sarcasm, because she turns back to her cooking. "Fine, then. Be here at ten sharp, Mr. Clovis, in that shirt and ready to work."

"Do I get liquor discounts?"

"Don't push a good thing."

All right. Yeesh.

~~~

As I walk back to my room, I pass Borus and Percival, who are in the middle of some sort of conversation. Curiosity gets the best of me as I turn the corner, make sure I'm out of sight, lean against the wall, and listen, because Percival has a quizzical smirk on his face like something interesting just happened.

"You're late getting out this morning, Borus. How are you feeling? Fantastic, I'd imagine."

Fantastic? I hear a long pause (though I guess you can't really hear a pause, but you get the idea). Since when does Percival say things like fantastic?

"...Well, actually, a bit tired," Borus replies, sounding a bit ruffled.

"I bet!"

"What does that mean?"

"I just imagine you had a late night last night."

"I don't see how any of this is supposed to make sense, Percival. What in the blue hell are you talking about?"

The sound of rattling beads is quickly followed by Percival's voice, cool and even. "I found these on your bed. Little Borus is growing up! I can't believe you didn't tell me about your little romp around. Don't you trust me to keep a secret?"

I scratch my head, wondering what Percival's talking about, when I remember my hideous necklaces. I left them on Bipolar-Slasher-Boy's bed when I was reading his diary! Oh shi--

"I've never seen those before in my life!" Borus spits out.

"Oh, you don't really think that I believe you're still saving yourself for Chris now?"

"Percival!"

"What? I think it's nice you've finally found yourself a girl. Even if she has horrible taste in jewelry..."

Oh man. Ohhhhhhhh man. If Borus ever finds out those were mine, he'd kill me three ways from Sunday. As I back away slowly, I hear Borus shout something or other in desperation, and feel guilty. But it goes away in a few seconds when I think about how he called me a whoreson. What the hell is a whoreson? It sounds like something my grandma would say.

Before I can make a break for it, though, the two knights have already come my way. I slouch against the wall as nonchalantly as possible, and Percival merely nods his head at me in acknowledgement as he passes, but Borus dead-eyes me. He knows I had something to do with it.

But he can't prove a thing. So there.

As they disappear down the hallway, I remember Chris talking about the holiday or festival. That's probably what they're going to, the lucky bastards. I suddenly have the urge to convert to whatever religion it is that has all these holidays, but again, the thoughts go to the little box in the back of my head along with my worries of money.

Though maybe I will convert one of these days. Unless God starts getting his act together.

~~~

~~~