So it's getting on to the holidays at Callan's - relatively speaking, anyway. Callan had flipped that old 2012 bank calender over to December, so in the Blue Boar, at least, it was the holidays.
That night it was just me and Lefty in the place. Well, Callan was there too, of course, behind the bar. We weren't doing anything, just sitting around. Johnny B. and a couple of his ladies had been by earlier, so the radio was off; when Johnny comes by, his guitar always comes with him, and when Johnny has his guitar, there's no sense in listening to anything else.
So we're all just kind of slouching around, like you do when there's nobody around you're even remotely interested in impressing. Me and Lefty kicked back in our chairs, even Callan kind of sagging against that big rock of a bar of his.
Then Callan gets this weird look on his face...
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Sofia crosses her arms. "I no am gonna do nothing except get inna bed! You no can tell me tha' silly thing is gonna work! Tha' crazy doctor, he take you money an' run!"
"Oh -yeah-?" Rinaldo replies, looking up from the high platform on which he stands at the four-story art deco tower/radar/contraption on which he's been laboring. "You jus' watch -this-. Ha-HA!"
He reaches over and throws a switch on one of many panels on the side of the device. Immediately, the tower fills the air with a hum that resonates right down to the bone. A passing group of Saurians in 1970s leisure attire pause to watch the show, as do a small contingent of undead Jovian vapors and a small snakelike android. The "radar dish" at the top of the tower begins to crackle and spark. Suddenly, a bolt of blue-green lightning shoots from the dish straight up into the sky. For a brief moment, the bolt spreads out from a point high in the air, enveloping the entire area in a crackling dome before fading. The hum continues.
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He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, moving his jaw around like you do when you're trying to get rid of pressure in your eardrums.
"Do you hear that?"
Lefty listens hard for a minute, then shakes his head. "Nope. Ye, Teller?"
I do my best to hear anything out of the ordinary, but I come up with nothing.
I toss Lefty a shrug, and he looks back toward the bar. "What's hit sound like, Lucas?"
Callan listens close again, then gets this look on his face, like he's not sure he's he's really hearing what he thinks he does.
"Sounds like jingle bells, is what it sounds like..."
------------------------------------------
Rinaldo waves off her concern. "Doan' worry! I just send'em all home, or wherever they wanna go after they leave Rinaldo's! Rinaldo, he gotta make room for his friends!"
He throws a third switch. The dish crackles again even more brightly, but the hum now fades.
Replacing it are the opening notes of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas."
-------------------------------------------
A couple of seconds go by, and Callan finally shrugs, then jumps and slaps the back of his neck like he's been bit. Lefty and I are out of our chairs and facing the door by this time.
"No, no... sit back down. Lefty, I need you to watch the bar for a while."
Behind the bar, Callan is belting on his six-guns.
"Trouble, Lucas?"
Lefty goes around behind the bar, and helps Callan into his jacket.
"Can't really say. I suppose I'll find out when I get there."
Callan buttons up his collar button, his vest, and finally his coat. Lefty dusts off his hat, and then hands it off too. Now, between you and me, I always thought it was a little odd that the God of Gunfighters would wear a bowler hat; not that it looked bad on him or anything. It was just, you know, odd.
"So, Lucas, d'ye have any idea *where* ye're goin'?"
Callan gives Lefty one of those long looks like he does, straightens his jacket, and starts heading for the door.
"Near as I can figure, someone's trying to get me to their Christmas party." He don't look back, and it don't sound like he was joking. When he hit the doorway, it was like someone took an eraser and wiped him away.
I look at Lefty, and he looks at me, and then we both shrug. I go back and set my chair up, and he commences to fiddling with the radio. I slouch back down in my chair again, like you do when there's nobody around you're even remotely interested in impressing.
"Quiet night."
"Aye."
A soft hiss fills the chamber, the long-neglected door mechanism quietly grinding away in mild protest as it opens. The being within blinks as bright sunlight streams into the room, warming him as he takes a deep breath, the light absorbed by the simple black jumpsuit he wears over his elephantine form.
He takes a step out, but then stops, looking around with surprise on his face. Instead of the bright, sunshiney day he was looking out onto previously, there is the cold, drab brick of a back alley, strewn with assorted debris like most other alleys.
"Wait a second, I know this dump!" he exclaims, before looking down at himself. "But wouldn't I have been changed to fit the surroundings?" With a shrug, he steps out of the alley and into the street, his first turn bringing Rinaldo's device into view, from across the street.
"Good lord, Rinaldo, what th'hell happened here?" is all that comes to mind in reply as he crosses the street towards Rinaldo's place, ignoring an odd glance or two from the passers-by.
"Heeeeey, Jack! Merry Christmas, eh? Rinaldo, he -know- you gonna be the first one here! Thas' why I send Angel to get ready atta bar! Ha-HA!"
"Yeah, right," is Jack's reply, though he's not entirely sure that Rinaldo _didn't_ know who was coming when. The "simple restaurateur" often had a sixth sense of sorts about when company was due. "Anyhow, I'm goin' light on the booze fer now. Ain't like I've ever managed to drain yer stocks, no matter where the party is held, anyhow," he adds with a grin.
"Hey, but doan' worry. The rules of this place, they change a while back. Everything is fine, though, an' now Rinaldo can have his party at -his- place!"
"That'd explain why I still weigh almost as much as you instead of something normal," grinning while delivering the friendly jab. "Last time I was here, you'd have thought I was a skeleton, the way Sofia was goin' on about how much I needed to git some food in me before one of the fans blew me out the door. Anyhow, if yer in on who's showin' up when, you happen to know if Angelita... ah, crud, I don't remember her last name. Anyhow, ya happen to know if she's comin' in? Kinda got smitten with her at last year's party, but things got cut off early, and... well I'm not gonna bore ya with the details, jus' say that things didn't quite work out right, and I'd like to give it another shot."
"Hey, thassa shame. No, I doan' know if she gonna come. This thing," he says, jerking a thumb at the machine behind him, "it open a door for people who wanna come to Rinaldo's party. Rinaldo, he no can -make- nobody wanna come. But who -doan'- wanna come to a Rinaldo party, eh? Ha-HA!"
For the most part, Jack manages to hide his disappointment, though he does note to himself that Rinaldo didn't say that Angelita _wasn't_ coming, either. "Dunno, I've..." Further comment is cut off as someone else's voice cuts in.
"And a better opening line has never been uttered," inserts a low, theatrical voice from the Italian's right. It seems to belong to tallish gentleman, deep brown skin gleaming mellowly along his shaved head. A pair of loose fitting, very expensive dress slacks and a matching black vest, sans shirt, do nothing to hide his lean, muscular frame. As he turns to face Rinaldo, the dark crimson silk back of the vest flashes a hint of color in all that darkness. Blackwork tattoos crawl up his arms, counterpointed by yellow-gold rings at his ears.
The humanoid pachyderm turns to the new arrivals, nodding a polite greeting to them.
"Hey, Andre an' Zach!" Rinaldo beams, holding out an open-armed welcome. "How you two doin', eh! Ha-HA! Jack, these two guys, they are Andre an' Zach! Andre an' Zach, this crazy elephant is Jack!"
Andre smiles, revealing perfect, even teeth. "A pleasure," he insinuates politely, while Zach gives a low-key wave.
"Yeah, don't meet many elephants. Hell, any." His drawl somehow makes everything that comes out of his mouth sound like pleasant and interested.
Jack smirks at the introduction from Rinaldo. "Nah, not crazy yet, or at least so the law says. Probably just because they've not yet found a straitjacket big enough for me," he chuckles. "Anyhow, nice to meet you guys."
"Hey, Rinaldo! What's with the new digs? And where's your peach of a wife?" The black man's companion is also his diametric opposite, both in appearance, and accent, his own being an aggressive southern drawl. Pale skin, blonde hair with a metallic glint to it, hanging in a long shag around his face, cut brutally short in the back. Brilliant lapis eyes take in Rinaldo's companion with an easy smile and a wink.
"Oh, we get some weird changes aroun' here," Rinaldo agrees. "Everybody doan' hafta be like someone from Rinaldo's home no more. But thas' okay -- it doan' change the booze! Ha-HA!"
"Thank Deity for that," Donelds mumbles, grinning from ear to ear.
Andre exchanges a look with Zach, something completely unfathomable to outsiders, and the blonde turns his smile on Rinaldo. "Well, hell, that's the best news I heard all day."
"But Sofia, she is inna kitchen. First she doan' believe Rinaldo gonna pull of this party, -then- she doan' believe the food he get is gonna be good enough for it! But she gonna be out soon enough."
\\Of course she doesn't think it'll be good enough. She ain't making it. Though boy is she in for a surprise when she does come out.\\ For all the years, off and on, that Jack had known the Cabrinis, only Rinaldo had seen him in his real form. Sofia and Paulie only ever saw him before the changes to Rinaldo's corner of the Nexus brought about by the weirdness of the Qwar.
"Oh, she ain't cookin'?" Zach's smile drops forlornly, along with about ten years of his estimated age. "Though I'm sure you got some great eats lined up," he rallies bravely.
"It will be good to see your lovely wife again," adds Andre, touching the back of Zach's hand, causing his companion to throw in, "Yeah, she sure is a sweetheart. You caught yourself a good one!"
"Hey, ain' that the truth?" Rinaldo laughs. "And doan' worry, Andre: She woan' let nobody else do alla cooking. Thas' why she is in the kitchen right now!"
Andre nods, and turns to Zach. "You see? Our quest was not in vain!" The hidden laughter in his voice brings Zach's eyes up to Rinaldo. "Well hot damn!"
\\Did he just wink at me?\\ Jack asks himself, following up a moment later with a mental shrug. \\I suppose I've been winked at by far worse,\\ he silently comments with an equally silent chuckle.
He is also tall and slender, though less muscular. Baggy olive green cargo pants drip from his hips, and an equally baggy hooded sweatshirt in fire engine red hangs from his shoulders. The hint of an orange t-shirt underneath that is matched by road median yellow shoes. He rests his hand briefly on his companions shoulder, while craning his neck to look around the place.
"Man, you havin' some kind of party?"
Andre, the black man, usually dines at Rinaldo's in the most expensively tailored of suits, always the height of fashion. Zach, the blonde, usually accompanies him in a more outrageous zoot suit type affair, very out of place on the very caucasian man. But they always come together, they always tip well, and they often refer business. Oddly enough, though, only one meal ordered usually gets eaten.
"If he ain't, then I've come to the way wrong place," the giant says with a grin, letting Rinaldo get his 2 cents in.
"Hey, Rinaldo, he -always- having a party, eh?" Rinaldo laughs. "But this time of year, he is always having a -Christmas- party! Oh, it's gonna be a good wan this year! You guys wanna drink? Tha' bar's gonna get crowded when the others start showin' up."
Zach nods eagerly. "Hell yes! You still got that Red Hook ESB?"
"-I- doan' have it," Rinaldo grins, "but -Angel- does."
"Hell," Jack says in a bellowing laugh, before he restrains his voice for more fragile ears, "One's a crowd, when I'm the one. This world is designed for midgets." He turns to Rinaldo, and says "hey, you still have that special bottle of scotch? You know, the one that predates the guy whose birth we're celebrating here? Can't think of much else that'd be better, for this occasion." What Jack doesn't mention is that on the world the scotch in question came from, Jesus' birth was delayed about 17 centuries.
Andre allows an expression of genteel interest to cross his calm features. "I take it this is a rather old vintage? Were people able to make soctch over two thousand years ago where you're from? Or is it that your version of the Christ was born later than ours?"
"Not my reality, and both," Jack grins. "He was born 'bout 17 centuries later, though keepin' roughly the same schedule as this reality for a lot of other stuff, 'cept the obvious things dealin' with Christianity. Picked it up when Rinaldo and me were doin' a bit of tourin', years ago. Tried a bit from another bottle when we were there, and, damn was it good! Their booze makers know how to do their magic... which I wouldn't put past 'em, either," he adds with a chuckle.
"Three hundred years or so...mmm, not bad," appreciates Andre.
"Ha-HA! Yeah, thas' good stuff! Not as good as tha' fairy hooch from tha' other party, but it doan' turn you silly colors! An' yeah, Rinaldo, he still have tha' wan. Let's go get this party started, eh?" Putting his thick arms around as many shoulders as he can manage, he urges them all toward his eponymous restaurant.
"Oh, no, huh-UHN! You ain't getting no fairy liquor into this guy!" exclaims Zach, allowing himself to be herded.
"No kidding," Jack adds with a chuckle as he steps sideways through the restaurant's door, to keep from blocking the way for the others. "I get enough looks as it is, don't need to add lookin' like a freakin' rainbow or anything like that to the mix."
"Hey," he says to the bartender once he reaches the bar, "Dig out that pre-Christ hooch that Rinaldo brought in a few years ago, wouldya? I wanna get this party started up right."
Angel grunts noncommittally. He ducks down behind the bar for a few moments that are punctuated by much rattling of glass. When he rises up again, he sets a large pear-shaped leather bottle and a short, wide-brimmed glass on the bar in front of Jack.
"Hey, thassa good choice!" says Rinaldo. "Think I gonna have onna them, too!"
"Hey, gimme another glass, Angel. No need to be usin' another bottle when one's enough to get even me buzzin', might as well share the good stuff." Of Donelds' many life trials, being drunk under the table wasn't one he had ever had to face, between his native high tolerance for alcohol and outright mass to lessen the effects of inebriation -- both of which Rinaldo had seen him put to good use, in a drinking game on one particular trip that let the both of them keep their heads, literally.
After the second glass is put on the bartop, he looks over to Rinaldo. "You drinkin' like a wimp tonight, or some who can at least fake bein' a nonwimp?" he asks the portly resturanteur with a smirk as he pours a generous helping for himself into the first of the glasses.
"Hey, you keep talkin' like that," Rinaldo warns, pouring himself a glass of the deep brown liquor, "I gonna rat you out to tha poachers, eh? Ha-HA!"
He downs the contents of the glass with gusto and pours himself a refill.
"Hah! Let 'em find me, I could use the laugh. Ain't like I've not saved _your_ backside from poachers of various kinds before. Sofia would have a conniption fit if she'd heard of some of the stuff you've been into... and don't think I won't tell her at some point, either." Jack grins wickedly to Rinaldo, and throws back his drink.
"Don't go gettin' too buzzed just yet, Rinaldo," Jack warns his host, a bemused grin on his face. "You've got a party to be enjoying."
A large cat steps into the square, the interface behind him briefly flaring as he steps through it. Two feet long, the grey and black tabby is wearing an odd garmet, looking like the clothes that old ladies often dress their pets up in, only with pockets. He blinks, looking around himself. "Rinaldo's? What am I doing here?"
He looks down at himself. "And why am I still a cat?"
Andre begins adress Jack in that genteel manner of his, "If you don't mind, I'd love to hear a little more about your world. I'm afraid I'm quite the collector of comparitve theologies..."
Jack shrugs as he waits for the drinks. "Well, I'm afraid I never really paid much attention to it. Ain't been 'round that way for a buncha decades now. Don't listen to the cliche, this elephant very much can forget stuff, over half a century. My leavin' wasn't 'zactly by my choice, either. Let's just say that I'd rather not discuss it. It's not a discussion topic suited to a party." The pachydermoid's tone makes it clear he doesn't care to go into details.
The smaller man rubs one finger over his lips in a curious gesture but nods. "As you say. I would not want to ruin the... festive... mood. Perhaps another time." He turns to Angel with a smile.
"Perhaps," Jack replies noncommitally as Andre turns to the bartender, with absolutely no intention of following through with that particular discussion. After all, the destruction of one's homeworld at the hands of... them... was hardly a subject most would care to dwell on.
"Zachariah will be in soon, and I believe he voiced a desire for a beer... a... Red Hook ESB, I think?"
"Red Hook," Angel echoes. "Sure, Mac." He taps the bar in a quick staccatto burst like hyperactive Morse code. A frosty bottle of the requested amber ale appears by Andre's hand.
"Got dat one on tap," Angel explains, with what might be his version of a smirk.
Andre smiles. "Thank you, Angel," and slowly steps away from the bar, drifting towards to window to see what has happened to his companion.
Jack looks out the window from the barstool audibly straining under his bulk, though holding quite well in spite of the fact that the furniture of a "mundane" 1920's Chicago isn't designed with elephants in mind.
Zach, meanwhile, cocks an ear backwards and looks over his shoulder. Slipping out of Rinaldo's friendly grasp, he walks over to the cat.
"Well, shee-it, it's a talking goddamn cat. Don't that beat all. Hey there, cat. My name's Zach. You here for Rinaldo's party?"
George sits on his haunches, looking up. "The talking goddamn cat's name is George. And, yeah, I guess I'm here for the party. Hadn't really thought about it, but since I seem to have missed last year's party... Sure, I'll stick around." He gives the human his best attempt at a human grin, which is also good for frightening mice.
Zach grins at the cat. "Well, an' here I thought George was a monkey, or a beetle. Nice ta' meet ya, George. You kin call me Zach." He places two fingers at his forhead by all that golden hair, and flicks them outwards in a kind half-assed salute. He opens his mouth to say more when...
*****
She had decided that a bit of socialization would probably be for the best. Mingling with the Farmers and their horde of mothers' great-aunts and uncles' fathers' brothers and cousins twice-removed was enough to scatter anyone's brains -- especially when they began to recount the relationships and somehow, you found yourself a member of the family without realizing how.
She had gathered her freshly mended cloak, fed the cats, shushed the fire and patted her pockets to be sure she had her cards, and then set off down the wooded path that led to the road that led to the Farmers' land.
* * *
Farm land, however, is a far cry from where she ends up.
Tarot blinks at the scene before her of a city street bedecked for Christmas, and momentarily sighs that the interfaces have shifted and she shall have to find a new way to get to her rural neighbors' homes. She just about to turn around and try to find her way back, when:
Yet another tall figure in black--topped by a black leather Longrider--steps out of the shadows and onto the street in front of Rinaldo's. He looks around, obviously disoriented. This was not where he had expected to come out. He looks up and down the street, taking in all the decorations.
"Damn," he sighs. "Not another Christmas party." His head drops forward onto his chest. "I don't have time for this..."
Tarot pauses and looks again, peering 'round a garlanded lamp post that stands in her way.
"Chasen Burkett?"
Burkett looks around. His forehead wrinkles slightly. "Miss Swayne?" he replies. "I was just thinking of you." He looks up the street again. "But I'm afraid I have no time for a party now." His tone is just a bit frosty, like the air. She had, after all, left him without a word the last time they'd met. He looks back in her direction. "It is good to see you looking so well," he says, with just the suggestion of a bow. "But I really must be going." He seems to be looking for a way out. And not finding one.
Nick burst into the room, slamming the door behind him, throwing his bookbag onto the dining table before leaping onto the couch from over the back. "Finally!" he exclaimed. "Finals are _done_!" He looked around the room. "So...now what?"
"Well, you can get _off_ of me for one thing!" a muffled voice grumbled beneath him a moment before he was flipped onto the floor. A young man with tousled blond hair pushed himself up from between the couch cushions, readjusting his glasses. He looked exasperatingly at Nick before reseating himself on the arm of the couch.
"Nick, Jimmy and I have been done for days." A brunette with her long hair back in a ponytail was curled up on a stuffed chair. A paperback book rested on her knee.
"You don't have to rub it in, Tina," Nick pouted. He got back onto the couch, grabbing a few pillows and stuffing them under his head. He looked up at the ceiling. "It's the holidays, finals are over, and we're all stuck not going back to our home realities thanks to all of the weirdness going 'round. I don't want to be stuck inside here the whole vacation. So, like I said, what do we do now?"
"I don't know," Jimmy countered, balancing himself on the coucharm. He looked up at the ceiling as well. "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"
Tina shook her head in dismay. It didn't matter what they were trying to decide on, it always came down to this. After a few pages from her book, she would make a suggestion as to what they would do... and be immediately shot down. Going out for dinner at night could take forty-five minutes. She figured that the time limit deciding for a month-long vacation would be... about a week. Tops.
"Why don't we go out to a bar?" Nick offered. The others perked up out of the routine. Nick rarely made suggestions.
Jimmy shrugged. "Sounds good to me. But which one? And in which reality?" He waved a hand dramatically in the air. "In all the bars in the all realities, we have to walk into one..."
"Or more than one, knowing you guys," Tina commented acerbically. Both guys' grinned at her, their eyes brightening. "I swear, sometimes you two have more alcohol in you than a full bottle of Jim Beam.."
Nick leapt off the couch, clutching handfuls of pillows. "Tina, you're a _genius_!" He knelt down at her feet in mock adoration.
Tina blinked down at him. "Okay, sure. What did I say?"
"Say? Say? Only the most brilliant idea I've ever heard for a vacation!" Jimmy yelled from his perch.
At her dumbfounded stare, Nick clarified, "A crawl, Tina! Through any pub in any reality. No liquor too strong, no drink name too weird. A true _Nexus Bar Crawl_!"
"A bar crawl." The disbelief was pouring off of the words as Tina said them.
"Okay, call it wassailing, since it is almost Christmas," Nick offered.
Tina twirled a strand of hair around a finger as she thought. "And what is the reason we would be giving to everyone as to _why_ we're doing this? We can't just go gallivanting around Nexus for no reason besides getting drunk."
Jimmy pondered this for a moment. "We could say that we're following a band's tour. You know, kinda like a musical pilgrimage?"
"And what would be the name of this so-called band?" Tina asked.
"How about 'Blueberry Napalm'? Or we could always go with 'Electric Ukulele'."
Nick shook his head. "I like the blueberry one better. What kind of music would this band play?"
"Jam sessions?" Jimmy offered, tilting this way and that on the coucharm.
A flurry of pillows buried Jimmy, knocking him off of the arm of the couch.
Jimmy pulled himself off of the floor and onto the couch. "Okay, okay, maybe the 'following the band' was too corny. Why don't we just pick a place, go, and see what happens? What's the worst that can happen?"
Tina took a breath...
"Thanks Tina," Jimmy said quickly. He blinked for a moment. "Wait a minute... you said 'we' earlier. Are you coming?"
Hurt flashed for a moment through Tina's eyes. "You mean _I'm_ not invited?" The hurt was fast heading toward anger....
"No, no... I mean, yes, you're invited," Nick quickly sputtered as he scuttled away out of arm's reach. He looked imploringly at Jimmy. "It's just that... you don't seem to be... the bar kind of girl."
"You don't really drink, Tina," offered Jimmy. "You're almost... permanently sober? What's the word... 'knurd'?"
"Humph," Tina snorted. "And you guys don't think you'll _need_ someone sober with you? To lead your drunk butts to the next bar? To bail you out of jail? To make sure you actually both get back here with enough time to sober up before the first class next semester?"
"Got a point," Nick conceded as he looked over at Jimmy.
"We could at least make the _effort_ of trying to get her drunk," Jimmy offered.
"So, where are we going to go?" Tina asked. At the opening of both of the guys' mouths, she held up a hand. "No, wait a minute. Let's not start that again." She pulled a palmpilot out of her bookbag. "Computer," she ordered. "Filter database. Random readout, brief. Eating establishments with a bar, alcohol. Human, to start out with?" She looked at the others. They nodded.
The computer beeped at her. She read out loud the first entry: "Rinaldo's. American Prohibition Italian mobster atmosphere. The owner, Rinaldo Cabrini, makes everyone feel at home. Host of many Christmas parties in other realities. Nonhumans are now able to visit due to the instabilities current. Bar currently tended by an Angel."
"Really?" Nick asked in disbelief.
Tina looked at the picture. "I don't know, but they grow 'em big where he comes from." She read some more silently. "Food receives six stars out of five! Seems Mrs. Cabrini is nigh on a legend of the reality. And she loves to feed people." She looked up at the boys, her smile matching their's.
"Heaven," Jimmy breathed.
"Home cooked food... Italian... it must be Christmas," Nick drooled. None of the three were heavy on the culinary arts, so like true college students, they homed in on the real thing like bloodhounds on the scent. "Let's pack!"
The three trekked to their respective rooms. They packed clothes for a few days, each not believing the others would actually go out for an entire month. Emails were sent to family and friends in case of worry. Jimmy tucked away a camera for possible blackmail purposes. Nick brought a small notebook and pen in case of friendly women from realities with email addresses or phone numbers. Tina, deciding that a book would be a large no-no no matter how much she wanted one, palmed a deck of cards into her jacket pockets. She also made sure her palmcomputer was fully charged and had the most recent maps of the known Nexus.
"Alright, is everyone ready?" Nick asked as they stood in front of the door. "Last minute thoughts?"
"Are we sure we want to do this?" Tina asked. "I mean..."
"Let's go before we wimp out!" Jimmy yelled, opening the door and striding through.
"To Rinaldo's!" Nick cried as he followed closely behind.
'Heaven help us," Tina sighed. She took a deep breath. "Let's jam," she said and stepped through the door...
The woman charging through the interface was obviously intending to arrive elsewhere. Her snarling yell as she comes through is clear evidence of that.
"Plentyn gordderch! Fi ewyllys llad chi!"
She blinks in complete shock at the scene before her: the blonde man crouching down next to a cat, and a large human ushering an even larger humanoid elephant and a black man towards a well lighted building.
"Beth y annwn...?"
Gwyrragedd Annwn has changed some since the Nexus last saw her. She is still as short and as well-muscled as ever, but her mass of black hair has been cut brutally short, and spiked out in a halo around her head with a white, pasty substance. All that's left of its length are several thin braids that frame her face, strung with bone. Her swirling blue tatoos are still clearly visible on her arms, shoulders, and chest, but they are obscured on her face by what looks like black clay, covering the left side completely. Mixed in with it, and more visible on the bare right, are grit and grime and some brownish red stains. More tellingly, her hands and arms up to mid-forearm are stained a deep red-brown.
Her sleeveless black tunic covers her to mid-thigh, where a pair of bright checked pants take over, in yellow and green. They are raggedly cut off at mid-calf, and it is clear her tatoos go all the way to her feet. As she gapes at Rinaldo's neighborhood she lets the giant maul, or sledge, she is carrying rest on the ground. She leans on the haft, absently wiping some gore from the leather grip. Her red-black wings stretch, as though testing this new air, and her long barbed tail jumps curiously.
"Holy shit! Looks like we got us a demon girl ta join the party! Is that, like, demon tongue or something?" Zach grins hopefully at the woman looking around.
"Oh, English," she says, studying the human and cat. "A cat an' a blonde. Where tha' hell am I, if ye knoo?"
"Well, you're at Rinaldo's, the finest eats in Nexus. You ain't from around here?" Zach looks positively fascinated, the same expression he had when speaking to George.
"Nae. A loong way froom here, but I ha' been in tha' Nexus afore. This is an inn, then?"
"Uh... naw, more a restaraunt. They got restaraunts in Hell?"
"In Hell? Why would ye think I would knoo tha'?" The woman's amber eyes go wide in suprise.
"Well, yer a devil girl, right? I mean, the red wings and tail are a sort of give away, even if you ain't got horns. And the demon eyes..." Zach trails off with an expectant smile.
"I'm a dragon, boy," she sniffs, rolling her r's deliciously. "An' cats have yellow eyes, too... are they a' demons, then?"
Zach looks down at George. "I don't know. Are ya, George?"
A triumphant "HA!" preempts George's reply as a white-and-yellow figure charges its way onto Rinaldo's street, resolving itself into a vaguely simian white-furred female in a yellow jogging suit as she skids to a stop.
George gives one of his grins again, and then pads over to the girl. "Greetings, my dear. Please excuse my uncouth companion. My name is George LeChat, may I ask what yours is?"
The dragon woman looks down at the cat, and then sweeps a polite, if sloppy bow. "I be Gwyrragedd Annwn," she introduces herself, pronouncing it GWEER-ah-geth ah-NOON. "But most people call me Gwyrr fer short. But doesnae yuir name mean George the Cat?" The first smile from the woman reveals a mouthful of sharp teeth. "In any case, it's a pleasure tae meet ye."
Zach stands to introduce himself as well, but is cut off by the newcomers.
"Oh, heya!" she says to the small group, before spotting the cat. "Hey! Kit-Kat! Merry Christmas! Give me just a sec here, wouldja...?"
She turns to look back the way she came with an expectant grin just as a trim, swarthy young man on a sleek bicycle comes tearing through the interface. His breaks squeal as he spins out to avoid hitting the furred woman.
"Beat ya -again-, Paulie!" the woman merrily gloats. "You never learn, do you? That's -twenty- you owe me!"
"Only 'cause you -cheated-, Tasha," Paulie grumbles. "Oh, heya, George. Hi, folks. Merry Christmas!"
Zach breaks out into a broad grin at the arrival of the darker young man. "Heya, Paulie."
"Cheated?" Tasha gasps, placing a hand over her heart. "Moi??"
"Nah, some -other- white chimp inna banana suit," Paulie gripes, a reluctant smile betraying his true feelings on the matter and the person. "Yeah, -you-. What was with that shortcut through Mystic Siberia?"
Tasha shrugs happily. "Grow some fur. Oh, sorry, you guys," she adds, turning back to the others and extending her hand. "The name's Tasha. I'm a shawman, and a damn good one. George there can back me up on that, if he doesn't want to get punted into next Easter."
Zach walks forward and shakes her hand firmly, his dark blue eyes sizing her up pleasantly. "Zach," he introduces himself.
George turns. "Tasha! I haven't seen much of you since that dreadful affair with the mind flayers. How are you doing? I hope Paulie isn't causing you as much trouble as that guy did." His tail flicks back and forth with good humor.
"And the human tortoise back there," she adds, cocking a thumb toward Paulie, "is Paulie Cabrini, bicycle messenger and son of your esteemed hosts. Although why anyone would hire a slowpoke like -him- to deliver a package is-"
"Ah, go take a flea dip," Paulie interrupts as he dismounts his bike and steps forward to offer his own hand to Gwyrr and Andre. "Hiya. Like the lady said, I'm Paulie. Nice to meetcha."
"We've met, though you may not remember me," drawls Zach easily. "I come to yer daddy's alot."
Paulie looks at the man more closely. "Oh, yeah! Sorry, Zach. I -have- seen you around. I don't hang around Pop's place much, so I don't know all the 'regulars' by heart."
"S'cool," he replies easily.
Gwyrragedd, for her part, looks at the proferred hand, then down at her own, covered with a mix of fresh and dried blood, sweat, and dirt. "Gwyrragedd Annwn," she offers, placing her barbed tail carefully in his hand instead, and using it to shake.
"Is there a party here, then? Fer the Christian winter festival?"
The dragon nods slowly, and looks down at herself again. "Aye... I should probably find a place tae wash, anyway."
Zach nods, and follows Gwyrragedd and George inside. The warm air hits the three inside the door like a comforting embrace. Gwyrragedd looks around in open curiousity, while Zach walks over to Andre, titlting his head back and looking the taller man in clear expectation. Andre smiles and leans down to gently kiss him, before turning his attention to the window once more.
Jack's glass pauses in the middle of its ascent to his lips as a sickening familiar smell reaches his nose. Carefully, he returns the glass to the bartop as his eyes scan the scene near the door.
"Quite the crowd gathering out there," he remarks quietly.
"Yeah," Zach calls over his shoulder as he retrieves his beer with a wide grin to Angel. "Rinaldo's kid is here with a friend, and I think I heard some more folks comin' in as we did." He returns to Andre's side and watches out the window with him as he takes a long swallow.
Gwyrragedd, for her part, finds the fat Italian with her eyes, and blinks. "Aye, I remember," she mutters to herself and walks over.
"Merr' Christmas, Rinaldo. I dinnae knoo if ye remember me, but I ha' been to one o' yuir parties afore. I don't suppose ye could point me tae a washroom? I've been killin' a guid load o' people, and it's made me quite a mess."
Donelds' search ends just as the dragon mentions killing, confirming the "mess" she referred to a moment after his sighting. \\Hardly something to be mentioning during the celebration of His birth,\\ he notes sourly, but reserves final judgement on Gwyrragedd, in spite of how casually she seemed to mention the killing.
Amidst the early mirth, reunions and meetings, the delicate decorations along the street, the promise of excitement, a young voice rings out in the clear air, pristine, exuberant –-
"But I DON'T WANNA GO!"
"But it’ll be a lovely party. Any party can be a lovely party. Try to be optimistic!"
"But I don’t WANNA BE OPTIMISTIC!"
Two figures appear from down the street.
One is warmly wrapped in a long grey coat, a blue scarf neatly knotted at her throat. Her ginger-brown hair curls around her earlobes, trapped there by a knitted hat. The hat is blue to match her scarf. It peaks in a cheerful pom-pom. As she drags the other girl along with white-gloved hands, the hem of her coat flips up, revealing a pink skirt, white stockings and shiny black boots.
The second figure struggles to free her hand from the iron grip. The colour of her pants is indeterminable through a multitude of ragged patches. Her coat is dirt brown and falls to her knees. It hangs open to cold winds, exposing a threadbare brown shirt. An impressively long green scarf, ends stuffed into a coat pocket, drags along behind her. Her head is bare, short mouse-brown hair sticking up in all directions.
The first has eyes like mud puddles. The second’s are blue as larkspurs, clear and bright. Both appear to be, at best, nineteen, though the first is taller and bonier, where the second has apple cheeks and a more feminine figure - as enhanced by the careful tailoring of her clothes.
"It won’t kill you!" Tug. TUG!
"Wish ta God it would!" Resist. RESIST!
"Don’t be so difficult!" The curly-haired girl gives one last -TUG-.
The louder girl finally submits. Which, entirely unexpected by the other, sends them both tumbling to the ground. The curly-haired girl is first to her feet, brushing her coat off neatly, beaming down at the other.
The other, who remains sprawled on the ground.
"But I. Don’t. Wanna. GO!"
"But it’ll be fun!"
She rests her head back on the ground, gazing up at the sky in utter despair. "I hate parties..." Brat moans.
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