joegoda | If Pockets gets some, where will he put it?

The tiny door flew open, and three figures in long, brown, hooded robes entered. Robes made of some rough cloth, belted at the waist with rude ropes of golden cord as thick as a wrist and tasseled on the end. Their faces, deep in the hoods bore the look of sad strength, and eyes sunken from day of fasting and contemplation. Here and there, they cast their gaze, searching for something, someone.

Grizelda turned to Bags and said, "I wonder what order they belong to? Look at the faces, so intent. Now, those are men that have seen the world from inside out."

Bags just put his arm around Grizelda and said "Mebbee so, but I kinda think I like how we do it, looking at the world from outside in. You can get so wrapped up in searching the inside of something that you completely miss the outside altogether."

"I think they look like jellybeans." said Pockets, which brought a stare from the other two. He caught their gaze, shrugged and said "You know. Hard on the outside, but all squishy and soft on the inside. I gotta take a leak." Whereupon he hopped off his bench and made his way round to the other side of the bar, passing folks as he went and sneaking a pinch at Chibi's flank, who giggled and slapped at his hand.

"Druuuud!" came a yell, which startled most of the patrons of the bar. "Druuud! Good to see you, man!" came an answering yell.

The hoods turned from the door, and raising one hand in greeting, went to meet their companions, who were playing a game involving sliding thick circles of clay down a long, lined table to knock over ten little sticks of wood on the far end, away from them. Cat calls and words of encouragement and derision came from the direction of the table. They were drinking tall, foaming mugs of something dark and fragrant.

The patrons of the small pub, and there weren't many of them, were grouped in clusters, some talking among themselves, some sitting alone and just enjoying the atmosphere. Every so often, laughter would break out and ripple through the rafters like a flock of pigeons.

The Barman, a tall and balding man came over to where Bags and Grizelda were sitting. "How're you likin' it folks? Haven't seen you in here before."

"It's a very nice place you have here." said Bags.

"It's a dump, but it's the finest dump around, I'll tell you that." He stuck his big and meaty hand out. "Name's Damien. I'm not the owner, I'm just the guy behind the bar. Figured I'd come over and say hello, since nobody else has."

Bags and Grizelda both shook his hand, while Bags did the introductions. "I'm Bags, and this is my... um..." Grizelda raised and eyebrow at Bags loss of words.

"Not yer wife, huh? Well, we see a lot of that in here." said Damien.

"This is Grizelda." Bags stammered out. "She's my partner in crime." He was blushing furiously.

"Good save, but judging from the ladies face, not quite good enough, I'd say." Wiping his hands on his bar rag, Damien said "Welp, I better get back. People get thirsty." He gave a pointed look at Bags and said "Good luck. I mean it"

Grizelda was bristling by this time. "Partner in crime!" she hissed, snakelike, cobra like. I think I'd deserve a little bit more than 'Partner'"

Bags could feel his feet fading beneath him. "Look." he said. "I didn't know what to say. You're not my wife..."

Grizelda interrupted him, "That's for sure. Keep goin', buddy. You're just digging it deeper."

Bags sighed. "Honey." "Don't even honey me, mister." Grizelda said. "Darling," another attempt. "Nor darling either, Mr. I'm-gonna-sleep-alone-for-a-very-long-time."

Bags sighed again. His chest, always slender, seemed to sink even deeper than it already appeared. He reached for one of Grizelda's hands. She jerked it away, furiously. Bags decided to pull out his secret weapon.

He pulled the corner of his mouth down as far as he could, which made the lines on his long face even longer and deeper. This, in turn, pulled the bags under his eyes further down, and made his brown eyes appear larger than they were. He ducked his chin down and looked up at Grizelda from beneath upturned brows.

"Griz," he said in a quiet, sad, and eternally lonely voice. He reached for her hand and this time she let him take it. "Griz," he said again. And she looked at him, tears in her eyes.

"Dammit, Bags! You know that sad puppy dog gets me every time. I'm still pissed at you, and I'm not gonna let you forget it for a very long time. Just let me be pissed at you, OK?" And she turned away with a jerk, but left her hand in his. This was how the game was played.

"Griz, you know that I was nothing before you came along. I was sad, and I was lonely. I had nobody to talk to, human to human, I mean. I needed someone I could relate to, on more than one plane of existence. You were that someone. You completed me and made me a whole person."

"Yeah, well." was all that Grizelda would say to that.

Perseverance is all, and Bags kept on. "Someday, when I have a respectable life, when I've left this life of petty stuff behind, I will want to spend the rest of my days with you, man and wife. But till then, I don't want to be the husband that was killed and left his wife to shame. Can you see that? I want to be someone you'd be proud to walk down the street with."

Grizelda turned back to face him. "Can you not see that I'm already proud to walk down the street with you? Can you not see that I'm hopelessly in love with you, you big idiot. Sometimes I'm more angry with myself for my feelings than I am with you for ignoring my feelings!"

"Griz, I don't ignore your feelings, I never have. It's just that I ..."

"He just doesn't know how to express his reactions to your feelings." Pockets slid back into the booth, grabbed his beer and said "The big dope is so hooked on you, it frazzles his brain, which is why I'm here, to do all the thinking."

Bags didn't say anything, just blushed bigger and turned away.

"He did the puppy dog thing, didn't he?" asked Pockets, eyebrows raised.

"Shut up, Pockets." said Grizelda.

"Well, it was kinda obvious, you know. Him sitting there, holding your hand, you sitting there, with tears in your eyes. Sheesh, I'd have to be a blind monk to not see it. Speaking of which, did you notice those guys that came in? In the monk robes? None of them were wearing sandals, just boots, military type.

All three looked over to the table where the robed figures were busy playing their game. Every so often one would glance their way, and quickly turn back. One of the players waved at Chibi, who came to them, doing her waitress dance between the tables. She bent down to hear the whispered words of the one that waved her over. After a bit, she nodded, stood up and went back to the bar.

"That's mighty suspicious the way they keep looking over this way, don't you think?" Asked Grizelda.

"Naw," answered Pockets. "They probably were asking Chibi what she's doing later, and she had to tell them that she's gonna be with the best looking guy in the place."

"Who?" Asked Bags, suspicious himself.

"Why me, of course!" said Pockets. He was playing with the forks and knives at the table, stacking them in a hodgepodge and playing pickup sticks with them. "Did you know that if you heat common steel to a high enough temperature, it develops a magnetic field all it's own. Now, if they have washed these in hot enough boiling water...Ah!" with one of the forks he was picking up one of the knives. "I love it when stuff like this happens."

Bags looked at Pockets and folded his hands on the table. "Pockets," he asked, in a far more serious tone than he used before, "are you going to be going home with the waitress tonight?" When Pockets just looked at Bags and smiled as toothy as he could, Bags asked, "Don't you think that's a bit dangerous?"

"Why Bags," Pockets said, "I don't know. Why don't you ask Chibi herself. She's standing ... right... there."

To Bags' credit, the only reaction he showed was the raising of one eyebrow, and a small twitch of his mouth. "She is, isn't she?"

Pockets just smiled bigger and said, "Yep. She is."

"Here's your dinner folks." Chibi expertly placed the orders in front of the person that had ordered it. "I've asked them to hold some roast beef in reserve, just in case the salad isn't enough for you, ma'am.' she said to Grizelda. "Sometimes I know I get hungrier than I thought I was, so I understand perfectly."

"If you need any thing else," and she looked directly at Pockets, "and I mean anything else, just whistle." To which Pockets immediately puckered up and blew a long, high pitched whistle that broke one glass on the bar. Damien looked up, with a scowl on his face, and Chibi just laughed.

To Bags, Chibi smiled a smile that reminded him of a cheetah talking to the rabbit, and said, "Mr. Bags, I promise I'll be good to Chester. I like him. He's different than most of the folks I've met. Smarter. So don't you worry..." she patted Bags on one of his long hands and added "honey. I'll have him home before morning, I promise." She turned and walked away.

"I like her." said Pockets. "Don't you like her, Griz?"

Grizelda smiled around her salad, and said, "She seems very nice, Pockets, and she seems to like you."

Pockets turned to Bags, "Don't you like her, Bags? She even called you 'honey'. 'Course, she called me Chester, but that's ok, I guess. You gotta like her, y'know. You just gotta. She is sooo smart."

Through clenched teeth, Bags said "Yeah, Pockets. I think she's just keen-o"

"Score!" came a voice from the table of robed men. One of them had managed to knock down all ten of the sticks on the far end. His fellows, the ones on his team apparently were slapping their palms against each other, and jumping up and bumping their chests against each other, giving mock roars of triumph.

"Yeah", agreed Bags, in a quiet and gruff voice. "I'll just bet there's gonna be a score. I just don't know who the winning side is."

"Ah, you're just sore because you and Griz had a fight, and I'm the only one tonight that's gonna be getting some." Grizelda laughed loudly at that, and nodded while she ate.

Bags cut a piece of his steak, which was well done and not at all to his liking, and stabbed it angrily with his fork. He didn't say anything at all.