For a Song Pt. 08

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There's a banging on my door and that's terrible. I'm still asleep, I tell myself. The banging at the door is a dream, a nightmare. It's nothing at all. It's just a figment of my imagination.

"Dumile," shouts Kay, "You need to get up."

"Kay," I yell back, "You're not Dad. Go away."

"You have five minutes. Its past noon."

"Fuck off," yawns Eliza."

That works a lot better than anything I could come up with. He does indeed fuck off and leave us alone. I am in Eliza's cleavage, and Gawain is in mine, sort of. I lack the bits for it, but he would be if I did. A wonderful little sandwich that has left my arms a bit numb, but the rest of me a pleasant temperature.

"That was right in my ear," Gawain whines with a sleepy yawn. He snuggles in closer, and Eliza holds us both.

"Sorry," Eliza mumbles, "You have to mean it when you tell someone to fuck off."

"I understand. I have to pee anyway."

That was a wonderful addition, but he also makes no immediate moves to rectify that situation. It's a conundrum, for sure. I have no answers. I have nothing at all.

He eventually squirms free and runs off to wherever Gawain's go. I want to turn around and face Eliza, but my horn's in the way. She could scooch down and lay on my chest, but then half her body would be off the bed. It's another conundrum. And I still have no answers, other than a soft urge to finally take my horn in. Kay probably has a spare file I could use to shave it down.

Something snaps in Eliza and then she gets up too. The training gets to her and tells her to get up. And maybe a bit of a spur since she's not the first to get up and at them. I have no such feelings. The bed is me shaped now. I can't get up. Then the bed would be lonely and cold. Beds shouldn't be lonely and cold. My stomach growls and I have no choice in the matter anymore.

I am wearing pants already, to my surprise. Such a good day already. One less chore. I wander through the caves, looking for something to eat. Almost everyone else is up and about, bustling and hustling and moving. I thought this was a sleepy little town, but apparently that's just the outside. The encroaching panic might also have a bit to do with it all. In my opinion, that means just take it slower. Burning energy means burning food and there's only so much of that to go around. The well's probably a lot better, though. Endless oceans of water down there. I yawn and a burly gentleman looks at me with disdain. It's the horn. I need to sharpen it up.

One more corner and one more hallway and I find the makeshift canteen. I think. Long tables and a counter on the other side. I think there's a kitchen over there too, so it all slots together. And there's no one to cook for me. Terrible, this entire operation is terrible. I wanted a full 7 course meal, some nice pairing wines, maybe a nightcap and a pipe to top it all off. And a visit to a brothel once the urge strikes. They have peppers and onions and eggs. I can work with that.

And I do work with that. I think. Not the best chef in the world, but nothing is on fire, and no one is sick yet. That's all that chefs need to do. So, I hum. I hum some song that I completely forget the name to. If it even needs one. It's a melody, a dream forgotten in the last vestiges of sleep. I'm sure I had a dream, but I don't remember it. I remember the prelude to it, washing and being washed, Gawain's secret wine we had to share, the dry bed and the tangle of limbs that imprisoned us all. That's what I hum. It enters the world in tis its shimmering glory in sound. I have it all and it is laid simple before me.

A tap breaks my concentration.

"I've been waiting here forever," says Dantea.

She's dressed to my surprise. I thought she would pick up on what I like and turn naked just for me. But it's simple clothes, working clothes, probably better than half the plate in an army at taking hits. A little tight here and there, but that is its own draw. A bit of perfection dropped in the mundane, heightening the beauty of both.

"I'm making this for me, not you," I say, "I'm getting this whole 'pull your own weight' feel from everyone."

"You're not wrong, but everyone doing everything is just bad organization. It seems you found yourself in the kitchen, so you're cooking. Now you won't have to worry about guarding or herding or milking or farming or any other of the million things to do around here."

"And what do you do to not do any of those things."

"Keep the vermin out. Keep the caves hidden and spacious until Safon and her entourage get dealt with. It's a very demanding job. I think I've earned a little snack."

I want to do it. I want to turn over whatever it is I've made and get called a good boy for it. But I don't trust the overarching circumstance. She smiles sweetly and my heart melts. It burns in my stomach. I should really do it, just give it all away and be done with it. It will feel so good to deal in the act of giving. It will be beautiful, our moment together, glancing hands as I pass it over. That touch alone would drown that entire section of play last night. She has me enthralled in those burning eyes. The room falls away in a smile and slight shimmy in her chest. It is all so easy, so beautiful, so amazing. There is the whole world, and it is.

"Dumile hurry up. I'm hungry," says Eliza. There's a line now. And I'm the only one cooking. Everyone's mad at me and getting grumpy. I would be too. I dish up Dantea's portion and go back to humming.

The music makes it go fast. It gives me a pattern to follow and that's all I do. I stir and spread and heat and serve. No one complains. No one says it tastes bad. I take the color and pour it into the heat and that does the work for me. I weave in the sounds of people talking and joking. A few laughs add some good texture to the next batch. Someone saying it would be a shame to have me put on a shirt to give a bit of spice. Someone tripping and falling means I have to redo an old verse from a few moments ago. It's not that hard. It just takes a bit to find a moment to slip though the refrain. It works. He gets his and I work back to where I was. The line grows and shrinks, never quite dying out. An hour or two passes and it simply moves away to wherever empty line goes. I move to serve the next person and there is no one there. Except me. So, I guess it's mine.

I even have my favorite table with all my favorite people. Eliza is still eating, although it's long gone cold. Gawain, I missed him run through at some point, works on digging rocks from his boots. Kay and Dantea share a long moment together, sipping tea and hanging on one another. I can't really judge that, considering the way I woke up this morning. We are a very cuddly bunch.

"I should know this," Gawain sighs, "But you're really good at singing."

"I am, but I think I'm a better string slinger," I say. The eggs are good, not great. But anything eaten after a long bit of work is amazing. I guess I have worked. I don't feel like it though.

"He got that bit of talent," Kay says as Dantea traces a circle on his vast, vast, vast belly.

"Oh please," I say, "You were great on the piano. And you were going places on the flute. Bit more work on it and you would have been amazing."

"No way. Mutti was furious when I brough that thing home. I thought she was going to tan my hide red with it when she found me."

"Turning black skin red would have been tough," Eliza muses, staring at her own pale gray.

"She found away. She was creative in her punishments."

"My favorite was the dice game. Had to roll a handful of dice and then had to do that many sets of Maman's drills."

"Good mom," Eliza nods.

"Maman would do them with us at least. And man, I think there were only two or three farm kids who could out work us," I say. I conceded that it was good for us, and I still hated it. The eggs are good and gone with the memories.

"And she did make Kay write a song once," I continue, "That was more for the rest of us, I think."

"Well, you can't leave us hanging like that," Gawain says, "We have to know."

Kay looks horrified to the point where it turns to rage. He also got that look of dead eyed murder I can pull when the moment strikes. I just smile in the best approximation of Maman I can manage. Which is still disconcerting in its own way. I start tapping out a rhythm and Gawain's on it before I finish the first bar.

"There'll be no wedding bells for today

Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle

As I go ridin' merrily along

And they sing, 'Oh, ain't you glad you're single'

And that song ain't so very far from wrong." I croon.

Kay's about to leap over the table and bash my skull in. Dantea's liking it, probably, humming and laughing in equal measure. My rhythm section is definitely into it and Eliza's looking back to the kitchen, trying to figure out how to get more food out of me.

My brother takes a deep, deep breath and I swear there is steam coming from him. Full on bull mad, ready to rush down and gore me.

And then he starts singing too, deep, deeper than the mines and the bottom of the sea. Just a bit of accompaniment in him to round out the sound, make it whole. Gawain's lost the tempo, he's laughing so hard. Dantea seems lost as well, in the pure joy of the moment, flicking her snake tongue out to taste the air. Didn't know she had one of those and I am glad I found out this particular way. Good for Kay. Eliza's still contemplating more food, but she's also tapping a finger. I don't think she realizes she's doing it, in all honesty.

Kay breaks down first in a heavy chuckle. A smile suits him. I feel the tension start to bleed out of him, a kind of sickly pus white, before boiling away down into a calm blue. Dantea senses it as well, perking up a bit as he squares his shoulders.

"Gods I missed your stupid mug," he sighs, "It's been ages."

"I missed you too. You're going to have to get married again. Can't believe Mutti and I missed it," I say.

"We'll figure something out. Don't think she could make the journey and I don't want to leave this town without a lawman, but we'll figure something out."

"Got something else to figure out first, though," Dantea hums, back to her soft motions over his body.

"I know, I know. Such a nag. I'm working on it."

"We're working on it," I say.

"I'm not about to put-"

"We're putting ourselves up to this," Eliza states, "You don't factor in."

"What she means," Gawain interjects, "Is we want to do this. And as much as I love picking stones, I think our talents might be better put to use on something a bit more direct."

"My shadows have been talking, darling," Dantea says, "One of them latched on to Safon's horse on her last little visit."

"And it does seem like the neighborly thing, y'know," I say, "To pop by for a visit."

Kay sighs and it's just as heavy as the rest of him. Violence has pulled Eliza from the idea of food. Gawain's smiling as sweetly as he can. I don't know what I'm doing. There's an odd rhythm in my fingers and I want to play it.

"It's not a big deal," he says, "We can handle it."

"If you go do this," Dantea says, "I'll wear the red thing."

"Alright then. That settles it. Give me an afternoon and we ride first thing tomorrow."

I thump the table and he has the audacity to be sheepish about the damn thing. I'd do a hell of a lot for a good tongue thing, and I hope I get something similar from my band.