(I have no snazzy picture for this blog. So look at the fluffy lion!)
“I’m just saying, ‘Dree. I’m talking Vegas. That’s our town, kiddies. You at the poker table, Raven on the slot machine, me charming the ladies."
I don’t bother to answer as we approach the restaurant. A lovely old couple is enjoying a nice platter of croissants. Dune grabs the lady’s water glass, takes a swig, puts it back on her table, and keeps walking.
“Vegas,” he says, extending his hands to aid his poor imagination. “We’d rule the place, baaaaby. You know you want it. You too, Sparrow. I'm talking C-A-S-I-N-O's."
I tune out and see a bug. I think it's a fly. If my fly doesn't have wings, would it be a walk? I'm not sure, but I scream and chase it into the cafe.
I was having a hard time focusing - my thoughts were all yellow and patchy, like my bamboo plant which I sometimes forget to water.
And my old goldfish, which I also forgot to water.
I knock into a waiter like a sexy tractor bowling over a redneck, and dirty plates cascade from his hands.
“TSNUMAI!” I scream, making swishing motions with my hands. I then try to imitate screaming Hawaiian people, running for cover.
He doesn’t get my finely-crafted wit, so I get down on my knees around the broken bits of plates, picking them up and singing a jaunty tune about the time I blew up my kitchen appliances when I tried to microwave my goldfish, hoping to turn it into Fish-Man (radioactive and dangerous, companion of Batman.)
“Do you have a broom? That would be good.” I tell the waiter. “If you have any ice-cream, that would be better.” Then I see my bug again and use the waiter's head as a vaulting board to send me catapulting over a table after it.
Actually, it might not have been a bug. It could have been a spider. Or a whale.
“Yes,” I said eagerly to our waitress when I sat down. She was smiling in that cute, puppy-dog way.
Like, “I’m not writing down your orders, I’m a night-club pole dancer practicing with this pen!” (insert: teehee! teehe!)
“Do you guys have pie? Cherry pie?” I wondered. “Cool. And….uhm, a salad. And some of that chocolate cake thing. And an Oreo sundae. And what is this? Vanilla..stampede? Whoah. Sweet, one of those. And a milkshake. And cancel that salad.”
I twirled my straw through my soda, watching the ice melt.
Dune and Sparrow take their seats across from me.
“Hi. You like pie, right?”
“Sure. Hey, Adriane? Smell my hand.”
“No.”
Dune leaned over and sniffed Sparrow’s outstretched fingers.
“Should I be smelling something?”
“Gee, I hope not. I haven’t taken a shower in five days.” That sort of killed the conversation.
I quietly excused myself. “Where are you going?” Dune called.
“NARNIA!! Well, no. The bathroom. Is that okay with you?”
“As long as you remember to wash your hands.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Do you want me to draw you a map back to our table?”
“Nah. If I can’t find you, I’ll just sit with that old guy over there.”
I did end up sitting next to that old guy. I talked about how cool the foam-soap was in the bathroom. I folded up his napkin and made a floppy hat; told him if he didn’t wear it, the aliens would beam down and suck out his brains with a bendy straw.
Then I spun around the bar, hissing and spitting and doing my best imitation of a cat.
Dune calmly herded me back to the table. Sparrow was sighing.
“I should have gone with Sky.”
“Nah! Little Miss-Sunshine? Tell everyone you had the best time ever, and we’ll buy you candy.”
She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
“Hmm. It’s better than hanging around her whenever Zane gets close.”
“What?” Dune and I said simultaneously. (We’re just that good)
“Ugh. It’s bad enough being around all of you lot. I hope I never fall in love, or like guys, or whatever.”
Dune raised an eyebrow.
“Come on! You know. It’s like how Adriane is always happier when she’s around you.”
Dune looked at me. I looked at him.
“What? Too much emotion. It has a bad aftertaste.”
We could tell she was getting uncomfortable, so we let the subject drop. But something certainly wasn’t right. Whenever anyone’s happy, or angry, I’m certainly not tasting anything besides my cherry Kool-Aid, and that telephone pole I licked on the way over.
A while later, I go back to the bathroom, thinking. Either Sparrow’s a lot more perspective than we give her credit for, or something weird is happening with her, too.
I didn’t have to go or anything, but I checked myself out in the mirror, smoothing down my hair, etc. The mirror reflects the back wall, slightly distorted. Something red and foggy smearing the tile makes me lift my hands out of the sink and turn around.
ADRIANE
The letters are vicious, thick and dripping. It isn’t blood, but its thick - oil thick - and crimson, bleeding into the cracks. Okay. How did I not notice that?
I have to kick the trashcan out of the way to see what else is written.
WHITE CROW’S CROSSING
Well. Looks like I have some place to be.
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