CHAPTER 15
BEER STAINS OF THE HEART
‘The Rotten Barrel’ pub was smoky and reasonably noisy with slig chatter. Nox made his way to the bar to see the mudokon bartender behind it.
“Alright mate?” He asked.
“Yeah, get me a pint would ya’.” Nox said wearily, wanting to get started soon.
“Ok.” Was his reply.
Before he knew it, a pint of beer was before Nox, and the new challenge was trying to find a seat at one of the old, wooden tables in there. Then he noticed a friendly face that he hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Hey Nox! Over here!” Stollin beckoned, sitting at a table with Wrask.
Nox immediately obliged.
“How yeh doin’?” Wrask asked as Nox slopped his beer onto the table.
“Oh you know, my minds everywhere at the moment.” He said, sitting on a stool.
“We’ve missed ya’, Nox! How was prison?” Stollin questioned happily.
“Kept my head down, got a few beatings, nothin’ like the ‘D&M’ war, though.” Nox answered.
“Here,” Wrask said, handing Nox his beloved rifle, “I kept it safe for yeh.”
“Oh thanks!” Nox replied graciously, grabbing it without a moments hesitation.
“It’s already loaded, so watch it.” Wrask said.
“I tried to appeal against your case when I heard they were dumpin’ murder onto ya’, but they wouldn’t let me.” Stollin informed.
Wrask lit up a cigarette, looking sideways at Stollin.
“Oh well,” Nox began, placing his rifle onto the table to join Wrask and Stollin’s, “Its over now. Done and dusted.”
“Too right,” Wrask added with anexhalation of cigarette smoke, “But anyway, back to the old waterin’ ‘ole, ey?”
“Yeah,” Stollin joined, “We knew you’d come here. Well, nowhere else to go, is there!”
“Nope.” Wrask said.
Nox took a good swig of his pint, wetting his mouth in a frenzy of bitter taste.
Ah, that’s better…
He then noticed that Wrask and Stollin also had their own drinks, half drunk.
“You been here long?” Nox asked.
“No,” Wrask replied. “Not long before you.”
They’re lying…do ‘em over son!
And at that particular thought, Nox remembered something he wanted to ask them both.
“You know the ‘D&M’ war?” He started.
“Yeah?” Stollin said.
“Well…do you get these funny thoughts sometimes? Like something constantly bugging you…a voice?”
They wont know, shit-head!
“I don’t. Why? You get ‘em?” Stollin asked Nox, looking concerned.
“…Yeah.”
“Jeez! You told anyone about this?!” Wrask gasped in a puff of smoke.
“Well…no. the judge sorta’ worked out that I had post traumatic stress; he was a Vykker.”
“Yeah, and if yeh tell anyone about this, you’ll be seein’ a whole load more o’ them!!” Wrask informed urgently, stopping only to take another drag of his cigarette, “They’ll lock yeh up an’ throw away the key in some loony bin lab place, crawlin’ with Vykkers!”
“You had a Vykker judge? What happened to the Chroniclers?” Stollin asked, too far behind the conversation.
“Didn’t yeh read the paper that day? They’ve had a dispute with the Magog Cartel or summat. Gone on a sorta strike.” Wrask told Stollin, slightly annoyed by his lagging in conversation.
“So you don’t have these voices or anythin’?” Nox said, feeling alone. Wrask hesitated, and looked at him. “You do, don’t ya’!” Nox asked desperately.
“Yeah, but keep it down! Don’t wanna get locked up!” He said, looking around himself suspiciously.
That’s when Nox remembered his previous friend, Glon, and his paranoid antics.
“I don’t.” Stollin said, breaking the short silence between Nox and Wrask.
“Then you were lucky.” Wrask remarked, taking the last drag of his cigarette, before stubbing it out on the wooden table.
They drank quietly for a moment, listening to the bustle of the other sligs in the pub, all drinking, smoking or pursuing some sort of unhealthy leisure. Then Stollin broke it again.
“Loke’s ok.” He aimed at Nox.
Suddenly realizing what had happened months previously, Nox took sudden interest.
“Oh good!” He said, “I had a funny turn…like a flashback, dunno why.”
“Yeah, I had one o’ them once,” Wrask told Nox, “Except I was in my sleepin’ bag at the time, but it felt too real to be just a bad dream, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Nox replied.
By this point, Wrask and Stollin had finished their drinks, and Nox had almost finished his. Stollin noticed this and said;
“I’ll get another round.”
“Cheers mate.” Wrask said, as Stollin picked up the empty glasses and headed off to the bar.
“Yeah, thanks.” Nox added, then Wrask leaned in close to Nox, and said with beer tainted breath;
“Stollin never tried to appeal against yeh case,” He told Nox hurriedly, before Stollin returned with the drinks. “In fact, he seemed a lot happier when he found out they’d dumped murder onto ya’. No joke.”
“What on…shit…” Nox stammered, attempting to take in what Wrask had just told him, and downed his last glug of beer. This meant that Stollin lied about apparently appealing against his case when he heard murder had been charged.
“But why?!” Nox asked desperately, trying to get an answer before Stollin returned.
He felt like grabbing him right there and then and shaking him until he got all the answers he wanted. Why are you complicating my life? Why are you saying this shit?! Why?!
WHY!!
“I don’t know, but I don’t like whatever game he’s playin’.” Wrask pulled out a box of Lungbuster cigarettes, picked out another, lit it up, and conformed he was a chain smoker.
“Ey up, lads!” Stollin yelled, merely adding to the background noise of the pub, and setting down three pints of beer onto the table. There was involuntary silence among them.
“What’s up? Have I done something wrong?” Stollin questioned as he sat back down, not sure if Nox and Wrask were joking or not.
“No…” Wrask began. “I was just tellin’ Nox about that little gang Loke hangs around with when he’s not shirkin’ his work.”
“Oh, right motley crew they are!” Stollin told Nox, who was too caught up in the last few moments to take anything in.
He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Rest was what he needed…but a few more drinks before hand…
The night went on; drinks were drunk, cigarettes were smoked, and some songs were sung…out of tune, mind. By the time Nox and his friends had reached their fifth pints, they were talking that infamous ‘drunken speech’, about anything and everything, but mostly crap. Last orders were called, and Nox looked at his watch, generously tipsy. 11:59 pm. Time for sleep.
Nox, Wrask and Stollin left ‘The Rotten Barrel’ pub, with a few other pissed up sligs, and headed for their bunker. One that Nox hadn’t slept in for three months, #049 to be precise…again.
They staggered dangerously close to the edges of the metal walkway, lingering over the many poles that held up the worker tents below. Nox and Wrask had forgotten their little conversation, with the absence of Stollin, three pints ago, and were most definitely merry.
Once Nox and his friends reached the bunker, they entered in hushed style, attempting not to wake the sligs that hadn’t been out all night, drinking. There weren’t many, but a few. They made their way to their lockers to lock up their robotic legs, and that’s when Nox realized he hadn’t dared take his off for over three months. Then, in his drunken state of mind, he noticed someone missing from one of the sleeping bags, among a few other empty sleeping bags.
“Where’s Dran?” Nox whispered to Stollin.
“Didn’t we tell you? He died a couple of days ago. In his sleep.” He put one hand on Nox’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry Nox.”
Another mental blow.
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back at the old Rotten Barrel pub. not many chapters left now.
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