CHAPTER 43 - GEORGE HALK

Current Time

Drayton Phillips hunched over the pub's slick wooden counter tipping the mug ever so slightly as to encourage the surface tension to loosen its grip. Just as such, a round of loose belly fat loitered in repose atop his belt buckle. Stories ambled across the room, as each one of the bar-men threw his lyrics into the tandem mess. A few feet away someone had elbowed a glass, causing a hunk of semi-soft vanilla ice cream from a rootbeer float to slide down the length of the bar. It was half tainted with the brown of the root beer – but only on one side. He turned away from it. Holograms of sexualized patrons in maid costumes toured about the pub with colanders of fresh broccoli, spritzing them with water then collecting it with an eyedropper into vials that the locals downed with one gulp. Every so often the pieces were dipped in liquid glass then returned to the colanders, the bath being by the chef's station. Drayton felt lost for words. He still harbored a grain of shame. Most would simply let it go, for what was it simply to be embarrassed in the pursuit of one's work, to be demeaned with the snap of a finger in a crowd of people. By a chastity belt unlocked, to be exact. Fortunately, neither the restaurant nor the pancakes themselves were discredited. "Don't get me wrong" Phillips mouthed to no one in particular, having the patrons come to the Emporium was good for business. Not only that, Phantomess herself freed him from the shackle. She was just doing good, even if it was at the expense of vanity. A passing hologram maid winked at him, and offered a vial of broccoli spritzer that he declined. A woman made out with another maid. "Every time I take a drink, I trade it for a bit of me. That's how it works" Phillips thought, quaffing a level of beer. Society, after all was built on transactions. Laughter in uniform consistency filed the volume, turning abrasive against his skin, brushing away minute particles like sandpaper. Glimpses of the Emporium on that pitiful day interrupted the sentence welling in his mouth, making it discontinuous. Could it have been done with more tact, more discretion? The way she snapped her fingers … and the ring of the belt as its mechanism unlocked chiming out to the waiting ears of the room. People understood at once, locking him into a moment in time. Feeling the dollop of ice cream tap the base of his hand near the wrist, he regained his composure. It was bathed in root beer. Over the neighboring booth a quartet of fellows in white collar habiliments used a leader-mimic spell that cast an oval of energy. As the conversation grew more intricate, it too reacted changing shape, and by its glow caused the wood to take in its symptom of complexity below. A regular passed by, an old timer who preferred to encase half his body in a bar of soap, awaiting a family of purple dotted lady bugs to chew through the substance, freeing chunks. He dangled a ring of keys with one free arm, much as a janitor does to amuse the little bugs with the happy jingle. Yet further on a table grew loud with excitement as one of a trio of sisters huddled in a makeshift birdhouse without a front smashed a toaster oven sat in the middle of their table, as it was of inferior design. It would not produce circular slices that could spin as fast as coins. Unlike the other two, she was fond of spending time atop the roof of their home, where a chimney met with another from a building that was built above it. About ten feet divided them. Both expelled clouds out from the end where, instead of continuing, formed a mass between the chimneys. "What a fetching clump of cloud" she had told Phillips a hundred times, then turned it into an egg by Zenith and let the albumen slide down the chimney, extinguishing the fire. Her house over the course of months embraced a shrunken state. Vines growing on the underside bullied their way betwixt the spaces of the floorboards, and vines that had years ago lost its fierce defense scurried throughout. During the first week they found a way to place feathers from a robin into amber of the vine sap, selling them at the corner store. Drayton waved at her, and she waved back ironically, acknowledging his bad temper. Ignoring the destruction, the bartender removed one of the paintings from the wall and arrived at the table where they procured a second toaster with a slot long enough the place the artwork in. Recalling a moment ago how their amusement had weighed heavy on him, he wished in his heart that it would come out crisp and burnt. Drayton sighed into his mug, letting go of that endeavor. "Move on already, there's a whole staff that looks up to you" he murmured, eyes tired from so much perpetual normality. Then something caught his ear. "She gave me one hard week with a good chase, but I got her eventually. The belt was amazing, perfect caliber and fit. Remind me next time never to go after the fast ones" a vaguely familiar voice said on the other side of the bar. Locals formed a loose partition between him and the speaker. Drayton pushed past a woman with interesting shoulder pads and her friend a robot shaving his chest with shaving cream and a razor to the group tucked into the back corner of the bar. More than ten people around a big round table ate up his words like they were cherry caviar. Drayton felt his throat burn for just a split second as his judgement resuscitated. He seemed to be more than popular. How had he never noticed? Ticking in the chambers of his body quieted their rhythm, shifting the sounds of the room back into context, returning words to faces. With a complete swig, the popular guy bashed the pitcher of mead down on the table, catching sight of the man staring at him as he swiveled his head. "Park Man!" he exclaimed, recognizing the chubby quarry that he had triumphed upon one night by the Emporium. Or more accurately, by the road that leads to the portion city. "Wolf, do you know me?" Drayton demanded, standing firm against them. "How can I forget a catch as good as you? That was the best night of the year" he smiled pridefully cocky at the thought of his bold adventure. "It was you then that put a chastity belt on me. Took me a while to get that off. A month exactly" Phillips answered, matching his tone to the graveness of the action. The table that he helmed burst into another round of fresh laughter. But the Wolf did not. He was of muscular stock, a full foot over his compatriots. Curious that it was him all along that belted half the city. "You took it off? What, do you want another run? I'll give you three and beat you every one" Wolf boasted with a gaming gleam in his smile. Phillips stood immobile, "Do you mind if I have a word with you in private?". Taking the clue, they both departed from the crowded quarter, finding an empty length of bar. Wolf could understand why a fan would want to discuss a favor in a quieter place. "My friend, can I buy you a beer?" Wolf offered. The man strangely declined. Did he just want an autograph? What exactly was he so nervous about? "First of all, do you remember the night that you got me? You came out of nowhere, but you must have seen the expression on my face. The belt went on so fast it was like being mugged. I know you heard me call for help" Drayton reminisced calmly and composedly. "Absolutely, I felt you howl at the moon. If it's an autograph you want, I can make a good offer" Wolf courteously added – man to man. Even so, the buddy continued unabated, "Secondly, I am not your friend. This death trap wouldn't budge for an entire month. Normal spells are worthless. At the Emporium a patron finally got it off. Do you know what it's like to be laughed at by an entire room, mocked like a child?". "Woah there fellow, are you getting angry at the chastity belt? That was a crowning achievement. It's a marvel of engineering. For a second in the park, at midnight when it locked, we were truth brothers. But you must not get it at all" Wolf clarified as he tried to drape a big furry arm over the other's shoulders. His canine jaw dropped as Phillips backed away. Now they stood facing each other at the bar. Wolf felt sober, and not in a decent way. To accent his point, Drayton unfastened his buckle and slapped the belt right on the counter, "Lastly, that belt destroyed everything. I want you to know that I hate you!". Frantically, the world began to cave in. This is the first time anyone had confronted him in such a way. They all seemed to have positive reactions, smiling ever so friendly every time he came near. "Fellow, did you need me to apologize? I don't really understand it, my work is great, but I'm sorry" the canine gave, chuckling to relay the man's nervousness. Around the pub everyone began swaying to a famous track. Couples danced beneath dripping colanders, blending sweat with ecstatic nutrients. The holographs hearts lit up, pumping orange light through the room, saturating even the quilt woven from old American flags spread across the dancefloor. Wolf reached his hands out to the guy that he knew just needed a drink to get better. "No man … that wasn't cool" Drayton admit, eyes alight with loathing. Turning, the fellow walked right out of the room, leaving him alone. "What happened?" Wolf thought. Nothing seemed as it should. Dancers beat exhausted limbs behind him, but he could not focus on the song. Its presence was gone. He only stared at the frame of the door through which the man had made his egress. The moon would not visit tonight, so in its place gray twilight beckoned. "Are those storm clouds?" Wolf identified. He walked outside. Across the sidewalk people were quite ready with implements to hush the rain. Umbrellas blossomed around him as the first drop came down, accepted as he closed his eyes, matting thick brown fur. More of it descended. "I was wild and free … so all this time I was putting the belts on people … I thought I was giving them that freedom too … but it was just the opposite". Trudging back to the not so lonesome den, he saw along the wall a couple seated at a table. Everything in his belly felt like bad leftovers. "He's another" the canine whispered. He had a lovely, dalmatian skinned fiancé seated across, listening attentively to the minutia of a story. Both started as the giant lingered over them. Wolf's shadow was enough the swallow them in one munch. HIs fur musky and damp. Clearly, they had done everything to persist despite their drawback. "Mr. Noodles, I'm the one that gave you all that pain. I think you need this" and slapped a key down on the table between them. Indescribable surprise cascaded across his profile. Noodles got up out of his chair, facing the wet beast, and wrapped his arms around him. "Thank you, brother," he groaned. Against the cushion of her chair Xylophage pressed, cupping her mouth with one hand, wiping a tear with another, "Wolf!". He nodded back at the fiancé, "By the way, my real name is George Halk".