Dustland Requiem (A Bard's Folktale)

  Chapter 33. Sparking the Fire

  “I’m pretty much convinced that ‘karma’ is just another term for ‘You’re getting the exact opposite of what you expected,’—even if what you expected was the exact opposite of what you should’ve gotten.”

  – Alma’s Diary

  Glenn stepped out of the inn, taking in the sight of the small town at night. He scratched his head, his fingers getting dirty in the oily mess his hair had become in the desert heat. Something brushed against his leg. He looked down, expecting to see his furry companion. He was met not by the regal furr-line, but by brush weeds grazing against his pant leg. A car door slammed not too far off in the distance; he remained in place as he watched Kody approach.

  “E-evening,” Glenn said.

  “Hey,” Kody responded.

  Kody stopped short of the entrance to the inn, standing a couple of feet behind Glenn. Though he paid no direct attention, Glenn could feel Kody’s eyes examining him.

  “You know, I d-do speak. You’re more than welcome to ask your q-questions.”

  “Heh, yeah, no…uh…right,” Kody stammered. “I dunno. Mind’s in other places. This is a little weird for me, man. Last time I saw you, you were pretty much dead. I mean, seriously at least one foot in the grave. And then there’s that whole you-tried-to-screw-my-girlfriend thing, which I guess I should be mad about, but it’s not like I can even really say anything,” Kody rambled on.

  “L-let’s simplify this, s-shall we? We’ve b-both made trang-gressions that neither of us want to add-dress. Let’s just say we’re g-good.”

  Kody paused for a moment and shrugged. “Works for me.” Kody’s arm fell around Glenn’s shoulder, the latter turning toward him trying to figure out what was going on. Kody threw him a reckless grin while he mussed Glenn’s hair.

  “I know we don’t always get along, but it’s still good to see ya’, buddy.”

  “L-likewise. Don’t you have some ‘patching up’ to do?” Glenn nodded toward the inn doors.

  “Hm… yeah. S’pose I should get back to that, then.”

  Kody patted Glenn on the back, and moseyed on back into the inn. Glenn exhaled, digging his hands into his pocket. His fingers explored the entirety of his pants multiple times. Frantically, he kept searching until he remembered what had happened to his medication.

  “R-right…”

  He reached up, scratching his cheek, trying not to pick at the scab forming over the cigarette burn on his face. He slid his fingers over it slowly.

  “I c-can do this.”

  He looked off into the distance, admiring the view of the stars over the mountains. Titans of the land displaying their dominance, breaking free of the loam plane. Was it insurrection? Did the tectonic plates curse their place being buried so far below the realm of the living? Did Tartarus not treat them well? Or did they possess an inert longing to meet their opposition in the empyrean—to see the celestial plane? Perhaps they longed only for equality—to feel the warmth of the sun instead of the heat of the earth. The mother versus the father. Glenn shook his head.

  Ignoring the mountains, he rolled up his sleeve to alleviate some of the heat. His hands grazed the larger of his scars on his arm, fingers gliding over them slowly. Not so different from the scar on his cheek, except that was a gift from a friend. Could he not give himself gifts, returning to his craft once more? He was an artist, after all. He began digging his nails into his flesh, feeling if he could feel. The discord of faux pain brought a distorted sense of reality to the forefront.

  “Stop!” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth.

  He remained shaken up, loosening his nails without letting go. He took slow, shallow breaths, calming himself for a minute before sitting down. Finally letting go of his wrist, he leaned forward, resting his head in his palms. He heard the surreal dreaminess of Mitsuda Yasunori’s “Radical Dreamers” hummed from behind as a pair of comforting arms gently wrapped themselves around his collar. Soft breasts pressed against his back as Alma’s face popped up over his right shoulder.

  “Hey, peaches. How’s it going?” Alma asked, brimming smile across her face.

  “P-peaches? Might be a better n-nickname for you.”

  “Oh, you’re funny now! I like that.” She laughed, forcing her bosom against his shoulder blade. “Better?”

  Glenn shifted uncomfortably, without moving away. He tried to look her in the eyes, but could see little other than strawberry brunette hair with her being so close. The scent of her sweat mingling with light perfume left him unprepared.

  “Aw, don’t go all stiff on me. Er—you know what I mean.”

  “I s-suppose I’m at a loss f-for words.”

  “Hm…” Alma hesitated. “Was kinda awkward last time we saw each other and all. What’dya say we take this inside and get everything cleared up?”

  Without waiting for a response, Alma stood up. She took Glenn’s hand into her own, leading him back inside.