B1 Chapter 7: Plumply

Belladonna whispered to Gwendolyn, “No, it literally can’t be. I couldn’t have killed him.” The horse whinnied in protest.

“No, he’s breathing, look. I think he’s breathing.” The horse made a chuff in disagreement.

“Okay, he’s a little pale. There is a lot of blood, but there’s no way that I caused that. It’s not like he hasn’t seen an ass before. He sees yours every day.”

The horse made an almost offended note.

“Hey, I didn’t call your ass fat. Don’t call mine fat.”

The horse and the woman seemed to be having an argument as Modivar slowly woke.

“Can you please get dressed?” He said.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Belladonna said in an embarrassed tone.

“Do you understand her?” he questioned. “Because it sounds like you understand her when she speaks.”

“Yeah. Kind of, sort of, maybe a little, way more than I want to,” Belladonna said. “She’s really good at articulating herself with no words at all.”

Gwendolyn snorted what was definitely an affirmative.

“And also, I told you, I have no clothes here. I’m not wearing a vomit-covered dress.”

He looked at her with one eye. “You called that a dress?”

“I mean, not really. It was a corset and a skirt, but… you get the point.”

“Just go upstairs,” he said. “Into the dresser. In the third drawer, you’ll find a shirt that should fit, and then in the bottom drawer, you’ll find trousers. Put those on, and then… never speak about what happened here, because I don’t think my heart can take it. I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Rude,” she said as she stood up.

Giving him a full view of her backside once again, he closed his eyes, trying not to look as the woman swayed her way up the stairs.

He lay there, saying, “Honestly, this wouldn’t be the worst way to die. Maybe one of the more embarrassing ways, but not the worst.”

I think Joe would have said it would have been the perfect way to go, he thought to himself. Joe was always a little pervert. He got into all the trouble in the world, but he was a good guy.

Modivar remembered the first real friend he had made so long ago. When he was younger, trying to escape life and run away. He found a street kid who knew way too much about the law because he broke them all the time. He smiled at the thought of his friend, and then felt sick at the sadness of his loss.

“I am depressed,” he said. It was the first time he was able to voice it, really. “At least I got a breast of fresh air.” He chuckled to himself at the pun. “Maybe not. Maybe it was a breath of fresh ass.” He chuckled harder.

“Oh, God. Potion sickness sucks. Gwendolyn, can you go grab that blue bottle over there, the one that’s only half smashed? Gently, and bring it over to me. I think I’m going to slit my wrist.”

The horse looked at him, aghast.

“I am kidding, I am kidding. It’s liquid hydration. I’m just really parched, and I don’t think I can save it, anyways.”

The horse walked over, opened her mouth, repositioned it, and grabbed the shattered glass gently and with care with her lips. She moved back to Modivar and placed it next to him.

It was covered in horse saliva. He didn’t care. His life was a mess, much like the shop. The woman, Belladonna, had come into his life and turned everything in his life on its head with just her presence.

It was still night outside, meaning that, unless he had slept a day and a half, it had been less than a day.

He drank the potion of liquid hydration and felt some relief. Then, he felt a horse hair in it and choked, spitting it up and sputtering, but still feeling mildly better.

He also realized that his head felt a little drafty on one side. He noticed that Gwendolyn had golden hair sticking out of her mouth.

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“Dammit,” he said. “You’ve been eating my hair again. I thought we talked about this.”

If a horse could whistle nonchalantly, that was exactly what Gwendolyn did.

“What exactly is happening with my horse?”

The horse looked at him. He looked at the horse. He sighed.

“Fine. Just stop eating my hair. I don’t have any more of the tonic to grow it back.”

Modivar smelled something burning. He realized they had spent an inordinate amount of time talking, and the pancakes Belladonna had been making in the kitchen had never been taken off the heat. When he ran in, it was to a small fire in his kitchen.

“My life is over,” he said. “I’m just going to sit here and die.”

Gwendolyn slowly walked over, then trotted the last few steps. She looked at him, looked at the fire, looked back at him, then spat directly onto the flames. The fire sizzled and shrank. She looked at him again.

“Thanks, I guess,” he said. “I was kind of going to let the fire take me.”