After a moment of shock, I ask, “You don’t suppose you
could...you know, do something about that? I don’t feel very safe
being in a place where ‘killing someone’ is an everyday pastime.
Especially considering that I have no place to...respawn, I
guess?”
Nemo shrugs and explains, “No can do, I’m afraid.
Even if it may look like it, I am not running this place. I’m just
manning the bar, welcoming the newcomers and listening to their
troubles. But the good news is: Violence is actually forbidden
outside of the twilight rooms.”
“It...is?”
“Please,
we are running a civilized establishment here, not some shady tavern
where you are lucky if you can leave on your own two feet.”
I
look outside, where the brawl was still in full motion and ask, “So
I take it, the bar itself is…”
“Um...defined as a twilight
room of sorts. But you did notice that nobody bothered us as we made
our way to this booth or tried to yank you out, yes? While it may be
a bit of a FFA out there, they’re still mindful of who actually
participates and who doesn’t. Conflict is only a thing between
‘willing parties’. You need to issue a challenge and the other
needs to accept it.”
“So...no stabbing into my back or
something?”
“...I...must admit that things like that have
occurred every now and then. Especially with newcomers. But most stop
that nonsense pretty quickly once they learn that they can’t
actually kill anyone in here.”
“...except for
me.”
“Potentially except for you. We don’t know for
sure that you won’t just walk in through the door again after
sustaining a lethal injury.”
“I’d...rather not find out
though.”
“Want me to make an announcement to go easy on
you?”
“And paint a giant crosshair on my back?! Are you
nuts?!”
Nemo raises his hands in defense and says, “I’m
sorry! I’m not used to this kind of thing, alright? So, what do you
suggest we do instead?”
“For now? Keep it down. I’m just
another resident...who happens to be interested in that case. I mean,
that thing must be the talk of the entire place, right?”
“If
they’re not too busy bashing each other’s skulls in, probably,
yeah.”
Just then, the huge ass guy with the horns crashes into our booth and on the table, knocked out cold from the looks of it. Nemo shakes his head, gets up, picks the brutish guy up and throws him back out with little effort from what I can tell. As he sits back down, I cannot help but wonder just how strong he must be to handle that guy’s weight like that.
“Sorry, where were we?” he asks as if nothing ever happened and I
make a mental note to not get on his wrong side if somehow
possible.
“Err...I think you should talk to your boss about
getting me a room?” I suggest, my sentence sounding far more like a
question that I would’ve liked it to. There this place goes again,
surprising me with something that shouldn’t be possible.
“Yeah,
sure, I’d love to do that but…”
“But?”
“I don’t
‘talk to the boss’. The boss talks to me, not the other way
around. And as long as the boss stays silent, I can’t really do
jack...other than mixing drinks and break up fights.”
“...just
out of curiosity, how do you break up fights?”
“Oh, that’s
easy. Hold on,” Nemo says, gets up again, leaves the booth, shouts
something I cannot hear over the insulation and lo and behold, the
muffled noise dies down within 10 seconds flat with everyone picking
up tipped over tables and chairs and returning to their seats.
“What
in the world did you tell them?!” I ask, unable to hide my
amazement.
“That everyone who keeps fighting has to go dry the
next week.”
“And...they actually stopped
fighting?!”
“Usually they do.”
“And...if they
don’t?”
“They have to go dry for a week. I’m not a man
of empty threats.”
“Yeah, okay, but what if they...I don’t
know, switch a knife at you or something?”
Nemo gives me a
knowing smile and replies, “Believe me...everyone only does that
once max.”
Yup, I definitely don’t want to get on his bad side.
“Either way,” he suddenly continues, “I suggest you crash with
John for the time being. Seeing how the two of you are just about
joined at the hip anyway I don’t think he’ll mind. At least until
this mess is sorted out.”
“And...what if he does
mind?”
“Just tell him I sent you. He knows better than to
cross me.”
“He tried to then?”
“Once, yes. A long
time ago. It wasn’t pretty.”
“...so where’s his room?”
“D105.”
I thank Nemo and wander towards the elevator, still amazed at the sudden end of the fight. People are already drinking and laughing again. Just from looking at it, it sure doesn’t look like there was a full-out brawl going on less than 5 minutes ago.
After knocking against the room door and waiting for about a minute
or two, John opens up and asks with a strong slur, “You? What’re
you doong here? Goto yer own room!”
“Yeah, funny story
that...Nemo told me I needed to crash with you.”
John looks at
me and I have to wonder just how much he must’ve drunk since we
parted to be this wasted, but then turns around waving me to follow.
His room looks like an honest to goodness detective agency, complete
with desk, file cabinet, sleeping couch quickly occupied by John and
a worrisome amount of empty bottles scattered all across the floor.
I’m pretty sure there’s a lengthy and probably sad story behind
his clear alcohol abuse, but right now I’m too tired to bother
asking him. I walk over to the cabinet, pull on the cord and a
stowaway bed falls out...wait, how did I know that there was a bed in
here? I’ve never been in here before, have I? While I lay on the
bed, looking up at the lazily turning ventilator, pondering the many
questions that keep piling up, exhaustion catches up to me and takes
me away to a dreamless sleep.
In the morning, a not so gentle ‘touch’ to my shoulder wakes me
up and there stands John, fresh as the morning dew and asks, “What
the fudge are you doing on my bed dude?”
In a hurry I explain
my situation and then ask, “How the heck are you awake?!”
John
looks at the scattered bottles and sighs, “I’ve...been in a bit
of a bad place last night. But then the first light came...and I got
restored to ‘proper’. Can’t even have a proper hangover in this
place. Can’t remember letting you in though.”
“Yeah,
I...can imagine that. You were pretty out of it.”
“Anyway,
get yourself cleaned up. There’s work to do. Bathroom is over
there.”
John points me at a door which seems to haven’t seen much use. Why does he even have a bathroom when he just gets ‘restored’ in the morning?
I enter the bathroom and startle at the guy in the mirror. I look downright terrible. Thick bags under my eyes, a stubby beard rampaging over my face...and I wasn’t even the one drinking!
While cleaning myself up the best I can with the utensils thankfully present in the bathroom, John suddenly knocks against the door and hands me a fresh suit. Good thing too, because I slept in the clothes I came in and the don’t exactly reek of flowers and sunshine to say the least. Where he got it from or where he puts my clothes, I don’t know and I don’t really care.
After cleanup is finished, we sit at John’s table and go over what
we’ve learned again.
“So, to summarize, you assume that
you’ll end up just as dead as Ms. Sue if someone got the funny idea
of offing you cause he doesn’t like your nose, right?”
“It’s
just a theory, but yes. Not too keen on finding out.”
“You’d
better not be. I’ve seen you in the morning. And while I don’t
know about the others, if they’re like me and wake up all fresh and
cleaned up everyday...you certainly don’t.”
“...no need to
remind me,” I reply, my stomach suddenly reminding me that I didn’t
really eat anything in the recent past.
“...hungry?”
“Sure
looks like it. Where’s a man to get some chow around here?” I ask
and look into John’s face. Don’t tell me the denizens of this
place don’t need to eat either. But then again...they did say that
‘everyone who finished their story’ ends up here. And is not ‘the
end of everyone’s story’ called ‘death’? If this really is
some sort of wacky afterlife, it would make sense for the residents
to not feel hunger...or thirst or pain. Though…
“Say, if
someone hits you...do you feel pain?” I ask.
“Sure do. I
once had one too many down in the bar room and lost it somewhere
along the way. I don’t exactly recall what happened afterwards, but
when I woke up the next morning, my entire body was aching.”
‘It follows that he’s doing his binge drinking in his room
instead,’ I think, looking at the bottles again.
“Stop
looking at the bottles already! I know I’ve got a problem,
alright?!” John complains.
I shake my head and ask,
“Regardless...I’ll head down to the bar and ask Nemo about
something to eat. I just hope he has more than liquid sustenance to
offer.”
“You do that. I’ll find you after you had
breakfast. Ah yes, on that note...you’d best not let anyone see you
eating something. People might start talking, if you know what I
mean.”
Having to be self-conscious about eating...this place just keeps getting better.
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