Chapter 27
The fireplace in the inn blazes fiercely. *Burp* Aw, that soup was good. Elsie doesn't exactly look as if she feels the same way.
"I hate eating out," she complains while bitterly stirring an almost-full bowl of soup in little swirls. "Nobody knows how to cook nowadays. Where can I find a kitchen? I'll show 'em how to actually give this mutant-sludge some texture and flavor."
Donnie belches louder than… never mind, I don't think there's a great comparison.
"Donnie, don't be a pig!" Elsie snaps. We need to find her someplace to cook before she eats our heads off and puts them on poles outside of the inn. Yeah, that's how ticked she is right now.
"When did you become my wife?" Donnie retorts, and sticks his tongue out at her.
"'Sid, what happened to you earlier? You just ran out," Sebastian says quietly to me while Donnie and Elsie fight like old biddies. They never stop, I'll tell you.
"I had to make a call," I answer. I yawn. Sheesh, train rides really do a number on you.
"To who?"
"Greta. I had another problem with a vision. One broke through. So I think I really need to find somethin' stronger. She told me to look for someone- Granger Freestine… no that's not it…. Gangy Frokestine? No… wait, I got it: Ginger Frankstine. Yeah that's it."
Until now, Falcon has been relatively quiet and… emotionless? But his eyes literally bug out of his head the minute I say this chick's name.
"Ginger Frankstine?" He chokes a little on the name.
"What, an old flame of yours or something?" Elsie teases.
"Err… it's complicated. Are you sure Elsie ADVISED you to go see her? What is she, crazy?" He seems just a little panicked, and afraid for his life. Is this Ginger lady really as scary as she sounds?
"Yeah. Exactly. So is she a good psychic or what?"
"Yes… but good luck getting her to teach you. She never had much interest in that sort of thing."
Donnie and Elsie are still squabbling with each other. Pretty much at his limit, Donnie pushes back his chair, gives Elsie the old one finger salute, and walks out. Nothing new there; just like any old night back in Grimm's Hollow.
How reassuring. A psychic who "never had much interest in that sort of stuff". Just fantastic. Score one for Team Obsidian.
Falcon excuses himself to "get some air". Yeah, sure you are, Falcon. Probably went to barf in a bush or something. Even Happy Barf. He didn't look exactly thrilled to hear the news, but he does have this way of keeping his expressions to himself (mostly the happy ones…).
Tons of little scratched and scuffs cover the thick, worn-down table. I run my finger along on of the big scratches indented into the wood. Memories are trying to push down my Wall. I can feel the fists pounding against it, and what's worse, I can feel some pushing through. I see a few faces, the beaten and the broken down, who sat at this table. Sometimes they didn't even sit; some got stone cold drunk and just slept on it. I can feel the shots of pain in my head. My stomach starts to do a flip-flop. I stop tracing. The headache lessens, my stomach settles down, and the banging stops.
I look up; Sebastian is looking right at me. He kind of looks at me all in a trance-like state. He breaks his stare when he realizes what just happened, and blushes. Forget his confusion; I'm a lot more confused than him!
Sebastian awkwardly excuses himself, saying that Falcon just called him.
Elsie smirks. "What?" I ask her in alarm.
"I think you have yourself an admirer," she laughs.
"NO. Just No," I can feel the heat in my cheeks.
And this just makes her laugh even more. "Relax. It's just a crush… it happens. I had a bit of a school-girl crush on Falcon, once upon, oh, I'd say about nine years ago, give or take. You'll warm up to it," She says. Does this woman ever stop?
"Y-yeah, whatever," I stutter.
I think I'll choose to ignore this for now. Sheesh, this has made things a wee bit more complicated. I can't stop thinking about things. What can I say, sometimes I over-analyze situations. For example the hand-squeeze on the roof a few days back: Friendly reassurance, or him trying to make a move? Actually, probably not so much "making a move"- I can tell, he's not that kind of guy (not that I know much about guys…). God, she's turned me into a hot mess!
Not that I'm not a hot mess already.
