Once again, I apologize for the previous chapter ;_;... Yup, I definitely got a bit too excited with the gore, didn't I? UWAGH! BUT, now we're done with the gore, however we've still got some of the sappiness, mushiness, paranoia and the fluff left... Oh so much fluff o_o"...
Anyway enjoy ^^!
*** Chapter Fifty-one : Pancakes ***
The five riders were quarreling among themselves as they reached the hill.
"Hell, I bet that's just a trick to break us up! After we've been to the god damn town, n' without findin' nothin', we'll return to the quarry just to find that the others have been massacred by that sneaky two-faced deputy, that loudmouthed brat an' their outlaw friends!" Thomas said and turned to McKenzie. "An' ya know what I'll say then?" McKenzie rolled his eyes. "I'll say this: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!"
The cockroach stopped laughing when Elton told him to shut up. "IF there's someone after the town, we wouldn't wanna draw his attention, now would we?" Tarrant filled in for his brother.
"Hey! All I'm sayin' is that if that big freak, frickin' Sasquatch or whatever he was, killed 'em off while they tricked us away, don't blame me!"
"The only thing we'll blame ya for is if ya reveal our location to the enemy!" McKenzie snarled without looking at the roach and flattened the enormous ears on his head.
"What if there is no enemy, Mac? What's if it's just a big hoax? Nothin' but a fib told by the deputy to send us away?!"
"No, it wasn't a fib..." Louie said. He had come to a halt on top of the hill and stared blankly at the town far away on the horizon. The rest of the gang from Dry Creek rode up side by side with the sheriff and they all gawked at the scene in front of them;
The sky was a deep, blue color, and behind the outlines of the town there was still a pink line left from the sunset. But they didn't need any sunlight to see the destruction: a massive crack in the earth split the main street in two halves, one street was completely ruined and ankle deep water covered the entire town.
The five men gawked at the sight, before Louie finally snapped back and turned his roadrunner around. "C'mon, we gotta head down an' see how the townspeople's managed! An' be quiet Thomas!"
For once, Thomas had nothing to say. He just nodded mutely and lingered for a while, before he too rode down the hill. The small gang quietly making their way to the town.
…
Priscilla dropped the soiled clothes in the empty wooden barrel with a disgusted grimace. Maybe if they could be thoroughly washed they could've been saved, but washing clothes wasn't high on anyones priority list. Especially not on any full grown ruffian outlaws list. They barely even bathed as it was. Which had been proven when the bathtub Jonas provided them was dusty and spiders about the size of their fists had strung their web all over it. She sighed and leaned back against the barrel. Getting Bentley into the tub had been a challenge.
Ever since they both walked up the stairs from the Basement he had been quiet and moping, clinging on to her like a barnacle. Hearing about how close he had been to kill Scrange didn't make everything that much better either. He rarely spoke, only mumbling a few words every now and then, and he never let Priss out of his sight. Sure, she could understand if he was worried and slightly paranoid, consider everything that's happened, but after a while she had to push him away and draw a line; she COULD go to the bathroom on her own.
When she tried to convince him to change out of those bloody clothes, he had first looked at her blankly and then turned to the bath with a suspicious frown. He refused to go into the bath for almost half an hour, then she had enough. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragged him up to the tub and threatened to drag him off to the aquifer and push him into the murky, cold, possibly monster infested water if he didn't get his sorry ass in the tub before she came back. It must have worked, because when she left to look for some new clothes, he had already begun to unbutton his shirt.
She had to search for a while before she actually managed to get her hands on clothes which would fit the tall, heavy hyena, the only problem was that the only ones who could even match his size was the Gajerras. She whistled innocently when she strolled out of their room with a pair of black pants and a tan longsleeve shirt, hoping that nobody, especially not Bentley, would notice it was theirs.
When she returned to the room where Bentley and her had been assigned to, she found him in the tub, his nose and eyes barely visible over the water, which already had changed into a deep red from all the blood. He spotted her coming closer and slightly raised his head up from the water, enough to speak without getting the bloody water in his mouth.
"Prissy, it hurts..." He said quietly, earning a puzzled look from the aye-aye. "I think I've been shot..."
Priscilla nodded and dropped the new clothes on a chair. "Put these on, I'll take a look at it when I come back!"
With that she took his old clothes and threw them away in the empty barrel, possibly to get cleaned one day. She took a hasty glance at herself, she could also use some new clothes, as the ones she wore had bloodstains and were starting to get torn. But that could wait.
She took a detour to the western communion room, where the others had gathered instead of in the main storage. They had moved the tables into one big, and the two sides were sitting across each other, glaring as if they could make the opponents vaporize. They had agreed on some form of temporary truce, mostly thanks to the posse being outnumbered by the outlaws and smugglers, despite the two rattlesnakes, and thanks to Rango the bountyhunter, who really couldn't deal with any more fussing about right now. Least of all a full blown clash between the two sides.
Jonas wore a hat, identical to the one that got destroyed. "It is good to hav an extra!" He snickered and poked the hat with the tip of his tail when he met the gangs questioning faces.
Coral and Thunder Wing had returned shortly after Bentley went back from being a homicidal maniac, although Thunder Wing left shortly again, to find and inform the other half of the posse about their new location. Scrange was still unconscious, and his stretcher had been placed near the stove, where Fledge and Flitch was cooking something in a massive skillet. Loudly arguing in Spanish while they did so.
Doc, the two Rangos and Wounded Birds heads turned when Priscilla walked into the room. "How's he doin'?" The bountyhunter asked, earning a shrug from Priss.
"At least he ain't violent no more, but it'll take some time b'fore he's back to normal again" She answered seriously. "If he ever get's back, that is..." She added quietly. She hated the think of that, but the longer she thought about it, the more she realized how hard it was going to be for him to recover from something like that. He was still traumatized over the massacre, and seeing Scrange like that because of him. Not to mention that if even a single drop of blood could make him sick, it was hard to imagine what he must felt when he realized he was covered in it.
"Anyway Hog, I need some alcohol an'...!"
Caleb chortled out a laugh from the corner where him and Mongo stood. "He's THAT much of a drag, huh?"
Priss rolled her eyes. "No, but I think he might be hurt so I need some alcohol and bandages..." Just she said that, the big skillet was put down on the table, containing some kind of unidentifiable stew.
But the outlaws were way too hungry to complain about the fishy slab and literally threw themselves over the food, chucking up greedy masses on their plates. Woodrow frowned at the questionable food.
"How can we know it ain't poisoned?" Gus growled in suspicion.
"Well, if you see us startin' to twitch and flop around on the ground, then Fledge and Flitch probably poisoned us all like the crazy Mexicans they are!" Caleb rolled his eyes and handed an amount of slop enough to feed an artillery to Mongo, who hungrily dug in with his entire face into the food. Fledge spat out his food, asked his brother something and started laughing at his answer.
"I reckon I've got some of that cheap stuff still underneath the counter. It's hardly even drinkable, but ya might have some use for it!" Hog said with a nod. "However, we're all out of bandages, sorry!"
"Ts'alright, I'll just have to improvise somethin', then!"
She grabbed a plate with stew before she left and passed Bentleys room to drop off the plate before she continued to the opposite communion room. He had pulled on the black pants and was sitting slouched over on the chair and held the shirt in his hands.
"This is the Gajerras, ain't it?" He asked without looking up when she left the plate on the nearby table.
She paused for a moment. "Y-yeah, it is. But I was thinking since y'all are 'bout the same size n'all...!" She discontinued and sighed when he not as much as looked at the plate she put down next to him. "Hey, eat this, alright? I'll be right back, then I'll have a look at'cha, okay?" She couldn't help herself but to give him a hasty hug before she left. He didn't even as much as react.
She left and dashed to the other com. room. She dove in behind the bar desk and rummaged through the stock. She found an unopened bottle of some of the extra strong cactus juice and decided that it had to do. On the way back she detoured into an empty room and snatched a white sheet to shred and use as bandage. It was tricky having to carry everything with one hand so she tried using her other to carry the sheet. It worked as long as she didn't move her shoulder. She was lucky that the bullet had gone straight through, but that did nothing to ease the excruciating pain she felt whenever she bumped into something, or moved it too much.
Bentley was still sitting hunched over on the chair, staring down at his hands. He hadn't even as much as looked at the food. Priss sighed again as she withdrew a stool to sit on while she tended to his wounds. "Now, where does it hurt?" Without a word, he extended his arm and she saw blood dripping from two holes in his arm and one in his side. "Oh boy, this'll need some stitchin'..."
She vacated the room once again to search for a knife, sewing equipment and a candle. The two holes in his arm seemed relatively harmless, as the bullets had just passed clean through without even getting close to the bone. As she cleaned out the wounds with the strong alcohol, he didn't even as much as flinch. He just sat hunched over on the chair, holding his arm out and stared blankly at the floor. Not uttering a single word.
"Bentley?" Priss couldn't help but to ask, he didn't even as much as flick his ear at her. "What's wrong?" More silence. "Bentley, how are ya feelin'?"
"Oh, y'know..." He finally said. "Considerin' I've just committed the worst massacre in history, almost killed my best friend an' tried to murder you outta all people in cold blood, definitely placin' me in the 'Top Ten Sickest Psychopaths' list, other than that I'm just peachy..."
Priss frowned as she held the needle over the candle. "Well, glad to hear you're not entirely traumatized!" He didn't answer. His silence made her feel even more uncomfortable. "Can't ya at least say somethin'? You're creepin' me out!"
"Like what?"
"I dunno, why dont'cha crack another one of yer lame jokes? We could both use a good laugh right now!"
"What is there to laugh 'bout, really? Do I have to remind ya that I almost killed ya t'day?"
"C'mon now, don't be like that!" She scoffed as she began to stitch his bullet-wounds together. He jerked his hand slightly and hissed in pain, but other than that he didn't move a muscle while she stitched him up. She got fed up with the gloomy silence once again and tried to ease up the mood a bit. "I know, how 'bout this one; why did the chicken cross the road?"
"To get his beak broken off an' shoved into his eyeball... "
She flinched. So THAT'S what happened to Bob... Lovely... "Ookay, maybe not..." She mumbled and wrapped strings of the shredded sheet around his arm, wrapping up the wounds. She cut of the thread with the knife before taking on his other wound. This hole was still bleeding and seemed deeper. It had probably begun bleeding again since he bathed, seeing as he would've bled to death by now if it hasn't. "Umm... Bentley..." She said and fumbled for the knife. "I think the bullet's still in there... I'm afraid I'll have to dig it out"
He didn't even open his mouth as he leaned over the table and buried his face in his arms. Priscilla winced. Neither of them would enjoy this, she realized as she held the knife over the candle, making sure it was somewhat sterile for the 'operation'.
After a while of digging around she eventually found the bullet. She made a gagging sound as she dropped the little hunk of lid on the table and started to clean the bleeding wound. Bentley was still trembling after the painful 'excavation', but he had managed to sit still throughout it all. She couldn't help but to silently admire him for that, since that would've been more than she'd have done in this case.
While she rubbed alcohol around the wounded area with a piece of the sheet, she threw a hasty glance at the scars on his back. It made her mad every time she saw them. She had heard horror stories about the cruelty some plantation owners showed their slaves, but she would never have thought anyone could so something like this another living being without remorse! For a whip to leave scars like these, they must first have left very deep and nasty wounds. She started to feel sick when she imagined the pain he must have felt from the lashes, which seemed to have been many as he barely had any fur left!
He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. "Prissy?" She woke up from her thoughts and noticed that she had stopped cleaning the wound and instead traced her fingertips along his ruined back with tears in her eyes.
"Oh, sorry! I-I just..." She quickly withdrew her hand and started looking for the needle. Great, I swear, if I've lost it I'll... She found it and sighed with relief. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand did the same to the needle as with the knife before. They were both silent as she stitched the wound in his side up as well and wrapped him up with the last of the ripped sheets.
"See? Good as new!" She chuckled and glanced at the food. He still hadn't touched it, and it had grown cold by now. "Ya ain't eatin'?" She tilted her head at him in puzzlement.
He glanced at the plate hastily before turning his eyes back to the tables surface. "Ain't hungry..."
"But Bentley, you're ALWAYS hungry?"
"No, not t'day..."
"But ya ain't eatin' nothin' since yesterday!" She picked at the plate, she wasn't going to stop nagging until he finally ate something. "Cant'cha at least PRETEND to eat it?"
"I told'cha, I ain't hungry!"
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Not even a bite?"
"God DAMN it, Priscilla! I told'cha; I AIN'T hungry!" He slammed his fist in the table and glared at her. But when he saw the startled look in her eyes, he immediately regretted his outburst. He hung his head only a few inches off the table. "I-I'm sorry, Prissy... I didn't meant to yell... I..." He let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry..."
She stared at him in shock for a few heartbeats, before she shook her head with a heavy sigh. "It's alright!" Priss said and put a hand on his shoulder as she lifted the plate of the table. "I-I'll be right back..." She said walked out of the room, he didn't even look up from the table.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it while looking up at the low roof of the corridor. Sure, he wasn't a homicidal maniac anymore, but his mind was still... fragile. He had never called her by her full name before, just that silly pet name he gave her already on her first day in the gang. Back when he laughed as soon as anyone as much as sneezed. She frowned and threw a concerned glance at the door behind her. She wanted that silly and obnoxious goofball back, and she slowly realized that she wanted the old Bentley back more than anything else. How cliché...
She sighed and hung her head. "What's happenin' to me?" She muttered and walked back to the com. room, throwing the plate with the cold food in a bin.
...
She passed Mongo on the way, he was carrying an barely conscious Caleb over his shoulder. When he got a questioning look from Priss, he responded by leaning his head on his massive hands and make snoring sounds. She couldn't help but to smirk at them both. Upon entering the big, round room, she noticed that the mood between the two sides hadn't changed that much, except that the black clad bountyhunter now stood up and leaned his hands on the table, ranting.
"I'll be frank with y'all; I don't give a rats ass 'bout ya clowns, no offense Scrange!" Scrange was too busy being passed out to answer. "Ya can do whatever ya want an' bunk down wherever ya want, we don't care. We've got other things concernin' us right now than a pack of vengeful hayseeds, an' if no one else has somethin' to add, I'll go an' hit the hay right now. There are rooms available now when the entire inn has been evacuated, so feel free to use any of 'em. But don't bother tryin' to assassinate us durin' the night, 'cause w'all sleep lighter than an hyena on caffeine, an' I reckon we won't have to shoot the lot of ya now!" The bountyhunter ranted on as he spotted Priscilla in the corner of his eye. "Priscilla, great timin'! T'morrow I'mma have a talk with Bentley, is he available y'think?"
She shook her head. "No, not the way he is now, even I can't reach him!"
"Well, fix him then! I'm givin' ya the mission to git Bentley in a talkin' fit by t'morrow, it shouldn't be too hard: he trusts ya!"
"That'll be a LOT easier said than done, Rango..." Priss couldn't stop her jaws from grinding her teeth at the order she just got. "He's been through a lot, I doubt he'll ever...!"
"Bullshit, he's Bentley for cryin' out loud!" He scoffed. "He's always recovered, or somethin' similar..." Before Priss could protest, he had turned to the posse again. "As I said, you're all free to stay over the night, or go back to yer town, if there still is a town that is. Myself, I'm goin' to bed an' nobody can stop me!" He backed away from the table and touched the brim of his hat at the others. "G'night, gentlemen!" He said and left to find an empty room to bunk down in.
The posse watched silently as the bountyhunter vanished into the corridor, nobody knew what to say. They could hardly believe that this stingy, grumpy yet surprisingly caring lizard was the same coldblooded murderer who mercilessly executed innocent townspeople just because he had some unfinished business with their sheriff and a family of renegade rattlesnakes. But that didn't mean they could forgive him after all that's happened! In fact, it was the opposite; it made the mens fingers itch even more as they fingered at the handles of their guns. This guy was obviously planning something, but what?
"I know what yer'all thinkin'..." Hicks broke the silence with his solemn, muttering voice. "But he was speakin' the truth: we've all got a bone to pick with Jet an' the Gajerras, an' right now you're more of a nuisance to us than a threat. That's why he ain't ordered us to take y'all down... yet!"
Woodrow growled. "An' we've got quite the bone ta pick with y'all too, y'know!"
"We know, sheriff. An' that's somethin' we'll have to take up t'morrow or somethin'. T'day has been a rough day for us all, an' I think I'mma follow Rango's example an' git some shuteye"
Once again, the posse was taken back by the nonchalance shown by the bountyhunter and his men; they were literally asking their enemies to sleep over. Either it was an example of great hospitality, or equally great stupidity, but nobody seemed to even bother that it was an armed posse after to bring them all to the gallows. The smugglers and the rest of the outlaws left, and maybe it was their careless attitude, but something got the posse to refrain from drawing their guns at the backs of the outlaws as they one by one left to be engulfed by the darkness of the corridor. All except for one.
"Priscilla?" Wounded Bird asked in puzzlement, as his adoptive daughter began to rummage through the food stock which they had managed to salvage from the Basement. With a smirk on her face she found flour, sugar, eggs and even a few cartons of milk, along with a large frying pan.
She ignored the confused and slightly suspicious looks she got from the posse as she began to mix the ingredients in a tin bowl, a randomly improvised recipe.
"So, what do we do now? Go back to Dirt or...?" Doc turned his head to the two sheriffs.
"Well, I'd say it's too late to get goin' back to Dirt. Besides, I wonder if we'll find this place again if we left!" Rango said with a disbelieving frown as he glanced at Priscilla, who was busying herself with throwing more firewood into the fire, careful not to disturb Scrange.
"But to tell ya the truth, I ain't gonna sleep under the same roof as that killer an' his goons..." Woodrows voice was seeping with contempt as he spoke. "There's somethin' fishy goin' on, I'm tellin' ya!"
While the rest of the posse was discussing the plans for the night, Wounded Bird slowly got up from the table and made his way over to Priss. She was busy batting the ingredients together with a spoon, when the clearing of a throat behind her got her to yelp in surprise and snap around, almost splashing the pale batter in Wounded Birds face.
"Sorry" He said with a slightly amused undertone at her startled reaction.
"I-it's alright!" She chuckled nervously and turned back to the stove.
"You're cooking? That's unusual..."
"Well, he needs to eat somethin', since he refused to as much as poke at the food I brought him..." She said flatly and poured some of the batter into the heated up pan, the sludge gave off angry, hissing sounds as it connected with the hot surface. "But I reckon he'll at least look at this!"
"You're like a mother hen, caring for her young..."
She turned around and narrowed her eyes at the tall crow. "'Scuse me?" She said and put a hand on her hip. "What're ya implyin'?"
"Only that I've seen many of your faces, but this is a new one; it's a caring face. A concerned face." The old crow tilted his head at the young aye-aye. "The face of someone who's troubled about their lover"
Priscilla instantly felt her cheeks burn red and she turned away again to hide her blush. "W-well. I... He an' I... We, umm... He..." She stuttered and stared down at the batter in the frying pan. It had to be turned soon, or else the flapjack would be turned into charcoal. "I-I wouldn't s-say 'lovers' exactly. M-More like close f-friends!"
"That's not what your eyes say..."
"I-I ain't lyin'!" She spat and glared at the crow. "Whaddya want, Bird?! 'Cause unless ya know how to flip pancakes, I s'ggest ya vamoose an' leave me alone! Tell the others there are more free rooms at the other side of the great hall." She turned back to the stove and took a deep sigh to cool down and try to get the raging blushes on her cheeks to disappear. "I-I'm sorry... I'm sorry I left the town. I can't explain why, all I know is that I didn't mean to run away with these outlaws... I frankly just don't know what I'm doin' anymore..." When the Crow didn't answer she turned her head just to see that the black, scruffy bird was limping back to the table with the others, she was unaware of the smirk curled up at the corners of his beak. More angry fizzles from the pan caught her attention again and she noticed that the flat pancake had turned a dark brown, almost black color and was reeking with soot. "Damnit!"
…
Bentley was sitting on one of the two beds with his knees pulled up to his chin, wearing the tan shirt and picked at a loose thread. He kept opening and closing his eyes, trying to get the images out of his head. Although he knew it didn't matter if his eyes were opened or closed, he could still see the bodies of the mutilated corpses, strewn across the cavernous space. The bodies of the ones he slaughtered and their horrified screams as he brutally butchered their companions right in front of them was still ringing in his head.
He had enjoyed it that time, to see the life slowly leave their wide opened, terrified eyes had brought a rush to him. It was like having a sugar rush, but stronger and more addictive. They had gleefully watched him suffer, and now it was his turn to laugh at their misery. When Scrange tried to stop him, he had just, without slightest hesitation, thrown himself over the short, stubby rodent and tried to pry his heart out of his chest with his bare hands. But that hadn't been the worst part: the worst part was when Priscilla came back through the door. He didn't want to believe it was her, as he knew he couldn't take the disappointment if she were to vaporize and vanish if he walked up and hugged her.
The fear he saw in her round, yellow eyes when he decided to kill her off, getting rid of his tormentor forever, was still haunting his mind, along with the murdered men. And that fear had returned after his short outburst. That glint of fear he saw in her eyes back then, caused by him, was worse than hearing the screams and seeing the mutilated carcasses for the rest of his life.
He whimpered and curled up, pressing the palms of his hands against his ears as more bloodcurdling screams echoed in his mind. "Get outta there..." He winced. "Just get outta there!"
"Bentley?" Her voice broke through the cacophony and muted the noises, bringing somewhat peacefulness to his mind. He didn't look up at her, in case she'd have that frightened look in her eyes again, but he heard her slowly walk up to the bed and place a plate on the nightstand. "Are ya okay?" He shot a quick glance at her through the thick curtain of hair, barely hanging down in front of his eyes. "I'll take that as a no..." She sighed and climbed up in the bed, slumping down next to him.
Silence fell between them as Priss slowly leaned her head against his shoulder, shortly followed by one of his arms snaking its way around her waist. She smiled to herself and nudged her head against him, but her smiled vanished again as she saw the blank expression on his face.
"Bentley..." She said and removed her head from his shoulder. "What's goin' on?" He didn't respond, so she leaned over him and fetched the plate. "Y'know what? I bet ev'rythin' will seem a LOT better after you've eaten somethin'!"
Bentley responded for the first time with a shake of his head. "I ain't hungry Prissy... I'm sorry, but I just can't eat... wait, are those?" His ears perked up when he saw the floppy, flat discs stocked on the plate.
"Yup! Pancakes!" She smiled as he kept staring at the food. "I know they're not perfect, I ain't exactly chef-material y'know, an' I couldn't find any jam or maple syrup, but do ya still think ya can manage to gobble down a few?"
"Y-ya made these?" He said dumbfounded and flicked his eyes from the pancakes to her.
She nodded. "Yeah, but I managed to burn most of them, here's the one's that seemed edible at least... Hey, watch it!" Without a warning, he had thrown his arms around her and almost managed to push them both down from the bed. She almost spilled the flapjacks off the plate when she tried to keep it from getting squished between them. "Bentley, what...?"
"No, they ARE perfect! Just like you!" He said, his voice was somewhat muffled since he once again had his face buried in her shoulder. She instantly blushed as he too realized what he just said and withdrew, faint red spots were visible on his cheeks. "Umm... I mean..."
"Here!" Priss quickly handed him the plate, before he said something else. He accepted the plate and looked at her with a slightly tilted head.
"What 'bout'cha?"
"Hm?"
"Ain'tcha hungry?"
"Nah, I ate some of that freaky stew Flitch an' Fledge did..." She did a grimace and stuck her tongue out. "Way too much jalapeño! Ya were wise to not eat of it!"
He put the plate down between them. "Then why don't we split these up, huh? I don't wanna feel like I'm hoggin' them all!"
"No, it's alright!" She shook her head and slid down from the bed. "There's one more thing I need to do..."
"You'll be back, right?" His sudden, worried question made her roll her eyes.
"Well, I've been back ev'rytime so far, haven't I?"
"Yeah, but..." He shook his head and waved his hand at her. "Never mind!" Priscilla smiled faintly to herself as she walked out from the room for the last time and closed the door behind her. At least he was talking now, that's a good sign!
…
When Priscilla walked out from the storage room, she was wearing new, temporary clothes and threw her old ones in the same barrel in which she had disposed of Bentleys old clothes. Left to be washed another day. Maybe.
When she entered their room again, she noticed that he had moved around the furniture and placed the two beds next to each other. Himself sat in the middle and grinned sheepishly. She arched an eyebrow at him when she saw that he hadn't eaten the pancakes either.
"Really, Bentley?" She said dryly and nodded at the full plate.
"I ain't gonna eat it all by myself, y'know!" He said stubbornly and crossed his arms. "I told ya that!"
"But...!" She didn't know what to say, so she interrupted herself and just shook her head at him, chuckling in disbelief. Well, talking about a change; a few minutes ago he was the epitome of melancholia, now he almost back to his 'normal' self! Almost... She could still see the fear and regret that clouded his eyes, but at least the smile was back, and that if anything is progress!
With combined forces, they managed to finish the plate with pancakes in just a few minutes. For her first time cooking pancakes, she had to admit that they were pretty okay. Bentley however, loved them, despite discovering eggshells in at least three of them. And it didn't matter to him that they were burned and some were better off as frisbees, all that matter was the SHE had made them.
Priss had no idea what time it was, all she knew was that it was way past midnight and Bentley had fallen asleep a long time ago, with his head on her lap. She was aimlessly tangling and untangling her fingers in his thick hair while he snoozed heavily. He still had a long way to go before he was his old, carefree self. Whatever it was that went on in his head, restrained him a lot and sometimes caused him to space out, just staring blankly into space with a pained frown. Even if she only had to call his name and rustle his shoulder to wake him up, it was still really unnerving. Especially if he woke up and stared at her like she was some kind of ghost. And nobody could blame her if she didn't want to be accused of being a mirage again!
She felt her eyelids grew heavier by the second and it didn't take long time until she too fell asleep, drifting off into dreamland. Having uneasy dreams about Komodo dragons, rabid hyenas and water. Lots and lots of water!
…
Jolene was pacing back and forth in an angry fashion, muttering to herself. Jake was still rolled up in a bun in the corner, desperately trying to get some sleep, although Jolene wasn't making it any easier for the Grim Reaper. He was about to jolt up and shout at her to be still when they heard something in the roof. Both of them snapped their heads up in time to see a hatch open and when a big pile of dark brown and white feathers hopped down, they both drew their guns instinctively.
Thunder Wing arched an eyebrow at them both before skipping over to the hidden door and pecked on it with his sharp, crooked beak. Jolene and Jake exchanged glances when voices were heard on the other side.
The hidden door was yanked open and sheriff Louie poked his head in. He whistled at the great hall and jumped high into the air when Jake cleared his throat.
"Sheriff Graham?" Jolene tilted her head. "What took ya guys so long?"
"Oh, well..." The chubby kangaroo rat said and walked into the Nest, shortly followed by the rest of his gang, and also the men from Dirt. And the women and children. "We went there an' it turned out that the deputy was right, ya wouldn't believe me if I told ya what we've seen! Wait, where's the others?"
Jolene gawked at the mass of people pouring into the great hall, including Blake, who slithered around with a sheet over his head and tried to make himself look at pitiful as possible. Jakes face was unreadable as he watched the people who just got chased out of their own town, some were wounded and Mr Edwards had to be supported by his second oldest child and wife.
So, Dirt is lost to the Longway-guy? Jolene sighed and shook her head. "Seems like Priscilla an' Durango was speakin' the truth after all... What do we do now, Jacob?"
Jake was grinding his jaw and tilted his head down so his eyes were hidden under the brim of his hat. "We'll wait 'til mornin', then I'll talk to Durango..." He tilted his head up again and sternly narrowed his eyes at Jolene. "Alone!"
That's it for this time!
Looks like good ol' B is on his way back, he just needs time now, I guess... Yikes...
Anyway, we'll be back next time and keep your eyes peeled; Bentleys story is about to begin ;)
