Autechre - Corc

...

Whew. Training is over for today.

— I bet you would deviate from Hrist's attack – well, not so.

— You bet what? – I asked to a random stranger lying against the pillar, holding a dice with an only hand.

— Nothing. I don't bet money. I just do it for curiosity's sake. As a matter of probability, you shouldn't have avoided that, uh... hair. Seems like we have new flesh hanging around.

— Excuse me! – gee, I don't go with his guts already.

— What's up?

— Is that your way of saying 'hello, how are you'? – I haven't saw that guy before. He's a Dragoon Knight wearing an aqua blue coat, and that's all I know about him. For now.

— The dice haven't told me to present myself. Well, odd is for saying my name, even for not – as it seems, that dice ain't there for decoration. He throws it and gets – even! Well, guess I won't say my name to you.

— Neither I to you – I'm leaving. No need for introductions.

— Why not? Hey, aren't you cool as a cucumber? – what? Better get away from this weirdo... – chose to leave by chance?

— Chance? Mother told me to not talk to strangers – much less strangers like you.

— Oh, I see. You are Lenneth's daughter, right?

— I am. And you? – kinda rude to just leave without any introductions, mother used to say as well.

— A man of the dices. Also known as Gray – Gray... is there anything more redundant than a burmecian with gray fur be called Gray?

— Good morning, Gray. Oh, no need to bow before me. Careful, you will-

— GraAAAAY! – I told you to not bow. He did it, some dices came out his pockets, he stepped over and... slipped over some dices? As far as I know, they aren't slippery like bananas or anything. More like pointy as stones. Anyway, he fell, and that was an awful fall – geez, my dices fell all out my pockets. A hundred possible ways to begin or not begin a talk and I have to follow only one So... Gray Rhinehart. At your pleasure.

— That's better – he seems okay. Okay? I wonder who has such an extent collection of dices – my name is-

— And you? A pretty thing like you...

— Hey! – not so fast, boy.

— Christine?

— What? – is he doing the guessing game again?

— Rachel? – yes, he is.

— No – and I go along with him.

— Well... Frida?

— Almost – I'm a peaceful lady, there's no need to be harsh with Gray. He is kinda goofy.

— Freyja, right?

— Freya. Without the 'j' – at least he doesn't bet money. I should have bet money.

— Nice meeting you, Freya without 'j' – I help him get up with a hand.

— Nice meeting you too, Gray Rhino Heart.

— Rhinehart – he said, but it sounded like RHiNeHaRT.

— Yes, Rhinehart – if I have to say that yet again... it's kinda getting into me. Like when the doctor asks you to say '33' and your body vibrates. No way I'm saying vibration just after meeting this guy – now that we have been properly introduced to each other... how are you doing?

— I... I am – Gray throws another dice in the air, grabs it and says – number four. Well, I am fine, despite a pain in the butt. And you, Freya without 'j'?

— I am fine – and I don't need a dice to tell.

— That's good, Freya withou-

— Just Freya – I appreciate he knows my name used to have a 'j' in it. A few people know it. This speaking of someone I met right now...

— Right, Just Freya – he doesn't learn. Is he making fun or me, or just who he is? He throws another dice, it's all he does – is your hair white or have you painted it?

— My hair? It's white ever since I was born – why would I paint my hair anyway?

— White like snow, wearing red... Is your name Freya? 'Cause you're like a mix between Snow White, and Little Red Hood.

— ... – I have no idea what the heck he's saying. Like he orders the dice to say things on his place.

— You're a quite person, Just Freya – he said, as I only stood quiet for five seconds just blinking.

— It's just Freya, not JUST Freya – I had to clarity. If he throws another dice before saying something, I'll stick it up his...

— Right, Freya – ...and he threw it again – of what?

— Crescent. Freya Crescent – like everyone needs a surname.

— Crescent... like the moon, right?

— So, Freya Crescent like the moon – Gray knows what he's saying. Heh, he's doing it on purpose – what brought you to the Jugend. Was it to follow a mother's dying wish? To have a succesful career? To eat the finest meal at the kitchen? To find out the sexual implications of a javelin at your hands?

— Well – anything, but the last question is fine. I'll be honest with Gray, he is not afraid of what he says – I came to the Jugend in search of a purpose. My mother was a Dragoon Knight, she found herself at this place and since little that I wanted to be someone like her. Someone strong, courageous and daring and... a lot of things. Good things. I miss mom, but I'm not here for her. She never said I had to be a Dragoon to be any of the things she, or any Crescent before me, was. I just want to live my life, and what's a life worth living if you... I won't give up already, I still have a lot to do.

— I see, Freya Crescent like the moon – a lot to do? What about slapping that face? Nah – you know, I came here to find who I am too. And because the dice told me to.

— The dice?

— Yes. The dice tells me what to do. Before, I was a kid born and raised during the lean cows ages. The government had to bare the costs of the war against Alexandria, my father was lucky he didn't got called out for that carnage at the desert. Father worked hard, yet he barely earned enough money to suffice his family's needs, my needs. To anything I asked father to do, he said 'no'. Can I buy a toy? No, make your own toys. Can I play with mud? No, your clothes will get dirty. Can I jump out the window? NO. Just no, no and no. It was rare enough to hear him saying a 'yes', as rare as snowing. Can I play with my friends? Yes, but don't come home late. I grew to be less impulsive, more obedient and with these years of denial I haven't been that much happy. To every new opportunity that I came across, I would just deny it. Never took any risks, for real. I almost contemplated something, and it was not God. One day I realized how life is too short, too precious, we can't just give up and say that everything we do, or not do, is useless. No, we should live the best way we can, and the way I found to live a better, if not more exciting, life is by playing with chance, taking risks, be out the box...

You said you didn't knew a thing about this Gray guy, Crescent? Now you know his whole life in less than five minutes.

I wonder why I'm still listening. I'll find an opportunity to say goodbye, when he is done.

Why, that's so mean. Well, it's a mean possibility. And Gray understands a lot about these.

— ...you see, sexuality has nothing to do with genitals, people often mistake that. Yeah, it has a little to do with knowing who you are, boy and girl, and you know what? That's what sexuality is all about, growing awareness of who you are, inside and outside, who are you and who are others beside you it is more complicated than that but that's what it is. Why was I born a boy? Why do I have a... a second tail at the middle of my legs? Why was I born a burmecian? Why does it rains forever? Why did I became Dragoon Knight? Why am I speaking to a cute such as you? WHy have I said you are cute, why do I feel shaken when I say what I think? I'll say why, it all happens by chance, but in society, things happen because someone told you to. Order, it's how it's called. There is a need for order at society, for divisions, routines, work hours, free hours, all these complicated schemes of sucking someone's living potential. By chance, you can do a more lot than you do by being restricted to society and its walls. You feel awful when you say a thing you just though because society demands you to behave well, yet I see no harm at saying you are cute, because the dice freed me to say such. I do feel a weird tremble all over my body, but these are society's chains tightening me up, telling me that's wrong while in fact it is not, I am just telling the truth out of my heart, but that doesn't mean I love you, we are yet to properly love each other, and I think you and me are not in the age for this kind of love the perverted side of my mind, the one restricted by society, thinks about.

For someone who doesn't like restrictions, Gray surely speaks with a wall of text.

Cute, he said? I have reason enough to slap him already, but that's not polite.

At least he's sincere. Maybe too much.

— ...Whew, am I bothering you with my talk? – he is self aware too.

— No, not even a little – let's see if he noticed if I am convinced or not, because he surely will.

— You don't sound convicing enough. In fact, you hate me and want me to leave you alone, but you don't want me to feel bad because it's our first talk, right? – it's not like we have a relation to each or anything, we just met right now.

— That's right. Nice knowing you, Gray Rhinehart.

— Nice knowing you too, Freya Crescent like the m-

— Freya Crescent. F-R-E-Y-A-C-R-E-S-C-E-N-T – Gray ain't my type. He is my antitype, sorta. Yet, I don't hate him. I don't like to hate someone I just met and got a half bad, half good, half shut up, half tell me more impression.

— Have a nice day, F-R-E-Y-A – urgh, I hate when he does that.

— You too – I head straight to the main gates of the Jugend. Nothing can stand...

— Leaving already, Crescent? – ...on my way. Nothing, except Hrist. Doing her Surface Tension technique of always – won't we even celebrate?

— Leave that for tomorrow. I am pooped.

— I see. You met that Gray guy, he talked to you... yeah, he leaves me awful like you do.

— Do I? – Gray appeared out of nowhere without making a noise. He must know Surface Tension as well.

— Yes, you do. Be more impulsive, you say. Well, darling, I came with that philosophy first, without needing a cube at hands.

— Is that why you ate all my onion dolls? – I still haven't forgotten that.

— They were made of onion – no apologies to this day – look, we are stepping on the same place I left a hole.

— Quite a hole – is it really that place where Hrist broke the floor? I must admit, she did a nice job at fixing it – what was the technique called by? Drill Crusher?

— You came up with the name now? Pfft, that's so cheesy...

— I'd rather see you making soap bubbles.

— Do not underestimate soap bubbles. They have a higher destructive potential.

— Show me that potential for later. I'm not up to any fights, I already did a lot for today – knowing Hrist, she would have no mercy right now.

— That tree was laughing at you, but you showed her who laughed last – is she proud of me? That's such a rare sight.

— Trees do not laugh.

— That one did. And you showed her. I'm impressed.

— Why, thanks – half of me thinks Hrist is being nice for the sake of being nice. The other, well... we are shaking hands, so it's fine. For today.

— I'd say you two do quite a nice pairing – there's always a third eavesdropper around.

— Be quiet, Gray. Or else, I'll shove your dices and my fists at your throat – if it wasn't for Hrist, I'd say that on her place.

— I tried to eat dices when I was little. The red ones looked like candies.

— I'll make you eat some sidewalk if you don't stop your spiel.

— Okay... – I know Gray is a smart folk. Then he kneels and slips his finger at the ground, puts it on mouth... eugh, forget about being smart, or whatever. He has something to say – tastes salty. Be seeing ya, Freya. Hrist. Ladies.

— ...Is that why we haven't been presented to each other before? – so Gray left, and there's only me and Hrist.

— Yeah, Gray... he is peculiar – that's the best word to describe him. Peculiar – there are days he chooses to not take a bath because the dice told him so.

— Really? – Hrist ain't one of the most reliable and truthful sources around – well, I should better be going. See ya tomorrow.

— Heh, is that all for today? – why can't I just go home?

— It is.

— Not even a pizza? – pizza, huh? I might have a change of mind.

— No, thanks. Maybe tomorrow – never refuse a pizza. It won't be me who will be paying, though – by the way, tell your father to mark my exit.

— Alright – I can leave this place at any moment. Even live here if I want. There's too much freedom, yet why do I still feel caged? – don't you want me to follow you home? Or, do you prefer to be alone?

— I'm not alone. Not with this red coat.

— I do believe we have a soul, and at the moment we die, it leaves the body. Silly, isn't it?

— It ain't silly – many things bother my dear friend Ezekiel. Being on the of heads ruling out a school of Dragoon Knights, he's a man who has to deal with lots of trials and tribulations – as a kid, I was forced to go at the church on every sunday. I found the priest's speech to be utterly boring, all I wanted was to get out of there. A tiny bug was way worthy my attention than any of the saviors or prayers, but now I kinda miss the green and purple colors. Liturgical green, it's how I used to call it by.

— Nobody likes going to the church, much less laywers.

— Is that another one of your laywer's jokes? – please, Zack.

— Why, yes... Will you sue me?

– I don't see why – my wages are on time, you pay me well, we've been close of each for so long we're like family. I guess.

— If you say so. Well, better not sue me.

— I said I won't.

— Just checking – to be fair, I think I never sued anyone in my life. But I'd hate Ezekiel being the first on the list – how was training?

— Lady Crescent finished for today. Took a whole tree down with her own fists.

— Really? With her fists?

— With kicks as well – why I don't seem that surprised? – don't you miss a cherry tree standing outside?

— Oh, that was a cherry tree... some fine wood for a javelin – the finest of the woods to make a weapon – I wonder, whose ruler, warrior, Dragoon, whoever came up with this... it may sound unpolite what I'm about to say, but I find it stupid. Yes, really stupid. Why force our students to punch a tree until it's down? Why not chose a tree and make someone else model a javelin out of it? Also, a whole tree for such small staff? That's even more ridiculous, but who am I to question?

— I borrow same questions as well – and my excuse for following these is something we call 'tradition' – when we are little, we feel forced by our parents to do anything. To clean the house, make the bed, take a shower, go to church, but when we grown up, we feel there's a need for doing these things on your own. Not because someone else told us to, but because it's the right thing. Except the church, you can go there if you want, like when you feel you're missing something in your life.

— You mean faith?

— Yes. Faith is important. You can find it anywhere, there's no need for going at church, for something tangible and pervasive as faith be kept within walls – hmmm, why am I talking about that? It ain't faith that bothers me, but something else – you see, private property has made us so stupid and one-sided that an object is only ours when we have it.

— I see. You believe the Dragoon, like faith, can be taught and felt outside such an old and well-regarded institution as the Jugend, isn't it? – it seems you took the words out my subconscious, Ezekiel – look, I broke my back to reach this far, Fratley. To attain this position in the Jugend, run this very academy of respect, while I gave my daughter a good home, a good education, anything money with sweat could buy. Seeing her behave like that, so reckless, so stubborn... I mean, she broke Jugend's property. Dug a hole with her own hair, can you believe that?

— With the Dragoon, you can do a lot of things. I'm proving that by just walking without my cane – a miracle, I could say as well.

— Why do you have a cane, anyway? – good question. Everyone seems to ask me this very question, and I always reply with the same answer.

— Well, I can't just walk because I feel like I want. It takes a lot of effort just by standing by my toes, by feeling each of them. I thought I lost my vision and my capacity of walking after the accident. Of all things I lost... I mean, it was so sudden. Father and I, we were on a train, third class, nothing special. I was looking over the window, feeling the wind while an old lady coughed behind me, a young fellow wearing a huge hat smoked at my side, and father was holding me. And then... I don't like to talk about it, but since it's the last visual memory I ever had, it means a lot.

— Moving on – you're right, Zack. Better move on. Better forget that father holded me, I holded his hand, we flew out the window, fell on grass, and... he did it to protect me. Father Highwind, there should have been a portrait of my burmecian father around.

— I believe in angels, Ezekiel. You said before that it was silly how you believed in souls, but I do believe there are angels, even if the closest of a rat and an angel combined together resulted in a bat, or a pigeon. Never understood the hate for both. I always had a fondness for bats, they can fly and despite being blind, they 'see' at the dark. I also find a few of them to be rather cute. Have I told you about the time a bat came to my tent and sucked my blood by the tip of my toe? It doesn't hurt like many say, however I can't deny I got rabies that day.

— I suppose vaccines do not hurt as well – don't remind me of these, Ezekiel. Well, it's not like I'm the only one afraid of needles around here, so – and what about pigeons? They spread disease.

— Yes, but people don't? You don't see people getting rid of people by considering them as disease. Well, you had these kind through history, and to think they are referred as people... – some even getting a painting at the walls of Jugend, yet for what they fought? Their cruel principles of resistance taught to this day, that tree hitting bullshit, for example.

— In this corridor, only a few monarchs and Dragoons can be considered truly nobles – all these Kings and Queens of Burmecia, and only a few did the right thing – King Karnak believed that a few burmecians belonged to what he called by 'pure race'.

— Sigh... What a fool. If you attempt a 'pure' race, without any crossbreed between different speciments, you'll get no genetic variety and will end up sterile, because the world is made and depends on diversity. Also, aren't the burmecians a result of a mix of tribes, cultures, traditions and breeds throught ages?

— No wonder the King's head ended up on a pike. What a ironic way of dying – and so Zack and I had a bit of history class, then we walk away and I don't know to where.

— Flowers are way smarter than these bastards. They even learned before us about the incest taboo — I still have no idea to where Ezekiel is going. He said nothing, rarely he walks outside the office.

— Need a hand, Fratley?

— No, thanks. I can find the handrail – must be, gulp... that place. So we head downstairs, to that place... – what are we doing here?

— Remember when I told you about souls? How I believe everyone, everything has a soul inside? Well... when someone commits murder, they don't just kill a person, but in my opinion, they take away that very person's soul – Ezekiel is shaken at being here too. I wonder, who came up with the idea of building a morgue right at a school where the majority is made of young students? That's way more absurd than believing in souls.

— I see. It's way more painful that way – and pain taints these walls. I have the feeling that the ones who build this chamber worked until they passed and they became the first guests.

— A bit dark here, isn't it?

— I'm used to the darkness – soon as Ezekiel lights the room, his heartbeat races like a comet. Hmmm, couldn't find a better word, this ain't no place for words. Or metaphors. I try to keep away any thoughts of death, but it's hard in a room only filled of corpses kept within walls. Zack pulls one of those mortuary cabinets and the scent, my god... I can imagine the amount of flies, but there are none. Anything to break this silence would be fine.

— I'm sure you remember this one. The wife of the guy that dropped twenty feet down. What was his name, Johnny?

— Yes. Johnny – I can't forget that day. It always come back, no matter what.

— They found her like this. I'd be glad at being in your place, 'cause this mess... no idea why I haven't puked yet – neither I, with these senses of mine. I hear the rain outside these walls, so clean and filled of purity.

— Would you be more comfortable at my place, Zack? Better think twice – I'm trying, but I can't just ignore what's in front of me. And what's that? I touch, and I feel nothing. Nothing. What was supposed to be a living being lies at the table like meat, just meat. A young lady became this...

— Damn, I feel like my brain's rottening.

— It's the scent. Just the scent – yes, the scent. It's getting all over my nose and clothes – the savagery of the murder's methods... all because of a black mole.

— A black mole?

— She had a black mole in face. Well, there's not much of a face anymore, so... anyway, We believe the suspect got rid of the victim's 'defect'. I don't think a birthmark is quite a defect, thought.

— Birthmark? Haven't you said-

— Oh yes, there's this one too – Ezekiel pulls another cabinet. He is fast while doing so. Maybe he too wants to get out of here. Any sentient being wants to be out of here – a man, thirty-years old, was walking out the market fair, smoked, that's quite a bad habit, and got stabbed in the chest. These dentations seems to belong to a surgical scalpel, and he got stabbed at the lungs.

— This is what smoking does to one being – I swear I can still smell the tobacco coming out.

— Yeah. If he didn't got stabbed, he would die anyway – there is something cold in Ezekiel's voice. Little he knows about these victims, but now it feels so personal to his – like this other dude. He had the eyeballs taken out.

— I know what it's like to live without eyes.

— And to die without them, on other hand...

— That's not funny, Zack – I'm not a fan of crude humour.

— Sorry. To have a few laughters is what keeps me sane at these moments.

— Don't be the devil's advocate. What you've said wasn't funny at all.

— I said sorry...

— I accept your apologies – this place really does things to you. The only heartbeats I feel belong to Zack and mine.

— Look, you don't see me saying these things in front of my little.

— Little? If Hrist heard you say these things – that wicked girl may seem to have a heart of steel, but even steel can melt.

– you know what Hrist told me? That she broke the Jugend's floor because another student pissed her off. That was my dear's defense. She begged me to not put a ball and chain, saying that it didn't combined with her aesthetic, that it was a thing only a dinosaur would do. She called me by dinosaur...

— It's just the way she is. At least one of them. Don't worry, Hrist has shown before she can be nice and friendly.

— Being nice and friendly is a trait of basic human decency.

— A decent human being would never do this mess without feeling guilty – even that girl has principles. I know Hrist, her worries, her fears, what makes her happy, what upsets her... I won't say I know her better than Ezekiel does – when I came back to Burmecia, no one knew me. Maybe I have forgotten the name and adress of everyone I have ever known, it's nothing I regret. Made new friends, one of them being a little girl who wanted to be a Knight like her father. I think that what Hrist wants, deep inside, is full time attention.

— Well, that's impossible.

— To educate someone is an impossible craft – compared to standing here for more than 5 minutes, education is a bless – like I said, Hrist begs for attention. Not only yours or mine, but everyone at reach. And in that age, where you feel so many things... without any kind of support, it all comes down. As a Dragoon, I've found a way to cope with my weaknesses, and I hope same happens with your daughter.

— The youth today... it ain't same youth as before. I mean, they are in this constant process of being. Either something, or someone, everything and everyone, you can be anything, they say. Nobody's forcing you, yet whatever happened throught 20 years of life, they want it to be done in 20 minutes. It doesn't help that there's this impression that success, the best life can offer, only comes after years. Well, I'm here to say that's a lie. Nothing comes in years, years are a thing made by us. Sure, adults can stay awake later at night, but they should not. Nothing to do with being productive, it's because it ain't healthy, you need to sleep.

— If you stay awake at night, you sleep at day, it will happen, it needs to – that's why I find the human body to be so fascinating, and smarter as well.

— A lot of young people who went to my office whimpered with the mention of what's called a waste of time, Fratley. There was a day my daughter cried on bed, and I had no idea why. She cried a lot, more than on that day I found her abandoned in the junk, or the day she fell out the stairs, or that day she began to bleed between the legs... never saw those rivers of tears before. No one close has passed away, none of her friends did something truly awful, no boyfriend broke my dear's heart, and well, not having a boyfriend never bothered Hrist that bad. So, I had to ask her why she was so devastated, what brought despair to my child's soul, and revelation came by numbers. Eleven. She woke up at 11 am, that's why she cried.

— Poor thing... I feel her pain. There was a day father Highwind woke me up and it was afternoon. I lost morning, but the rest of the day was the best I ever had experienced. He taught me how to ride a chocobo, I stood awake until midnight, we made a fireplace and ate some marsh mallows plants... he was aware of how much I have lost and tried to compensate it all.

— Seems you had a good fellow as a father.

— Yes. Sure I had – one of these people could have been father, now that's a scary though. As if this room haven't evoked any until now.

— My apologies for calling you out. Honestly, I didn't wanted to be alone down here.

— It's okay, Zack – I feel like I forgot to tell something important. Am I not invested as Zack on the search of this, uh... maniac? I have, none of us have anything to do with this, but because we are Knights, we feel a need to do what's right – by the way, where have these corpses been found?

— All of them were found at the southeast half of Burmecia. Elysian Fields, Dragon's Crest, Astradyne... Different neighborhoods, but same region.

— The same place where Johnny... – I still feel the weight of his fall.

— He would jump anyway, don't feel sorry – yeah, I better not – yes. That Johnny. At first we thought he was responsible for all of this mess.

— Well, he took the wife's eyes with his, but that was a desperate doing. Hmmm... There's no need to rationalize that, though – even after leaving the morgue, something, I don't know what... something stays, more than its scent. The handrail has its own texture, so rusty and rough. Only after leaving that place that I am able to feel anything with my senses. We are back to the painting hall, as it seems. Some colors to fill in this depressing place.

— Anyway, a witness claimed seeing the suspect mumbling about taking away the rotten pieces, like he was a plumber or whatever. I'm not a specialist when it comes to insanity, yet I feel we're dealing with a higher threat disguised as a minor disturbance.

— Whose witness? – who was courageos, brave enough to come here and tell us this crucial information?

— A boy. Teenager, wearing rags, brown skin, flaccid ears... I won't say he's ugly, but he looks uncanny. Won't reveal his identity, in fact no one knows who he is, other than his name is Puck.

— Puck?

— Yes. He's a trickster, but murder is another story.

— Puck... did he told you anything else?

— No, it's all he said. He couldn't stop calling me by shrimp, though. Do I look like a shrimp?

/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_

— Yeah, you do! – so that's the Puck, yelling at us. His heartbeat is racing like a wagon. Wagon, comet... I feel I'm lacking words lately. Whatever, no one listens to my metaphors – What's with ya lettin' me on that empty room? Ye sook.

— Calm down, kid – I feel like I should not have said that...

— Kid!? Amurnay a kid for ya! – there you go Ah hud tae sloch a ill apple fur o' ye! Keek, keek! Tis tae soft, nah... tis rotten.

— I had problems understanding what Puck was saying to me – beats me, Ezekiel. Is that an apple the ragged boy is showing to us? Doesn't have a nice scent.

— He speaks in a lowland dialect. Kinda.

— Do you understand, at least?

— It's even harder to understand because he mixs words in between, but I have a clear understanding of what he's saying – never met a 'teenager' this short. What is so uncanny about this Puck? He seems normal to me. Healthy, a bit fat, I may be sounding impartial, but that's how blindness works – so, you had to eat a rotten apple, didn't you?

— That's richt! – no one deserves to eat rotten apples. I always suspect the soft ones.

— Speak our language, boy – and Ezekiel still don't get his words.

— Ah speak lik' a'm waantin'! This is a free land, isn't it? – then I listen to Puck. Not his words, but inside his throat, the stomach... now I get it.

— Are you hungry, Puck?

— Aye! – that must be an 'yes' – my tummy is aching, A'm feelin awfy, tis a' shrimp's fault! A' his fault!

— Puck said his tummy is aching. He blames you for that, Zack.

— I know. He keeps pointing at me. Don't you have manners?

— Mah manners? What about yer manners, eh? Shrimp.

— Hey, wait! Where are you going? – I listen to Puck's footsteps. They're different. It's like he doesn't have any claws, but feet. Human feet? Now that's uncanny, for a burmecian.

— Ah did whit ah cuid. Ah not a snitch. See ye, sucker! – Puck disappears. He runs pretty fast on those toes.

— There goes our only witness... – I'm sure he knows the streets. Puck will be fine, though one thing still concerns me – so, Ezekiel. If you didn't understood Puck's language, then how come he told you about the suspect?

— Oh, forgot to mention that for you, Fratley. See, the one who brought that boy on rags here understood what he was saying.

— And who was it? – I wonder...

— It was Gray – ...what? Was not expecting that.

— Gray? You mean THAT Gray?

— Why the surprise?

— To think the dice weirdo could have been any useful – that guy just came put of nowhere, stepped in at Ezekiel's office and asked if he could become a Knight, all because of a dice at hands. He came in by chance, couldn't believe that. When did he learned that dialect out of Puck's mouth? Maybe the dice told him so yet again. Well, I believe in gravity, how it attracks people to one another, so that makes us two weirdos – ...Again, what was Hrist's first word?

— I think it was damn – after all the murder talk, nothing better than a casual chat.

— Damn? Wasn't oglop?

— Right, Oglop. I wasn't even there when my dear said her first words. Lenneth was, may god bless her. Oglops be damned. Well, one day, I took the little with me back home, she was saying da da da, then all of sudden, damn. I was like, what? What did you just said? And Hrist said damn, yet again. She couldn't stop saying damn for a whole week, it was damn here, damn there, at church, at bank, everywhere we went by. Have you noticed how a word repeated so many times lose its meaning? No more I felt offended, I was actually proud of hearing my little speak. I admit, I felt so embarassed at times, but she said damn in such a cute way I couldn't tell her to stop.

I am beginning to picture Ezekiel as a shrimp. Hard outside, soft inside.