Damnitt.
        I’m thirsty.  It’s bright as hell.  The straw i’m laying in smells like piss.  Mine, someone elses,some animals, piss just the same.  Acrid.  I’m still wearing my coat at least, but it smells too.  it looks presentable enough.  I stand hard and slow, stretch, and shake the stink from my fingers, hair and tail.
        Oh, I didn’t tell you something important.  I’m a bandercain.  We look like five foot grumpy rat-men.  We usually have black or brownish (and sometimes white)  fur from our crowns down to unmanagable chops and across our warm shoulders.  The younger ones at least.  The older ones’ hair tends to go pretty south, only densifying a great coat of back and butt hair.  My fur is a dirty blonde, much closer to brown when out of the sunlight, so usually brown.  And I have a magnificent tail!Much longer and grander than any other bandercains i’ve ever seen!  Most are lucky to be able to touch their noses, but I can go all the way over my head and wiggle the lint out of my belly button.
        “Let’s see, now…  I’m in a stall, built for an animal…  a big animal…  I was drinking last night, singing with that bargirl.  Sonata Soren?…No, that’s the song we kept singing… Someone got pissed at us…”  and vindicated by the smell of it.
        “Let’s see…  Hazy…  An inn?  A bar…I was in a bar…  Big celebration, lots of horses outside…  Big horses…   Big horse stall?  I’m in a barn near the bar?…  i was in a bar close to a big stable!  I’m on Suttleby!!  I’M NEAR A BAR!!!”
        Finding my way out of out of the stables was fun.  It took about twenty minutes and ten mistakes to do it, but at least i didn’t have to pee.  Outside I knew exactly where I was and one block later I was exactly where I was last night.  Right in front of a barman that looked like he wanted money.  I couldn’t get a drink.
        “Come on, man.  Just a little wine?  Huh?  For your favorite aching soul?” and I try to wink.  My head jerks back in bright blooming pain.  I touch my fingers to my left eye, shocking me blind again.  It was swollen.  Bad.  I couldn’t even tell if it was open.
        “You like that?” The barman said,”Had to give you something for what you did to Alvo.  You owe me eighty-eight copper!  I’d say you owe me two silver and eight cops, but I’ve never seen you with nothing close to a silver.  You’re copper all around!”
       No.  No, not open at all.  Shit.
        “And you owe me for Alvo!  Damn near scratched his face off!!” he says, whipping his towel back over his shoulder. 
       Scratch?  I  usually throw fists, elbows and of course a wicked left tail-whip.  “Your boys fault, man.  He goes for the choke every time.  Brings it in too close,” I tell him.  We bandercains have okay claws, about half-inch, a little sharpish, but we have very hard knuckles and heads.  I smile.  “You tell that digger-dwarf to get back to his digging if he knows what’s best!”
        “The HELL you just say?!?!?”  The barman replied.  It was screamed, and not very beautiful.
        Then the room was opened up to the world, light carried the breeze to us, smothering the rage momentarily.  We both looked at a moment hanging in the air.  In the doorway (double doors.  he opened both doors!), stood Palbien like a goddamned angel wading low in glory.  I winced, it hurt.  I winced again.  There was nobody else in the bar.  He sat next to me, I stared away across the bar.
        Palbien was pure human.  Curly blonde hair, blue piercing eyes, broad shoulders and chest, and a stupid mouth.  It was small with thin lips that every girl (and man!) tried to peel a smile.
        The barman turned and tapped a tall pint of what looked to be his finest.  I’d never had it.  “On the house, sir!’  he said, bowing a little as he set the drink in a dryed spot in front of Palbien. (See?!)
        “Do I  even know you?”  Oh, and he’s a bit conceited.  The barman looked crestfallen.
         I fold my hands in front of me, on my empty spot on the bar and look at Palbien, then his free drink, then back at his face.  He sighs thru his nose (I hate that), and pushes the glass in my direction.  I let my tail push the drink the rest of the way, letting it come to a stop in front of my folded hands and look at the barman.  He is vexed, turns and taps another tall  one and sets it between us.  Then he takes his little towell and goes to clean something at the other end of the bar, giving me a dirty look.  I hiss at him thru my teeth.
        “I’ve been looking for you Ganny.”
        Oh yeah!!  I forgot to tell you!  My names Ganny, short for Ganiard.  Geez, I’m bad at this.
        He looks at me, lowering his brows, “What have you been doing today, man?!  You look like-  like-“
        “Like I ought to.  You here for another mission to appease your bleeding heart?”  I could’ve said it a little less curtly.  Maybe.
        “Come on!  People are happier that thing is dead!  It was eating children!!”
        “So what?  It grabbed kids because it was weak.  No back, no balls.”  I put a period on this with a good chug.
        “Well, I need you again.”
        “Oh?  But where?  The girls aren’t pretty enough here?  Pick the cutest ass or whatever you like.  They’re all throwing it at you, already.  what else do you want, now?”
        “I need you to come to a party with me.”
        The tip of my tail was ever so quietly edging the second draft my way, while I pondered what he was saying.   I had hoped to come up with a good retort when my ear jumped up-
        “Wait! What?!!?"


(to be cont’d)