“The Skin Clan did; they created the perfect warrior.”
Tinker was afraid to ask how this gave them the right to head lopping in general, so she focused on why they were here — to rent Wizard of Oz. Knowing that Pony would be watching the movie with her, Tinker scanned only the translated videos. Unlike the originals in their glossy colorful boxes, the translated videos had plain white covers with Low Elvish printed onto the spines. She pulled out one at random and studied it. The movie was ‘The Wedding Singer’ which had been translated to ‘The Party Singer’.” Was it a bad translation or was there actually no Elvish word for wedding? How could the elves exist without the most basic of life ceremonies?
Tinker put the movie back, and scanned the shelves.
Stormsong had been searching too, and now pulled out a box and handed it to Tinker. “This is it.”
The translator hadn’t even tried to find Elvish to match the words Wizard and Oz. Instead, the title was phonetically spelled out.
Tinker turned and found Tommy Chang leaning against the end of the DVD rack, watching her with his dangerous cool. He was wearing a black tank top that showed off the definition in his muscled arms, a corded leather bracelet, and his signature bandana. Tommy organized raves, the cock fights in Chinatown, and the hover bike races — the last being how she knew him best.
“Hi, Tommy.” Somehow, the normal greeting sounded dorky. Something about his zen-like menace made her feel like a complete techno geek. If she didn’t watch it, she ended up overcompensating around him.
He lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “I wasn’t sure if they’d let you out.” He glanced toward Pony. “They keep you on a short leash. In a dress, even.”
“Piss off.” That was a record.
“Aren’t we touchy now we’re an elf?”
“Excuse me, but I’ve had one fucked over month.”
“So I heard.” And then, surprisingly, he added. “Glad you’re still breathing.”
“Thanks.”
“You still going to ride for Team Tinker?”
She felt a flash of guilt as she realized that she hadn’t thought about racing in months. Last she had heard Oilcan had taken over the riding. “How is my team doing?”
“It’s been Team Big Sky’s season since,” he lifted a finger to indicate her appearance, “the whole elf thing.”
That made sense. Oilcan was heavier than she was, had a different center of gravity, and was less aggressive on the turns. Team Bonzai would have lost their edge when the oni stole Czerneda’s custom-made delta. That left John Montana, Captain of Team Big Sky, with the only other delta in the racing circuit, and his half-brother, Blue Sky, a good match to her build and skills.
“So — you going back to riding?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t know. A lot of shit has hit the fan that I need to deal with before I can think about that.”
A flash of Wyvern red outside made Tommy look toward the store windows. “Yup, a lot of shit.”
Her loft smelled of garbage. Months ago — a lifetime ago — she, Oilcan and Pony had eaten, washed dishes, left trash in the can to be taken out, left and never came back. Stormsong was too polite to say anything, carefully sticking to low Elvish. Even after they’d opened the windows and let in the cool evening air, the place depressed Tinker with its ugliness. She had lived alone at human speed; always too busy cramming in what was important to her to deal with beautifying the place she lived. All the furniture was all battered and mismatched used stuff she picked up cheap. The couch been clawed by someone else’s cats, the leather recliner was cracking with age, and the coffee table was something she welded together and topped with a piece of glass. The walls were the same dark green from the loft’s last occupant — not that you could see a whole lot of them as her cinderblock and lumber bookshelves covered most of them and overflowed with her books. She had nothing beautiful — everything was just serviceable and in need of a good cleaning.
She knew it could be made pretty. She had time now, if she wanted to take it. The place could be cleaned, painted, and furnished. She could even hire carpenters to make her bookcases and kitchen cabinets. There was no room, though, for all the people in her life now. The place was for one busy person that was barely there or a married couple with no interests outside one another. Windwolf would never fit — his life was too big — and she didn’t want to live without him. Without Pony. And of late, not without Stormsong either.
She didn’t fit into her old life anymore. This wasn’t her home anymore, and it saddened her for reasons she couldn’t understand. Perching on the couch’s overstuffed arm, she tried to cheer herself up with an inventory of what replaced her old life. A stud muffin of a husband with wads of cash who was crazy in love with her. A luxurious room at the best enclave. Fantastic food for every meal. A best friend that was now sitting beside her on the couch, eyeing her with concern.
“What is wrong?” Pony asked quietly.
“I think I’m homesick,” she whispered and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “Look at this place. It’s a dump. And I miss it. Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?”
He pulled her into his lap and held her in his arms. “It is not stupid. It only means you lived with joy here, and it is sorrowful to put joyful things aside.”
“Bleah.” She sniffed away tears that wanted to fall. “I was lonely, I just never let myself know how much. I made the computers all talk, just so I felt like someone else was there.”
“You can grieve for something lost, even if it was not perfect.”
The front door open and Oilcan walked in. “Hey,” he announced, not noticing that he started Stormsong to attention. He balanced boxes and a carton of bottles. “I didn’t think you would have anything to eat here, so I brought food.” He settled the various boxes onto the coffee table. “Hey, what’s with the sad face?”
“I’m just tired.” She didn’t want him to know how lonely she had been, or think that she was unhappy with her life now. “I’ve been having all these bad dreams. It’s put me on edge. It’s like I’ve been rubbed down to all nerves.”
“Ah, yeah, that can happen.” Oilcan suffered from horrible nightmares when he first came to Pittsburgh. For that first year, she’d climb into his bed late at night, armed with boxes of tissues, to get him to stop crying. It was one of the reasons she led and he followed despite the fact he was four years older.
“Scrunches?” He asked her if she needed held, just as she once asked him.
“Pony has it covered.” She leaned against Pony. “What’s in the boxes?”
“Chicken satay with peanut sauce.” He lifted up the first lid to show off the sewers of marinated chicken. “Curry puffs, fried shumai, thai roll, pad thai noodles, and drunken chicken.”
He went into the kitchen to collect dishes and silverware.
“We’ll get fat eating all this.” She helped herself to one of the thai rolls, dipping it into the sweet chili sauce. He must have come straight from the Thai place as the thin fried wrapper was still piping hot.
“Feed the body, feed the soul, you sleep better.” Oilcan handed her one of the plates and found room for the others on the crowded table.
“Feed on spirits,” Stormsong added as she examined the bottles of alcohol. “Hard cider, vodka coolers, and beer?”
“Beer is for me. Figured I’d bring a mix for you guys.”
“These are good.” Stormsong handed a cooler to Tinker. “The cider carries less of a punch, so Pony and I should stick to them.”
“Ah, leave the hard drinking to me.” Tinker twisted off the top. Half a cooler, a curry puff and a plate of pad thai noodle later, she realized that the rubbed raw feeling had vanished, and the loft felt like home again.