Scrub-bucket used the door today. Eta saw him limp into the room wearing an oversized trench coat that fit him like a ballroom gown. This was the first time she’d ever seen her companion actually walk through the door like a normal person. No sock sliding today. It seemed a broken leg was too much even for him.

What really caught her attention, though, was the blackened meat he carried on a platter, skewered cutlets from the look of it.

“Oh my,” she said, fanning herself in an over dramatic fashion. “Is that for me?”

“Yup!” Scrub-bucket chimed as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He hadn’t been using his chair lately, not that she minded. Oh my! He handed her the platter, but what really caught her off guard was, for the second time, he curled up at her feet while resting his head on her knees. Flushed from the over affection, she squeaked out some praise. “It—it looks amazing. Uh, what is it?”

“Barbie-skewers.” He said without looking up; seemed he was content right where he was.

She poked around at the cutlets. For once, she was grateful for the lack of a sense of smell. The pieces were cremated. Cooking definitely wasn’t a part of Scrub-bucket’s repertoire.

Fortunately, he was too concerned with nestling himself into her knees to see her apprehension. Steeling herself, she slid off the most tender looking chunk and popped it into her mouth, expecting the worst.

She popped it into her mouth and screamed.

Scrub-bucket seemed to have been expecting her reaction, he didn’t look up, but his whole face twisted in satisfaction.

“Scrub-bucket! This…this is…I can taste it!”

“Good, huh?”

“It’s fucking delicious!”

She gobbled the whole tray down and burped up a near orgasm. He didn’t seem to mind her shuddering legs and even commented something about there being plenty more where that came from.

Just as she began to lick the platter clean, it dawned on her just how unseemly her behavior was. Her face burned in embarrassment. At least, Scrub-bucket wouldn’t think his efforts weren’t appreciated. Giving him that satisfaction was certainly worth sacrificing some of her pride. Likely, he couldn’t think less of her as things were, what with her being a crinkled up bed-bound lecher.

Lecher…that reminded her. “Oh, have you seen Thomas around?”

Scrub-bucket stiffened.

“We were supposed to play Canasta last week,” she explained, hoping he wouldn’t read too deep into it.

It was a slightly true statement. They were supposed to play Canasta, as for the actual date, she had no idea if it was last week. It could have been last month for all she knew, such inconsistencies happened as one aged. However, there was one truth she was certain of: An old fogie needed to be obstinate in her inconsistencies, regardless of having the truth pointed out. Better to be confident in a falsehood than wishy-washy with the truth.

What was the point of being old if she couldn’t be unreasonably stubborn? Well, stubborn and horny. It was also technically true that her and Thomas would play Canasta, at first…

Maybe he was upset about another man in her life or maybe he knew she had her dates mixed up but was too polite to say, but at her question, Scrub-bucket couldn’t scramble out of the room fast enough. I really did mean Canasta, my dear. Sweet, delicious Canasta.

As he scrambled out the door, Eta called after him. “Thank you, for the treat! I mean it, it means a lot to me.”

He paused and turned back around to face her, covering his face with the empty platter. “About Thomas, you know? I wish ‘em well! Ah Hahahaha!”

And with that, he left the room in maniacal laughter. Did she just catch him licking the tray clean, too?

************************************

Oenus made extra heavy footsteps down the hall. Technically he was making one footstep and one broom-handle step, but that was just semantics. He’d needed to replace his missing leg, the one he’d fed Eta, and a broom-handle seemed like the most reasonable solution. Both his laughter and his footsteps died out as soon as he was out of Eta’s earshot. Poor Thomas.

Certain she thought he’d left, Oenus spun around to retrace his route. Unfortunately, his stick leg was too loud, so he hopped as quiet as a mouse back down the hall until he passed by Thomas’ old room.

The room almost the same as Eta’s, minus the fact that its inhabitant was chopped to bits on the roof. That and Eta’s room didn’t have a green hat hanging up. The hat read ‘John Deere’ and sported a picture of a cow jumping the moon. Thomas worked down at Hank’s all his life, wore this hat every day, though Oenus wagered it had less to do with Thomas actually liking the hat and more to do with the hat being free. It was a good hat.

Oenus hopped down to one knee and pricked his finger. It was a waste, he knew, but ritual, however worthless it might be, was not without meaning. Even if that meaning only meant something to Oenus. Just like he did with the dedication on the back of Eta’s book, Oenus scrawled a message on the bed.

  'Rest in pieces.'

This was the epigraph custom demanded, and Oenus could understand Prometheus’s reasoning behind it. There was no power in this passage, unlike the dedication on Eta’s book; this was simply wasted wealth. He didn’t care. Thomas deserved it.

He’d have to secretly thank Eta for helping him remember to do this.

Now, with that taken care of, he might as well go visit the guy for real. There was still a bit of him left.