Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,23

to say?” he said aggressively.

Michael held up his hands defensively. “Never mind.”

He saw Chip sitting in the corner of the room, huddled forlornly over a pint of dark ale. Naff, their mutual friend, was sitting next to him, looking a little happier and prouder, his neck straight; his arms folded across his lap; a tumbler of whiskey on the table in front of him.

“So, what’s all the commotion about?” Michael said, turning back to Scrub and trying again.

To Michael’s surprise the little man was staring back at him, waiting expectantly for their eyes to meet like a mythical murderer in a horror film. Michael nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to see that grim face peering back.

“We have mortals in,” Scrub said grimly.

The little bartender watched the final drops of beer slip into the top of a brimming pint glass. He took it away from the pump and plonked it down on the bar, not budging from his stool the entire time.

“Again?” Michael said, taking a sip from the foamy top.

“Something here attracts them.”

“I can’t imagine what.”

“Third time this week,” Scrub continued, undeterred. “Walking in here like they have the fucking right. This place isn’t for them, it’s for us. This is our haven; they have no right to--”

“You feel strongly about this huh?”

“Mortals piss me off,” Scrub explained succinctly.

“Is that because you never got the chance to be one?

“Possibly. Not like I would want to be one anyway, filthy fucking--”

“If I get rid of them will you shut up?” Michael interjected again.

“Of course.”

Michael switched into haggler mode. “If you let me drown my sorrows on the house with a double whiskey, you’ve got a deal.”

“Deal,” Scrub said without faltering. “They’re over there,” he explained with a distasteful nod of his grubby head. “Get to it.”

“I saw ‘em.”

He picked up his pint and headed to the other side of the room where two young men wearing athletic attire and simpleton smiles were trying to converse with the locals at a nearby table.

The most eager looking of the two was a muscle-bound blonde. He wore a hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing sun coloured arms and an expensive watch. He had started up a conversation with Adder, a colossal man whose biceps were the size of Michael's head, while his friend gazed vacuously around the room. Clearly the blonde wasn’t deterred by Adder’s size, or his unwillingness to converse.

“You’re a big guy aren’t you?” he said happily. “Do you play rugby at all?

Adder grunted a barbaric reply. It sounded like his throat was crushing metal.

“I see,” the blonde replied, taking a long drink from a pint of cider. “It is very quaint in here isn’t it?” he noted, looking around. “Very English. Almost medieval.”

Adder’s throat crunched more metal, the youngster seemed undeterred. Michael held back, wondering just how far their persistence would stretch under Adder’s fearful glare and unrelenting grunts.

“Do you work around here?” the blonde continued.

Adder grunted more impatiently this time. Whatever was brewing in his throat was about to be unleashed in a cataclysm of noise and aggression.

Michael decided to intervene. He put his pint down on their table, attracted their attention and then ducked in between them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. They both turned inward, their faces inches from his.

“I think you guys are in the wrong establishment,” he said simply, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the other patrons.

The quieter of the pair spoke first. “Why would you say that?” he asked. “We were rather enjoying ourselves here.”

“I agree,” the blonde chirped. “I was just chatting to this big fellow here,” he said, indicating Adder.

“That big fellow, as you put it, is one of the reasons this place isn’t for you.”

“He seems quite friendly.”

“He is. So is everyone else here. But, don’t you notice anything odd?” He straightened up and watched their heads rotate on their bulky hinges as they surveyed the pub.

“No,” they chirped simultaneously.

“You see any females?”

“We assumed this was a working man’s club.”

Michael leaned in again. “You ever heard the expression ‘bear’?” he asked to some gentle head shaking. “We use it in the gay community to refer to larger men.”

“Oh.”

“And our friend here,” he said, nodding towards Adder. “Is what we like to call a fucking beast, and I think he has an eye on you.”

A wave of realisation hit the duo. They both drew sharp intakes of breath and when the blonde spoke he did so under the veil of