by Joey Anderle
Delvar frowned, “What makes it a Jabba?”
Booker only grumbled to himself, slowly swerving out his lane on the two-lane road, sliding back in when he spotted the other car coming his way.
The Truck made a loud honk back at Booker in his scouting mission to try to pass the truck.
“Yeah what about it,” Booker said, “Do you want to fight me?”
“Who are you talking to?” Auralee asked.
Booker made a rude gesture to the white box on wheels in front of them, “I mean it's not his fault,” He reasoned, “But that also doesn’t mean I have to enjoy this.”
“Just go past him,” Auralee suggested.
“Thank you Auralee, I hadn't thought about that,” Booker responded, “Here I was swerving into oncoming because this made me wanna see what a high-speed collision looked like up close.”
Auralee looked at Booker carefully as he used words she was unfamiliar with and couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
Booker craned his head against the driver seat window and commented back, “Yeah, one second.” Soon the roar of the engine became notably louder as Booker accelerated past the trucker, making sure to give him the bird as he did so, eliciting a longer honk from the truck.
“Like I said,” Booker called back from the inside of his car, “Fight me about it.”
“That seemed,” Auralee pondered a moment, “Wholly unnecessary, and rude.”
“It honestly was,” Booker admitted, “But he’ll never see me again, and I’ll be out of this car before he can figure out who owns it.”
Auralee only nodded, weighing certain odd’s internally after Booker's remark.
The traveled on for another almost thirty minutes, and in that time Booker had managed to strike up a conversation with Mordecai about economics armed only with what YouTube videos had taught him the week prior. Mordecai seemed to take pity and even appreciated the gesture as he lightly corrected some of his common misconceptions.
“What do you mean money doesn’t have to have a value attached to it?” Booker repeated.
“As in it just needs an agreed upon value, it is not necessary for anything to be intrinsic about the currency,” Mordecai explained.
Booker thought about it for a quiet moment, in that second of deep thought he realized the needle that told him how much gasoline he had left was awfully near empty, “Where are we?” He questioned, looking around before spotting a helpful sign advertising a truck stop in about a half-mile, “Close enough.”
He peeled off and onto the appropriate exit, leading the charge to the pit stop.
“Oh man,” Booker sounded concerned, “Your first experiences with Humans culinary offerings thus far have been a dinner that isn’t entirely human, and what I could chef with little to no preparation.” Then he spotted what else the truck stop housed, “And you’re also about to have some Barbecue, just don’t look too closely at anything and you’ll be fine.”
The team was rather out of place in their ride, pulling up to the sea of gas pumps, a mouse amongst the giant eighteen-wheeler elephants, a mouse that is an overseas luxury car, but a still a mouse.
“I’ll drop you guys off at the front, if you guys could…” Booker turned in his seat to look at his cohorts and saw the spread of social anxiety, “Right.” He realized then thinking some more, “No wait a moment, Delvar your entire job relies on communication, how can you not order a brisket sandwich?”
“With criminals,” Delvar clarified, “There’s something less clean about it, much more comforting for me.”
“That’s fair,” Booker agreed, “Let me fill up the tank, and we can walk in.”
Booker chose one of the pumps, checking the indicator on his dash for which side his gas cap was one. Placing the car in park, shutting the engine off. “Be back in a jiffy.” He said, opening his door and stepping into the sunlight.
Locking shades with a mustachioed trucker with a graying mullet on top of his head, no doubt this man was judging Booker as he stepped out of the Rolls Royce in his expensive leather jacket and designer jeans, eyes hidden behind Ray-Bans.
Booker did the common courtesy, throwing his chin up in the trucker’s direction to acknowledge him, moving to the opposite side and positioning the nozzle and the works. Twiddling away at his phone as the flows of gasoline slowly filled the car. The price of his trip was quickly racking up; the cost displayed on the pump that Booker paid no heed too, knowing he wouldn’t like the price tag even if he was the one paying for it.
He put the tools back where they belonged once the pump made a solid thud sounds the flowing ceased. Walking back to the car with his head down responding to a text message, “Let's do it, to it.” Booker rallied once he slid back into his seat, starting the engine with the push of a button. Creeping around the trucks and to the front of the integrated BBQ joint.
“From here,” Booker said, opening his door once again when he brought the car back to a halt, signaling the rest of the crew to follow suit, “We have another couple of hours, and we should be in the Big Apple.”
Auralee rolled her head around as she rubbed her neck, “You should get portals,” The Princess recommended, “It makes trips like this infinitely easier.”
Delvar hopped out with ease, walking past Booker and to the front of the restaurant, “Are you sure this isn’t just another inn on Dirk Street?” He questioned.
Booker reappraised the spot, “What’s a Dirk street again?” Leading his group into the joint that had no doubt just opened given the notable lack of customers and relatively clean setting.
“Welcome Y'all,” The red headed women answered from behind her till.
Booker paused a moment in worry, Y’all; he thought, this far North? I did go North right?
“Howdy,” Booker answered back autonomously, “Do Y'all have sweet tea?”
SINCE WHEN DO I SAY Y’ALL? His mind screamed back.
“Yes, we do,” The lady replied, not seeming to take any offense to Booker’s imitation of her speech.
Booker began to talk to himself in his mind, Alright I need to come clean about how I talk while I still can, she probably now thinks this is how I speak and that I'm not a dick. All I have to do is…
“Well ain't that just a blessin?” Booker replied with a drawl.
SON OF A BITCH, He scolded himself, well down this rabbit hole we go.
“Yes’m,” The lady agreed, “Now what can I get you guys and gals today?”
Booker gave the menu a quick look over, “Imma get the pulled pork sandwich, with mac-n-cheese, and sweet tea.” He turned back to his friends, “And these folks here are new to Barbecue, what do you recommend for them?”
Auralee gave Booker a glare as he appeared to be talking down to her with this new accent, Delvar seemed to be trying to take apart Booker's new sentence structure inside his head as Mordecai read the menu above them.
After their meal orders had been sorted out after some deliberation and description, a couple of fibs to avoid having to reveal Auralee, Delvar, and Mordecai’s origin, Booker led them to the drinking fountain.
“So, after this, we’re dead set to go save the Ranger.” Booker sounded excited.
“We’re going unarmed?” Auralee looked unsure.
“Why would we show up to MOMA armed?” Booker countered.
“I can cast a glimmer,” Auralee offered, upset with the idea of a quiet operation.
“Do they use metal detectors by chance?” Booker questioned.
“The worst they can say is no,” Auralee answered.
“No,” Booker corrected, “The worse they can say no and then kick us out meaning I will have to come up with some complicated plan to get us back in. Said plan likely involving fake mustaches on everyone.”
Auralee rolled her eyes at Booker as he flipped the lever to cause the familiar brown ichor to flow into his cup.
“Where did Delvar go?” He pointed out as he looked around his spot.
Now Mordecai and
Auralee were looking around.
Mordecai responded after glancing around, “Sure he’s looking around for ways out in case things don’t go his way.”
“Does that happen often?” Booker asked, turning to lead them to one of the numerous booths.
Mordecai shrugged, “Depends on the kingdom, some more than others.”
“Well we’ve made no enemies yet,” Booker reasoned, “So I doubt we have to look twice at anyone that walks on in.”
As Booker said that, a quartet of characters entered that made Auralee and Mordecai look twice.
“What is she doing here?” Auralee asked with a sneer.
“What did they do to you, you shouldn’t even know them,” Booker replied.
“They have a glimmer on,” Auralee explained, “I can reveal them to you.” She offered, raising an arm as she stared down the small group looking up at the menu.
“No, no, no,” Booker rushed, “if you unglimmered- “
“Dispelled,” Mordecai corrected.
“Dispelled,” He adjusted, “Their glimmer, how do you think the lady will react, or perhaps if someone came in and there was a giant troll.” Booker looked across the table to Mordecai, “Wait, why didn’t she give you so much as a second glance.”
“I put a Glimmer on everyone,” Auralee answered, “You can see through it, making the spell less effort for me.”
“Then how do you know they have a Glimmer on?” Booker asked.
“I’ve worked with it long enough to be able to see the subtle things,” The Princess answered.
“And what about you big guy?” He questioned Mordecai.
“They don’t smell like humans.” He responded bluntly.
Booker opened his mouth and closed it, looking at the Troll warily, “I’m suddenly uncomfortable.”
Mordecai shrugged, “You asked.”
“Fair enough,” Booker agreed, “But what do we want to do with them. They’re not causing any harm.”
“Sure but,” Auralee argued, “what do you think are the chances that Xandrie and what is probably her tavern muscle, are at the same tavern- “
“Barbecue joint,” Booker defended.
The Princess waved Booker's injection aside “Whatever you call it, while you still have a bounty?” She finished.
“My bad, I still thought I was invulnerable.” Booker said, “And what’s a Xandrie?”
Auralee appeared to be a bit busy fuming so Mordecai had to fill in Booker while she sat.
“According to the records,” Mordecai’s eyes rolled up as he recollected the information, “She’s a sorceress, top of her class if I remember correctly. One of the few students to study under Ezra during his short tenure, one of his prodigies if the reports on his opinion are accurate.”
“ONE”, Auralee pointed out, “Not the favorite, just one of them.” She clarified with venom.
Booker muttered to himself, “Jealous?”
“What was that?” Auralee bit back at him.
“Nothing,” He answered.
“Anyhow,” Auralee sighed, “What the reports all forget to mention is that she also left the schools and joined in the seedy activities on Dirk street and alike.”
“Allegedly,” Mordecai suggested.
“Look!” The Princess hissed, pointing the group back out as they talked to the same lady that took their order not long ago, “I wouldn’t exactly call it allegedly anymore, cause there she is, with hired muscle for this idiot here.” Moving her pointing hand to Booker.
“How are they going to know it's me,” Booker said, “It’s not like they have a picture.”
“Who in here drives that Rolls Royce out there?” A voice bellowed, causing Booker’s eyes to go wide.
“Oh shit,” Booker whispered to himself, “Would you look at that. Previous actions coming back to haunt me.” He observed.
“I believe that gentleman over there,” The ma’am behind the counter pointed Booker out in the empty dining area.
“Thanks,” Sterling mouthed, looking up to lock eyes with the pissed off trucker. “Howdy?”
The man started towards the trio as the other group watched, “Never in my years of trucking on these roads have I run into someone as rude as you- “
“And I am so sorry,” Sterling launched into his apology, “We were a little impatient,”
“We?” Auralee asked.
“I,” Sterling corrected, “I wanted to get up and go since we are going to New York. I apologize for my actions, here, let me pay for your meal.”
Both Mordecai and the Princess watched as Sterling attempted to diffuse the situation and it appeared to be working.
The trucker man seemed to cool down for a second but then continued to interrogate Sterling, “And what's with your friends, they don’t seem to be from around here?”
Booker turned back, making a puzzled face as he wondered why they intrigued him, “They’re not from around here, figured I’d introduce them to one of our facets of life, barbecue.”
“Our?” The Trucker pressed.
Oddly specific, Booker wondered in his head, “American?”
The trucker prodded Booker’s chest with a forceful finger, “Watch your tone with me, boy.”
The group wondered where this newfound hostility was coming from as Booker attempted to recover the situation.
“I’m sorry sir,” He started again, “Didn’t mean nothin’ to offend you.”
“Sure, you did, Boy,” The trucker agreed, still in an aggressive stance, “What do you do that lets someone of your age afford a car like that anyhow?”
These lines of query perplexed Auralee. She kept trying to figure out why the man that appeared to get over the issue at the offer of free food suddenly return to being hostile and asking impertinent questions.
“I am an Independent Contractor,” Booker answered, “that's about all I can say about it.”
“Not one of those,” The Trucker snapped his fingers as he tried to recall the job, “Runners?”
Time seemed to slow for Auralee, alarms ringing at the accusation. Her eyes scanned the area for danger and then she spotted Xandrie again, noticing how her lips were moving in sync with the truckers.
Got you, Auralee smirked.
Without missing a beat, Booker answered the Truckers questioning, “Afraid, not Sir, just another-” The Trucker started to swoon and appear dizzy. Booker stepped forward to steady the man, “You alright, Sir?”
The Princess smirked, clenching her glowing red fist as Xandrie no doubt wondered what happened to her connection. She watched as her nemesis’ face contorted in confusion, her lips racing to try to reestablish her mental dominance on the Trucker.
Xandrie’s head scanned the room to find the interruption, stopping the moment she saw the Princess’ Glimmer.
“Well done,” Xandrie mouthed to Auralee.
The princess smiled back, making a small nod.
Xandrie threw her arm up, a blue light exploding from her open palm sending the Register lady back in a scurry.