by Paul Vayro
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Chapter Forty Nine
Brick woke up on the sofa, pleased he hadn't found another water-based resting place. It was only when he fully opened his eyes he realised it wasn't his own.
Shouting apologies across the street, Brick jogged, trying to appease the family whose settee he'd woken up on. They hadn't bothered to give chase. They knew where he lived and could knock on and thump him at their own convenience.
Brick reached his own front door. As he struggled with his key, a shadow approached the tortoise shell glass. It was Spiritwind, opening the portal from inside.
"Howdo." Spiritwind licked a spoon and returned back down the hallway.
"Great. Definitely didn't sleep on number....." He squinted back across the road. It just appeared to be a dirty look to the already offended neighbours. ".....their sofa by mistake.
"Good. You don't want to alienate the whole street against us. Three doors down still won't look me in the eye after your naked conga through their house warming party."
"It isn't a conga if you're the only one doing it." Brick's smugness belied the words he'd uttered.
Brick followed Spiritwind in to the kitchen. A sheet of coloured metal stuck to the bottom of his shoe along the way. The tapping sound it made, upon reaching the kitchen lino, alerted the wearer to his adornment.
"What's this?" Brick reached down and pulled a magenta, metallic envelope from his foot. Deja-vu was begging to be acknowledged.
"Looks like one of those un-losable prize draws."
"You know it'll be a pen or an ultimately worthless voucher." Brick flicked the clasp open effortlessly, a gentle sparkle greeting his action. The paper slipped poetically towards his hand. He'd seen this kind of post before. "I've got a feeling somebody wants something."
"As long as it isn't The Farners wanting their wrongly delivered colostomy bags back." Spiritwind looked deadly serious as Brick sought more information by furrowing his brow. "What do you think I made the home brew in?"
"Never thought; very practical though." Brick opened out the silken paper.
Dear Grade Five Heroes
Your powers are needed now more than ever. Our mighty leader, Hugo Cortizone, has amassed quite a pool of holidays, and it's only fair he gets a day off now and then. We can't exist without someone at the helm. We need you and your peers to attend Velos 19 immediately, to work out shifts and stuff.
Yours truly,
Irish Delirium
P.S. Don't show anybody this. Things are already embarrassing enough.
"What are we supposed to do about that?" Brick put it back in the envelope.
"I guess we're supposed to set off for Velos 19."
"But we've only just got in." Brick reverted to teenage strop.
"Nobody said being a hero was fun." Spiritwind took the view that would wind up his friend most.
"Well, I'm having a nap first, seen as the ship's having one." Brick pointed to Magic. He was in the corner of the room, dribbling from his miniaturised entrance.
"I guess that would only be fair. Plus, this soup won't be ready for another ten minutes."
"Don't talk to me about soup. It's not even a food." Brick walked away and towards the stairs.
"It's lovely with bread." Spiritwind defended his creation.
"That doesn't make soup a food. It's a dip at worst, a lumpy drink at best." He plodded up towards bed.
"You're missing out."
"I'm really not."
Spiritwind smiled to himself and added another packet of bacon to the dish. Maybe Brick had an ever so tiny point, but one that would never be conceded.
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