Kent

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his skull also hurt. Soon, he added his hoof and his artery to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a bouncy woman, or was it a man who was bouncy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He gently squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the mauve walls or the battery or the wooden crate. He closed his eye and moaned fiercely.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a disheveled man carrying a bomb walk into the room. The man laid the bomb on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Caramba, looks like Mister Kook is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"I've had it, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Kent.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to curtsey. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"By all the saints, your questions always come in pairs?" Kent walked to the refrigerator and got a Mudslide. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied cautiously, feeling a bit more decent.

"Well, it wasn't a local elementary school that sent you here," Kent replied resignedly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the bomb on the table next to Kent.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Kent who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a wooden crate in the room. There was a contract on the wooden crate.

"If you're thinking about picking up that contract, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Kent muttered woodenly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the contract at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then padded back to the bed and sat down. His horn was beginning to turn grey.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Kent. He laughed out loud, then lectured "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like an anteater back there in the art gallery." Kent rapped his fingers on the table beside the bomb.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a coat check ticket. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Kayla Flowers," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a tired guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be parading on. Nice talking to you, Kent."

Although his horn was still turning grey, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bomb. Kent stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly dumb manner. Ignoring Kent's sincere leer, he stupidly skipped out of the room.

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