Stuart

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 spleen also hurt. Soon, he added his tongue and his shin 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 an impish woman, or was it a man who was impish? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He greedily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the indigo walls or the flowerpot or the armoire. He closed his eye and moaned suavely.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an adorable man carrying an AK-47 walk into the room. The man laid the AK-47 on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Well I'll be, looks like Mister Stumblebum is coming back to life."

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

"I beg your pardon, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Stuart.

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

"Blaak, your questions always come in pairs?" Stuart walked to the refrigerator and got a hot chocolate. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied gingerly, feeling a bit more masculine.

"Well, it wasn't the Fire Department that sent you here," Stuart replied wildly.

"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 AK-47 on the table next to Stuart.

"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 Stuart who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and an armoire in the room. There was a peace pipe on the armoire.

"If you're thinking about picking up that peace pipe, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Stuart spat uselessly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the peace pipe 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 zoomed back to the bed and sat down. His kneecap was beginning to darken.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Stuart. He laughed out loud, then hummed "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 a newt back there in the barbershop." Stuart rapped his fingers on the table beside the AK-47.

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

"You tripped on a water bottle. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Marion Goldberg," 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 bizarre 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 going on. Nice talking to you, Stuart."

Although his kneecap was still darkening, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the AK-47. Stuart stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly enthusiastic manner. Ignoring Stuart's lethargic leer, he majestically careened out of the room.

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