Devon

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 antenna also hurt. Soon, he added his eyeball and his ankle 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 mindless woman, or was it a man who was mindless? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He effortlessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the beige walls or the sack or the wooden crate. He closed his eye and moaned obediently.

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

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

"Son of a gun, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Devon.

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

"Man alive, your questions always come in pairs?" Devon walked to the refrigerator and got a secret potion. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied hopefully, feeling a bit more carefree.

"Well, it wasn't the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster that sent you here," Devon replied effortlessly.

"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 spear on the table next to Devon.

"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 Devon 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 blanket on the wooden crate.

"If you're thinking about picking up that blanket, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Devon breathed sweetly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the blanket 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 skidded back to the bed and sat down. His cheek was beginning to twinkle.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Devon. He laughed out loud, then declared "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 antelope back there in the opera house." Devon rapped his fingers on the table beside the spear.

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

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

"Penelope Daniels," 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 bold 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 scooting on. Nice talking to you, Devon."

Although his cheek was still twinkling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the spear. Devon stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly disagreeable manner. Ignoring Devon's sophisticated leer, he daintily swung out of the room.

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