"C'mon, Meatsack! Lettus in, man!" hollered Jeb, his old fist hammering against Smack-dab's tired front door. The wood rattled loosely in its frame with every bang, presumably contemplating whether today's the day, or if it would just keep going a little longer to see if better things were on the horizon.

"He keeps lookin' back, Jeb, but he's not movin' off that chair," said Orsen, his face pressed flat against a nearby window, cheeks smooshed into the glass. "He's got some good balance, though. It's a ruddy small chair for a big lad like that to curl up on."

"Well balance or no," replied the older trader, "I'm so bloody cold I'm about t' start burnin' planks just t' keep warm."

"I bet that'd get Meatsack t' open up, though."

Jeb briefly paused knocking and raised an eyebrow. "Huh, yer ain't half wrong, Orsen, m'lad. Let's call that one plan B, eh?"

"Alrighty, Jeb. Plan B."

Jeb threw a few more thumps on the door, and a slight kick just for good measure. He'd never encountered Smack-dab shut before. He didn't even know this door could lock. And for The Woman's statue to be lying there amputated like that, her arm just littered about the place? It was almost unthinkable. And to think he was standing here thinking it right now. Thinking the unthinkable, what next? Imagining the unimaginable? The Waste was going mad, Jeb thought.

"Come on, Meatsack! We've bin out here for like, two hours! It's bloody cold, man!'

"What's plan C, Jeb?" Orsen asked, walking away from the window to stand near his mentor. He had that look on his face again - the one Jeb knew meant an Orsen moment was imminent. His eyes were too wide, too starry. They looked like they wanted to feast.

"Plan C, Orsen? We've not even gotten to plan B, yet."

"Aye sure, but what if we do an' plan B fails? Best t' be prepared, right?"

Jeb stepped away from the door, giving it a final look of offense before scratching his patchy stubble. "Well, lad, I s'pose we could break a window an' just climb in. Bert wouldn't be none too happy 'bout that, though."

"That's why it's plan C though, right?"

"Aye, lad, that's fair. So we never have to do it."

The boy nodded. He always nodded when his brain was accepting new data. Jeb sometimes wondered if it was so he could shake the other bits loose so there'd be space for something new. Goodness knows where he kept all this information - he was skinny as bloody rake, but not nearly as useful.

"Come on, Meatsack!" Jeb tried again, though with less energy. He was growing incredibly weary, having been yelling at this stupid wooden door for the past two hours. His fists hurt from all the banging, and his mouth tasted dry and hoarse. Meatsack really wasn't letting them in, and it was unfathomable as to why. Jeb and Orsen were just pleasant company to be around! "We're friends o' Bert, ya knows us!"

"Err..." said Orsen.

Jeb looked back at him.

"What about plan D, Jeb? I'm jus' worried that if we chicken out o' plan C, we'll be left up slit creek."

"Slit creek, lad?"

"Yeah, up slit creek with a paddle."

Jeb stared at him for a moment. He understood each of those words individually, but not all together like that. "Err, with a paddle, lad?"

"Yeah, a paddle."

"Ya mean like ... one o' them, ya know, sexy butt slappers like Trader Bill was sellin'?"

Orsen furrowed his brow. "I guess so, Jeb, but I dunno why anyone would want one o' those up slit creek. What is slit creek anyway?"

Jeb scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He reckoned he had an idea as to what it meant, and by the looks of how fast Orsen's cheeks were filling with a rather tellingly crimson warmth, he had made a guess, too.

"Oh," he said. "I'm not sure I know what that sayin' means anymore, Jeb."

"Aye, lad, ya got me there, too. Maybe let's just drop it, eh?"

The boy nodded.

"Alright..."

They both looked back at the door and saw, to their surprise, Meatsack was peering out from behind it with one grey eye, his chunky fingers wrapped tight around the sliver of crack that had opened. His face was glossy with tears, eyes puffy and rimmed red.

"Meatsack!" Jeb said cheerfully, smiling as wide as his face could fit. There was no time for bargaining here, Jeb was on a one-way train to guilt-trip town. He wanted inside that bar. Needed.

Meatsack stared, his fingers starting to drum lightly on the wood.

"Meatsack, buddy, pal. Please let us in. We're out 'ere starvin' and dyin' o' thirst, and that's not t' mention the cold. Oh Meatsack, it's so ruddy freezin' out here. Don't ya think ya can just let us in this once? Do ya not like us anymore, are we not welcome?"

Meatsack gasped and nodded his head quickly.

"Wait, are ya sayin' yes we're not welcome, or yes we're welcome?"

He nodded again, quicker this time.

"Ya jus' nodded yes t' both o' them."

Meatsack paused a moment, then nodded his head again.

"Is your name Meatsack?" chirped Orsen.

Meatsack nodded his head again.

Jeb raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the question. "Why are ya askin' the lad his name, Orsen?"

"I thought maybe he's broken, Jeb. Only able t' nod or somethin' like that. I was testin'."

"So ya asked him a question where the answer ya wanted is yes?"

"Err, yeah."

"Even though ya thought he could only nod?"

"...right."

"Right. Well he's not broken, lad, don't be rude. The boy's jus' lettin' us in, now, right, Meatsack?"

Meatsack retreated a step back into the room, closing the door ever so slightly so that only his fingertips and the slight gleam of an eye was visible.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Jeb shouted, stepping forwards to wedge his foot in the crack. "I thought ya said we was welcome, right, lad?"

The glittery eye nodded.

"Well!" Jeb smiled, pushing his foot further into the door. "We'll jus' be welcome then, eh? Won't be any trouble at all, I swears t' ya. We'll jus' grab our usual seat, a bit o' grog and whatever food ya got lyin' around, alright?"

Meatsack cowered further into the bar, but to Jeb's immense satisfaction, released his pressure on the door. In fact, he let it go completely and scuttled backwards into the room, leaving Jeb the opportunity to push the door all the way open. He grinned wide as he soaked in the familiar dusty sight that was Smack-dab. Bar. Food. Room. He sniffed deeply, savouring the musty smell of the damp planks, and of the old food festering somewhere in Phoenix's kitchen. It'd probably turn into a Chef's Special if he left it long enough. They'd charge double, too. Clever bastards.

Meatsack was near the bar, watching the new duo with tearful eyes. Jeb pointed Orsen to their usual spot, by one of the front windows, and smiled a friendly, trustworthy smile at the big, grey mutant.

But as they filed in, nobody locked the door again.

And that meant Smack-dab was open for business.

* * *

Everyone loves when their business is open, right? This couldn't possibly go badly.

Couldn't possibly.

Nope.

Best you Vote and comment now, before things get ugly.

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