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Bunny's Regular

Tuesday 24th December, Story #360/366. Pretty sure I've messed up the counting on these. I'll fix it in Cheese Week.

By L.C. SchäferPublished 2 years ago • 2 min read
Bunny's Regular
Photo by laura adai on Unsplash

"Go on," she nudged him with a toe, "Have a drink with me. Just one. Please?" She grinned.

He drank in her polished blue toenails. She didn't wear stilettos anymore, not here in the booth anyway. She didn't like them and didn't want to wear them, so she shucked them the moment the curtain swung behind her.

He remembered she'd just spoken, and shook his head.

"I can't, Bunny. Sorry."

"But it's Christmas!"

"Don't I know it," he muttered.

"Are you teetotal?" Her tone was careless, and she took another swig, swinging her forelegs off the stool.

"Definitely not," he said.

"Then why not?"

He considered telling her that it was dangerous for him to drink when he couldn't use the Talent to help him metabolise it. Truthfully, he had centuries of booze backed up in his system, and a snifter could upset the delicate balance his body was working so hard to keep. A single shot would make him legless. And then what would he do? Tonight was his big night.

"You could say I'm working later."

She laughed and knocked back the last of her drink. "Who's working tonight?" she exclaimed. "Except..." She paused. I almost did it. I almost messed up.

Trish had warned her. Generous but tetchy. Don't make any Santa jokes.

She floundered, mentally scrambling for a topic to switch to. Was it her imagination, or was he pulling away from her, his warmth dimming?

Shit shit shit!

It was depressing how quick you could become accustomed to a bigger stream of money, come to rely on it. His eyes were sharp. They worried her.

"Please don't fire me," she blurted. "I need this money. My rent's due."

"I'm not going to fire you."

"But Trish said-"

"I know what she said."

"Can I ask you something?"

Authenticity and spontaneity were becoming habit, and she hardly waited for a reply.

"Why did you send Trish away? Why don't you like people saying stuff about Santa?"

He looked, suddenly, the least jolly she'd ever seen him.

"Why do you think?"

Her laugh was nervous.

"But you can't be-"

"Can't I?"

Another laugh.

"OK, so say you are. Why do you come here?"

Microfiction

About the Creator

L.C. Schäfer

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I'm not a writer! I've just had too much coffee!

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    Written by L.C. Schäfer