Today is really only a follow-up to yesterday’s scene in that it’s about Prima, Vera, Kat, and a goose…
© J.B. Norman — Published by Emona Literary Services™
“Talk to me, goose,” Vera says to the big white bird, resting her chin on her arms folded on the table.
The goose tilts its head as it stares back.
“Come on,” Vera urges.
“Making a friend?” Prima asks her sister.
Vera sighs heavily. “Trying to,” she mutters. “But I guess he just likes Kat better.”
As Kat returns to the table, the goose waddles over to the edge of the table and hops into her lap in a flutter of wings.
“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, rolling her eyes but nevertheless patting the bird’s head. “You can trust Prima and Vera. They’re not going to eat you. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Unless you’re made or sugar.”
She looks thoughtfully down at the goose.
“You’re a goose. Can you even get wet? See? Nothing to worry about.”
She glances over the table at Vera.
“And, you: Watch where you’re flinging that water magic.”
“I said I was sorry!” Vera protests.
“Sorry doesn’t dry out my socks,” Kat counters. “Do you have any idea how gross walking around with wet socks?”
“Yes,” Prima mutters – many a time, she has been caught by the splashback of her sister’s haphazard flinging of glasses of water or magic bubbles at their foes.
“They’re still wet by the way,” Kat notes.
“I said I was sorry!”
“So, uh, what’s the story with the goose?” Prima asks.
Kat shrugs. “Man, I don’t even know. I’m just sitting there, trying to have lunch. Then this little goober comes flapping onto my head. Next thing I know, I’m fighting off a band of pirates!”
She sighs and shakes her head.
“So, anyway, it was all Dunstana’s fault. Obviously.”
“Uh huh,” Prima and Vera mutter simultaneously.
The barkeep walks up to their table. He cautiously eyes the goose.
“Is he going to be a problem?” he asks Kat.
“Are you going to try to cook him?” Kat asks.
“Why,” the barkeep asks, perking up. “Is he, uh, is he for sale?”
“No.”
“Then no. Unless, of course, he’s going to walk his little duck-feet all over the other customers’ meals.”
“Goose,” Kat notes.
“Just keep a leash on him. Or whatever you keep on a duck.”
“Goose.”
“Whatever,” the barkeep mutters. “Will you be dining tonight? Or just annoying?”
“I’m gonna splash him,” Vera declares, hastily looking around for the nearest glass.
“Vera, no,” Prima says, grabbing her sister’s arm.
“Yeah. We’ll eat,” Kat says.
“Today’s special,” the barkeep tells them, “this a lovely, plump roast…”
The goose honks in alarm.
“…lamb.”
The shepherd dining in the corner gasps and after recovering fixes the barkeep with an indignant glower.
“Okay,” Kat says. “Just bring me one of everything. And we’ll go from there. Wait, no. Make it two.”
She turns to Prima and Vera.
“And what do you two want?”
“So, like,” Vera ventures as the barkeep heads off, “we’re not going to give that guy a very good tip, right? What a jerk.”
The goose honks in agreement.
But, seriously, though. I hate wet socks…
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