It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 63: Chapter IX

Coarse and Offensive Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

Alfonso Ignatius (the Second)'s opinion of The Woman was unaffected throughout the evening, but a familiar impression of seething dislike began to chafe at him. The more the night went on, the more his initial joy at seeing her, arm around the shoulder of the squat, ugly man in the ascot, turned pale and twisted. It didn't take much to realize that, far from being lovers, The Woman could hardly stand the suited clot. Anytime he spoke, her jaw clenched, and her eyes flashed, and without fail, her gaze would flutter back to Ed.

Edward Towne always gets what Edward Towne wants.

It started out well enough for Bud. After the initial 'hellos', an uncomfortable lull came over the conversation. The Woman just stood there, no introductions apparently necessary, and Ed, as only Ed could do in such situations, stared pointedly at his feet and could not find the courage in himself to speak.

'You brought a guitar,' said the fat man, 'you know, the open mic ended an hour ago.'

'Yeah,' said Bud, moving out from behind Ed, and registering a surprise on the surrounding people's faces. (He, a tall man, could easily be lost behind Ed's shoulder.) 'That's my fault.'

'Look at that,' said the cock, 'they come in a pair. It's a magic show. Liza, you've got a kinky side.' 

The pug faced woman on the dolt's arm Shirley cackled, and Liza, coming to, writhed with hatred.

'This is Ed,' she snapped, 'and this is...' but dwindled as she motioned to Bud.

Who loves Bud? Who even remembers his name?

'I'm—'

'It's Alan, right?'

'Oh...yeah...right,' said a downcast Bud.

They will remember me!

'So, why is it your fault?' asked the haughty woman who had introduced herself as Lottie.

'I...' said Bud, thinking of a way to ease the transparent awkwardness of the situation. 'Ed was helpin' me.'

And thus Little Bud falls on his sword as any vassal should!

'Oh?' said the chucklehead with a glint in his eye. 'Helping you do what?' And there was something about the innuendo in his voice that stuck in Bud like a knife, and his ire peaked; and to mitigate the possibility of strangling the fat man with his ascot, Bud found himself resorting to a discerning sense of humor that had been well-won in the streets of his parish.

'Grief, actually,' and he was immediately satisfied to see the balancing looks on the faces around him, even Ed's.

'What are you grieving?' managed the dazed brunette who had mumbled her name as Kathrine.

'My sister,' Bud replied with cheer. 'Yeah...she dropped dead this morning. Really inconvenient, I mean, no thought for my plans. Well, that's pigs for you.' And yet, happy as he'd been at watching the looks of shock, Alfonso Ignatius (the Second), being of St. Gregory's, was surprised to find that his sense of humor did not immediately have the intended effect on the group. Outside of Ed, who made a funny little noise in his throat, half-way between a gasp and groan, no one laughed, or smirked, or even rolled their eyes in acknowledgement of the comedy.

This is what education does to you. Makes you take everything so fucking literally.

'He's kiddin',' Ed moaned, staring at Liza with pleading eyes. 'I'm sorry. My friend—he's got...his sense of humor is fucked.'