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A Knight Thing - Chapter 1
"Time for class, everyone!" Horwell tells to the class. Link quickly lifts his head up from the table.
"Link, are you feeling okay?" Pipit asks, looking at him funny.
"Yeah, I just tend to get an upset stomach if I don't get any sleep." Link whispers, looking at the instructor as he babbles, looking toward the chalkboard.
"Why didn't you sleep?"
"Gooooood morning, everyone!!!" Zelda comes in through the door, with her arms raised.
"Zelda! You mustn't do this. Sit in your seat." Horwell scolds lightly. She quickly scuttles to her seat.
"Hi Link." Zelda whispers, brushing her fingers through the back of his hair.
"Morning, Zelda." Link turns to her.
"Link you're green!" Zelda flabbergasts.
"Instructor Horwell! Link's sick!!" Zelda shouts. He turns around to see Link green in the face.
"Hm, yes. I'll write you a pass to the infirmary." He says, taking a pencil and a small piece of paper.
"Wimp." Groose says, chuckling with Strich and Cawlin. Link walks up and takes the p
A Knight Thing- Prologue
"Nice job, Link!" Eagus chuckles, getting up from the floor.
"Really? Thanks!" He says, putting his hands on his hips. Putting his Practice Sword in his sheath, he waits for the other to walk over.
"Nice game today, boy." Eagus nods, putting his oversized sword onto the floor. He walks into the back room, and comes back out with two bottles filled with pumpkin soup. Tossing one of the bottles to Link, he holds it to the air, after taking the cork out. Link does the same.
"Cheers." Link says. Eagus reciprocates, and they quickly chug it down. He quickly takes the bottles back to the storage room.
"Aw, damnit." Eagus snaps.
"What's wrong?" Link asks.
"All out of pumpkin soup!"
"Oh, I'm sorry " Link trails.
"Don't worry about it buddy. Let me walk you out." Eagus says, putting a hand on Link's shoulder.
"I'll see you tomorrow evening!" Link says, running off. Eagus nods, and quickly locks up the Sparring Hall.
"Oh, hey Link. A bit late, huh?" Pipit says as he sees Link running ba
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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