The light knocked on the window, glad that there were no curtains, but Cyril didn't care. He came to the tavern early in the morning and went to sleep as soon as he got to his bed. After yesterday's rain, the city shone with the morning sun in cold puddles.
However, by the time Cyril came home, either the puddles had warmed up, or he was so numb that he didn't feel the cold.
He was lucky enough to find an old bag in Kalim's basement, so anyone who was looking for a naked lunatic had now to be looking for a lunatic in a bag.
Dyck, apparently, was getting used to his companion's oddities, so he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing when Cyril stumbled into the tavern in the early morning. Freya smiled at Cyril and started to say something, but he walked past her with the darkest expression he could muster.
Two hours of walking through deserted morning streets in one bag over a naked body rarely improves one's mood.
'Kalim said he would come back tomorrow, so I can finally relax.' Cyril thought, and stretched in a bed.
The sun finally got its way and woke Cyril closer to dinner.
They left the body in the basement, where Kalim immediately covered it with some rubbish to stop the body from rotting. He said that the resurrection potion doesn't last more than two hours, so the alchemist wanted to finish the potion first and then sprinkle the poor corpse.
Cyril definitely didn't want to stay in the cramped lab, which was even more of a mess than upstairs. He found a bag on the floor, shook out a couple of dead rats, made a hole for the head with a piece of glass from Kalim's desk, and pulled it over his shoulders, saying good-bye.
"It's finally warm." Cyril muttered, then spat on the floor.
The taste in his mouth was disgusting. A week without toothpaste and a brush made itself felt.
'I don't want to lose all my teeth here.' He thought, looking around the room.
The room was empty. The bedspread where Clara had organized the picnic was still on the floor. Surprisingly, there were no dishes on it. Freya must have brought the dishes with her when she woke up.
The book of debtors still lay on the table in the corner of the room, waiting for Cyril to figure out what to do with it. The sun played with motes in the air, and through the window came the sound of a wide street.
Cyril leaned back on the pillow and thought the room was too empty.
He was used to living in a family. At first, his parents nurtured and tolerated his presence while he was growing up, going to school, studying at the university as a manager, but a third of the A's were not enough to get a red diploma. Roughly speaking, he graduated from university as nothing.
Not surprisingly, he was only able to find a mediocre position as a manager in an inexpensive family cafe, where he first ran as a waiter, and then slept with the boss to get the position. Soon the boss became his wife, and they had a son.
By this time, they had moved into their apartment, where he was once again in the family circle. Even as a student, Cyril did not know privacy, so now the empty room in the new world seemed too empty for him.
'I guess I just can't be alone.' Cyril thought, and glanced again at the bedspread on the floor.
"Cyril, can I come in?" A voice called from the other side of the door.
'Should I marry her?' The thought came immediately, but Cyril slapped his face. 'You're not done with your first wife yet, asshole.'
"Come in." He said, covering himself with the blanket.
Of course, Cyril had slept with this woman, and she had seen him naked, but right now he wanted to keep the feeling that his body belonged to him, and Cyril didn't want to expose it to the public. Not after a day naked.
"Good morning." Freya said, smiling as she entered the room with a tray. "Good afternoon, actually. I brought you lunch and a set of clothes."
"Clothes, this is fucking great." Cyril said and got up in bed. "Thank you."
"Although we are just lovers." Freya said, leaning slightly over Cyril to place the tray on the bed next to him. "As a woman, I couldn't help but take care of such a rough hero."
Cyril noticed the cleavage in Freya's new dress. Mature breasts playfully swayed in the wide neckline. This time, Freya changed from the gaudy gray outfit that Cyril had torn to a formal but revealing dress in dark blue.
Cyril swallowed.
"I bought you some clothes and updated my wardrobe as well." Freya said, straightening up. She turned to show off her new backless dress. "Like it?"
"Yes, indeed." Cyril whispered, feeling his cock harden under the covers.
Anyway, Freya was a beautiful woman, and Cyril was a grown man. And yet, why did he imagine Clara as his companion, but sleep with Freya? Because he wanted to leave? Afraid of hurting them? Cyril began to doubt that he was guided by reason. What if he was just afraid?
'This is not the time to think about it." He stopped the flow of thought. 'I'll finish what I started first.'
"Listen." He muttered as Freya started to leave. "What do you use to brush your teeth?"
Freya turned and looked at him blankly.
"I mean, how do you keep your teeth clean and your breath fresh? You can't just eat everything and not suffer from caries."
"Caries?" Freya asked.
"Fuck, whatever." Cyril snapped. "Diseases of the teeth, bad breath, this stuff. How to fight? I noticed your teeth were white, but mine must have turned into a ball of shit in a week of living here."
"I understand." Freya said, and raised her hand to stop Cyril. "Not another word. Back soon."
She smiled her confident status smile again and disappeared through the door.
"You've changed too fast." He said, remembering how she'd looked the day they'd met. "That's what I wanted, though."
Satisfied with the result of his labor, Cyril opened the lid on a deep earthenware bowl that stood on a tray. The tart smell of stewed vegetables and seasonings wafted out of the bowl, and the sweet steam touched his face. Cyril swallowed, but before he pounce on the food, he picked up a clay mug.
"Ah, an old acquaintance." He smiled, recognizing Dyck's signature drink.
He took a swig from his mug and drained half of it in one gulp. His head cleared immediately, and the nasty taste in his mouth was replaced by a feeling of viscosity, like after a ripe persimmon. Burping contentedly, Cyril picked up a spoon and scooped up the vegetables.
"Knock, knock." Came from the doorway, and Freya entered uninvited. "We use clay."
"What?"
Cyril almost choked.
"Clay." Freya repeated, coming closer and sitting on the edge of the bed. "If you chew it for a minute, it will clean your teeth and make your breath fresh. Try it when you eat."
Freya put a small porcelain jar on the tray and opened the lid. Inside was dry, crushed gray clay.
"Okay, thank you." Cyril said, and popped another portion of vegetables into his mouth. "Now leave me alone, will you? I haven't been high on my own in ages."
"High?" Freya asked.
"Enjoying." He explained with his mouth full. "I'll come down later."
Freya nodded, glancing down at the blanket, but didn't press the point. After all, she'd already given up on their agreement that they were just lovers. Freya had skipped her fourth decade and wasn't planning on being alone for the rest of her life.
"Gurgle." Cyril called as Freya left. "Clean the floors and dust the house."
The air freshened and an elemental appeared.
[I think master forgot that Gurgle is tired of cleaning up the dirt after people.] Disgruntled Gurgle grumbled, blowing bubbles. [Master promised to show me the world.]
Cyril grimaced at Gurgle's comment and belched as he finished his meal.
"Don't fucking play with me, okay?" He said. "Just do me a favor so I don't call Freya here. It's enough that she tries to play the caring wife and brings me lunch to bed."
[Is this an important part of human life? Gurgle would like to know more about this.]
"Gurgle will find out-" Cyril started to snap, but stopped. "I can't think of a fucking way to intimidate you or even insult you."
[I think it's beyond the master's control.] Gurgle said. [Although, I don't like the cold, it fetters me.]
"Well, there's no freezer here anyway, so forget it. Just help me clear the room. Please." Cyril added, folding his hands in prayer. "Did you enjoy collecting corpses?"
[Yes.] The elemental released a few bubbles. [It made me even stronger, although nothing compares to the toilet where I ate my first meal.]
"That's because people do more shit in life than they do in death." Cyril said.
[As you say, master.] Gurgle said, and disappeared into the dusty air of the room.
Soon the air was fresh, and the spittle, dirt, and dried sperm stains were gone from the floor. Cyril swung his legs over the edge of the bed and unrolled a stack of clothes.
"You didn't think to buy shoes, of course." He grumbled as he put on his trousers.