Chapter 2 

Gouentine

The Angel takes my hand with his naked, long fingers. His fur-less skin is calloused and dry, and I look away as he squeezes my hand. It takes all my willpower to keep myself from shaking in excitement. Good times are ahead, Gouentine. 

I give him a hard tug, wanting to assert who's following whom. Under my breath I pray thanks to the twins. Things are going to be so much easier back home. I can't wait to see the look on Ma's face the moment I come through the door, this tall son of a bitch in tow.  My hooves ache a little less holding onto his hand as I turn homeward.  

I walk as fast as possible, my free hand lifting up the hem of my skirt. The fog gets paler and paler as the smell the pine-tinge of rain fills my nostrils. In school they said angels came on burning halos and that it rains after they land. Thank goodness the twins are as convenient as they are kind.

The wooden shacks of Newtown pass us as we walk, and then I notice that the angel is looking at my hooves. My lips purse while I shoot him a look of anger. But with smug he smiles, and then utters his holy language. Does he think of me as a tart? Look forward Gouentine. Hope he doesn't see me blush.

Mud splashes underneath us as we pass the empty porch of Bate's saloon. I would've killed to see Charlie's friend's faces watch me bring an angel home. Then again those idiots would probably try to take him. Imagining this godsend with the Boyes makes me want to shiver. Teeth gritted to stop myself from looking like an embarrassing wench, I take a deep breath. Good times are ahead, Gouentine.

Then my guest starts to dig in his heels as he sees the front door of the saloon. He points with his naked digit and speaks to me in a flat tone. “What do you want?" I ask.

He speaks again, repeating louder what he said before. How does he recognize a saloon? I thought the twins disallowed sins within their capital. Why do boys have to be all about drinking?

I squeeze his hand and give him my angry look. He smiles with teeth as white as cow eggs, arm still pointed at Bate's. Drips of rain fall against my muzzle, and then tapping as my ears are assailed by the coming downpour. Why didn't Chimeri lend me her umbrella before she left?

I drop the angel's hand and duck under the roof of the dry porch. “Baaaaates!" I call out. The angel snickers behind me. “Baaaaaaates."

Relief swept over me when the light next to the door turned on. Then the sound of a cow screaming filled the air, and then I realized it was the angel.

I pray that the evil twin hasn't sent his disciple, or that they killed my angel, and look over my shoulder. He's perfectly fine, only he's doing that stupid thing where he's pointing again! Only this time its at the light source, a cow-oil lamp.

Blessed with a mentally retarded angel! This is not even the response babies make to lamp light!

I look at the lamp, its glass bulb holding the purple source of luminescence. All there is are your typical beast eyes and purple typhoons, products of the oil as it swirls and burns. I scoff at the angel. “Don't make such a ruckus you! It is very Impolite to scream in public!"

Behind me the door opens, and Bate bleats before closing the door. I turn around and knock on it again. “Bates! Open the damn door!"

“I am not keen to serving a disciple of the twins, young lady. Come back when the mayor tells me he's a good angel!"

“Bates you drunkard! For once in your life will you be polite to a lady?"

The door opens, and there's bates in white silk night gown. His red eyes are wide with anger. He shoves a finger an inch from my muzzle. “I am polite you misbehaving cunt! Will you take your rude ass-"

The angel looms over my shoulder, and Angus backs up before he can finish. I smile and pat the back of my hand against Angel's cloth-covered chest. “We're just looking to buy some convenience supplies, Bate's. No need to give a costumer lip."

Behind him I here Mrs Bate's screechy voice. “Daw, will you stop yelling you twit!"

“Its Flannigan's daughter, ma!"

“Does she got cash?"

I pull out my sprig purse and jingle its metallic contents. Bates huffs, and pushes the door open before walking over to his gallery. 

Last time I was here the saloon's walls weren't covered in mildew. Some cobwebs littered chairs on the far edges of the room. Those closest to the bar were scratched and cracked. Probably from the Boyes many arm wrestling matches.

The saloon owner pulls out his catalog and sets it down on the counter, dust spraying everywhere. I guess people don't buy many amenities from Bates. The red tipped pages make an audible crinkling as he flicks through. Finally he settles his hoof-pointed finger on a single one.

“The umbrella'll be two sprigs." He closes the book and ducks back behind the counter while Angel sits at one of the stools. He leans against the bar, and then slaps the varnished wood so hard I heard glasses tingle.

“Angel!" What kind of house was this man raised in? Bates stands tall and saunters over to Angel, breathing hard out of his nose. Once again he points at the angel.“What do you want?"

Angel opens his mouth and points at it, causing Bates looks at me and laugh.

“You haven't fed him?" He kneels behind the counter, wooden boards creaking as he lifts them up. 

“I just found him, Bates." I breath easy and take my won seat.

“That explains everything." With a groan the old sheep lifts up the jar of pickled cow's heads. Its red and blue contents jiggle as the glass hits the bar. Angel's eyes go wide as he stares at the two-foot tall see-through basin. Bates pops its top, and pulling out a head, places it on a brown paper napkin.

“Eat up."

My angel seems disgusted by the food laid before him. His face crinkles up as he sticks his tongue out. Is that the face of an angel who is happy? They're so weird without muzzles. 

“I'm going to get your Umbrella." Bates points at me as he leaves the bar. “Don't let him destroy my property."

The angel pokes and prods the blue ball of fermented cow meat like a kid trying maize. What kind of food do you eat, Angel? Are the twins so kind to make cows that don't need to be pickled? Have you ever farmed a day in your life? 

Oh god, a retarded angel who can't farm.

Maybe this is a bad angel.

I wring my fingers through my wool in circles. What have I got myself into? I know I've been mean to my mom but I don't think this warrants punishment! I just want to do more! Be my own woman! Please twins be merciful! 

I bow my head, a tear coming down my eye. Then my ears flicker as I hear my angel whining. Turned towards him, I peeked over my arm at the strange creature. 

He picks up the blue ball, and brings its mushiness up to his mouth before biting into it. He chews, and then pulls away the blob. Strings of brain muscle still intertwined with his mouth and the pickled cow head.  He swallows it, and then wolfs the rest of the meet. The lid to the jar unscrews and the angel pulls out two cow heads. He scarfs those down, and then grabs more, until the entire jar is empty except brine. As Bates comes back walking into the room, umbrella in hand, the angel slaps the counter.

“Hol-ee shit! Did he eat all those?"

I sniff and wipe any tears from my eyes. “Yep" Twins I hope my sobbing isn't obvious in my voice. “Your mom beheads a mean cow."

Bates returns to his spot behind the counter, and then jumps when the counter is slapped again. Another jar is slammed onto the counter, and then I remember I only have six sprigs on me.

I tug on the angel's sleeve as he's half way through the second jar. “Come on!  We can eat more at home!" I say. I close the lid on the jar, as outside the wind howls. “How much do I ow?"

He counts on his fingers as he does the math. “Six total."

I sigh and pull out my sachel. As I lay six of the shiny-black rods on the bar, I'm blinded by a flash coming from the window next to he saloon entrance. Thunder? My fur sticks up with what sounds like a thousand harpoon guns firing off. Then I remember I'm in a wooden building ,and I grab Angel's arm.

“Lets go!" I rasp in a whisper. Angel hesitates to get off his seat, not budging with every one of my tugs.

“Come on Angel!"

His heads turns left then right, left then right. No? 

“He may have a point. Not wise to run into the open while its thunderin' and lightening."

Bates says while leaning against the counter, a sleepy yawn escaping his face. I want to slap him for an instant, and then I realize no, he's right. I take a seat and lean against the counter. Angel flicks the glass of the jar, producing a lovely hum. A vibrating contrast to the outside noise.

All goes silent save for far off rumblings and the pitter patter of rain. Bates yawns once more, the glass in his hands squeaking as he rubs it with a rag. The adrenaline of the first thunder passes, and now I'm tired. Even these dusty floorboards seem like a comfortable place to sleep.

I look at angel, his eyes stuck staring at his reflection in the jar. They're a beautiful green. Not like Charlies'. His are putrid, like scum growing on the underbelly of a bloated cow corpse. The angels are nice, like how green bronze is after being left in the rain for too long. 

Good times are ahead, Gouentine. My shoulders slack and I hunch over. I don't care about pose anymore, or the aching in my wrists and hooves. Just looking at this pasty godsend makes me feel safe. All that I've done so far is secure, knowing now that he is within my possession. At the very least, I'll be able to get more done with more hands. 

I rest my chin on the bar. No longer do I hear the sound of rain coming from outside. Hooves thud slightly against floor boards. Then the door to the saloon creaks open.

I don't even realize who it is until Bates, now standing tall, speaks. “Evening, Charlie."

The wool on my head frizzes up.

I feel his presence as the floorboards croak underneath his footprints. Angel spins on his seat to face Charlie, propping both of his elbows against the counter.

“I know it's not my usual time but would you like your usual."

Silence, save for their breathing: Angel's is slow but loud; Charlies' a rythme, deep inhale deep exhale, then two regular breaths before repeating; Bates is erratic, like hes trying to blow his nose every time.

I turn and look over my shoulder at Charlie. He's about three  feet in front of Angel, leaning against the table. His muzzle is in a frown, an eye brow raised as he looks over Angel. Half of me wants to punch him, while the other half wants to grab angel and leave.

Angel doesnt seem to mind though. He returns Charlie's inquisitive look, though his focus is at Charlie's hooves. Why the hell he's got an infatuation with our lower half? 

I feel like I've been trapped in a hall of statues for years now. A heat is building up in my chest, while the back of my mind tightens in a vice grip. I grab Angel without paying attention to how hard my  fingers dig into his  sleeve. He flinches while turning to face me. I don't think he needs to speak my language to get what I was saying.

Then, Charlie spoke.

“How long since you first fed him, Gwen?"

My grip tightens, and I bight my lip to stop from responding.

“Does he understand us, Gwen?"

Glasses tinkle as behind the counter Bates shifts. I wonder what the barman's thinking, until he coughs. Then he speaks.

“I just fed him, Charlie."

Anger. Toward's Bates and his blabbering mouth. Towards Angel, who still stares at me with a blank expression. Towards Charlie, whose holding out a card to angel in my peripheral vision.

“Well then I hope tomorrow morning he'll be able to read this."

Angel glanced away from my gaze, long enough to see the card and snatch it. For a second it looks like he can read the card. My heart thumps fast, like I'm going to have a heart attack.

The floorboards croak. The door creaks. Soon, Only I, Bates and the angel are left breathing inside the saloon.

Angel turns to face me, and I let go of his arm. Twins, I must look like a mess to him. All that good feeling for the future I had is gone now, replaced by that bastards scummy aura. I look down in shame and despair.

Then the card, crumpled up, falls down to the ground in front of my skirt.

Looked up to see Angel standing, rubbing the part of the arm that I had grabbed. He coughs, nudging his head towards the door. I stand straight and brush my skirt, then grab his hand. I have the angel in my grasp. Good times are ahead.