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Chapter 7
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“So.”
“So?”
“Sooo… El Cadáver Tonto.”
El cadáver tonto turned around and looked Winger dead in the… Well, helmet with no visible features. “…What?”
“I mean, that’s a pretty contrived name.” Winger continued, trying to evenly split his focus between his strange host leading the path through the dark and not stepping on any potential unknown objects - when traveling through a sewer, taking it safe is far easier than gambling whatever objects in your path are safe to step in.
“I didn’t come up with it, if that’s what you mean.” The skeletal host began walking backwards in order to maintain eye contact. “It was my roommate’s idea, along with the whole skeleton getup. He really sold it to me - The Masterful Skeleton, champion of the ring. Plus it reflected my roots.”
“You were a skeleton before this?” Cordax leaned past winger in order to interject, making it harder for Racie to walk on her own.
“What?” El cadáver tonto somehow raised a cranial brow in response. “I don’t… No, I worked in a mexican restaurant. And it’s a spanish name, so…”
Cordax was clearly unsatisfied, leaning in further and nearly tripping Winger. “What were you called before that?”
“I was , um…” He turned away for a brief moment. “I was on the breakfast crew… As the Maestro de Gofres.”
“Gofers?” Cordax wondered aloud, earning him a sharp glare from the emaciated emissary which only served to embolden the pint-sized punk. “So Gofers, where are we headed in this dark, rancid place?”
The Maestro de Gofres sighed in reply, not noticing Cordax cackle briefly. “Where are we going for? You get it, because go-for and go-fer are-”
“Better question.” Winger stepped in front of Cordax’s line of sight, killing the mood. “Tott got hit by something small and blue back in the alley where you were supposed to have fought, and since you seem to be familiarized with the underbelly of this place, maybe you’d know what that was.”
“Aha!” The Maestro de Gofres stopped and spun around to face the group, clapping his bny hands together and creating an unusual sound. “That’s funny,” He said, repeating the motion a few times. “Gonna have to get used to that.”
“Right, so, what your friend- you?” He pointed at Cordax, who shook his head vehemently. “Right. So another friend of yours, he got hit with something called a Tear - y’know, the thing people cry when they’re sad. They’re said to come from the weeping mirror, a thing rumored to exist somewhere under the city. Volume might know where it is, but uh…”
“Yeah, we know.” Winger replied, pushing the Maestro de Gofres out of the way and walking onward. “Just let us know when we get to where we’re headed.”
The ground beneath Winger suddenly wasn’t there, his foot entering a shadow and suddenly finding there was no floor to stand on. His other foot followed suit, and his collar suddenly tightened as he was held in midair above the sudden dropoff. The Maestro de Gofres, now standing behind him, took a moment to process what had just happened in the expected manner of stammering and looking around both at his new-found position and the son of Ghid he held in his grip.
“Huh.” Winger choked, tapping at the Maestro de Gofres’ arm and motioning for him to place him down. “So that’s how that works.”
“Sorry, I… wow.” The ghastly guide breathed, still trying to recover. “I should’ve had this raised in anticipation, but I guess I didn’t think about it. Uh, sorry, this’ll be a second.”
Crossing the gap of stagnant rainwater in the middle of the path, the Maestro de Gofres cupped his skeletal hand over his mouth and leaned towards an open pipe.
“HEY, I’M BACK, WE GOT A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO’D LIKE SOME HELP, COULD YOU OPEN THE DOOR?”
“It helps him 'cause he doesn’t have ears.” He explained, turning back to the group which was all partaking in clutching each of their respective ears and recoiling as the noise rang throughout all the surrounding pipes and reverberated loudly through them. “Oh, I just realized I don’t either. Huh. I wonder how I can hear things without ears?”
“Shut up or I will hurt you.” Winger jammed his helmet into the Maestro de Gofres’ bony face and breathed the sentence out in pure venomous malice. Before any rebuttal could be made, or the latter of the pair become any more traumatized by the promise, there was a rumbling grinding of gears, and the floor beneath the dropoff began to rise, slowly ascending with the area beyond it turning itself about in numerous ways until, at last, a doorway presented itself.
“Ungrateful.” The rigor mortis reincarnate made a spitting motion as he approached the doorframe, stopping in surprise for a moment as he realized he had no saliva. “This is so weird. Is this like, um, temporary?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Winger said, walking forward to meet his placement at the front of the group. “But I imagine it sucks to be dead.”
Cordax, who was still supporting Racie, who was mostly leaning her elbow on Cordax’s head as she didn’t really need the support, gasped and turned to Racie, almost causing her elbow to slip off his curved cranium. “I think he’s a Dreamer!”
Racie silently pretended she hadn’t heard him.
The path quickly led to a well-lit area containing an extremely old television, a worn couch, and a misused mini fridge, all of which were bolted to the floor. A neon sign reading ‘TACO’ hung on the wall, slightly askew, and glowing a brilliant yellow light. As the group approached, the Maestro de Gofres approached and waved at the sign.
“Hi, sorry I’m late. Had to bring this whole group in, uh, the dude’s got a concussion and the lady’s got something but I’m not sure. Uh, I think the kid’s fine though.”
There was a silent few seconds which passed. “Uh, you trying to be inconspicuous or whatever, this is atypical of you man, you there?”
“Are you serious right now?” The sign replied.
“What?” The Maestro de Gofres replied. “I thought we were supposed to help people and stuff, considering-”
“Later, hot pockets.” The sign dimmed, thousands of little sparks of light seeping out of the empty neon tubes and flying slowly into a cloud above the group. “How’re you, Cordax? And what’s-her-face, I’ve missed both you clods.”
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