One More Mug: Dry Joke

“Woooo, the door opens by itself!” the man declared, wiggling his fingers like a wizard casting a spell.

Beneath his washed cloak, faded red and purple cloth still clung to what remained of an outfit he barely recognized, while his bell-tipped cap had been improvised into a backpack.

“Seriously, you got to fix that, ain’t I right, tavernkeep?”

He leaned against the scrap statue beside the counter. Its bucket head immediately toppled off.

“Hahaha… you really gotta stop losing your head.”

The man picked up the bucket, the scribbled smile nearly smudged away by dust.

“I am trying,” he muttered as he placed it back.

Then he sat alone in the silent tavern, nursing a glass of sweet cherry, bitter mint, and strong enough to leave his throat dry after every swallow.

He clears his throat as he places the glass down and pours himself another as he speaks to the statue he made while the door keeps on closing and opening, and then the chair beside him moved as if someone was seated.

“Glad you could join me, stranger, how bout I pour you one?” He talks to an empty seat as he puts the glass and bottle between them, but the glass moves by itself as if someone had moved it.

“I know they told me that some alcohol has some spirit in them, and I wonder if this is what they mean, huh? Anyone?... oh yeah…” He frowns as he looks around, hoping someone would answer him, but all he got were some things moving on their own, but no voices, no hums, just an empty room full of motion.

He took a shot again, and he looked at the supposed bartender.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Walking alone, yet I see footsteps, like someone is walking around me too… Last time someone walked beside me was around a few nights ago…”

His face dropped as he looked at the dusty cup and the one beside him with an empty seat, which stopped moving as well.

He stood up at the counter and started strutting.

“I mean, look at these moves!”

And he began the tapping of his shoes and toes on the platform as he pretended to be the tavernkeeper, saying, “Get down there, you troublemaker!”

“Fine, fine, but you do realize you can’t do anything about it,” he leans at the statue, “and as you can see, anyone would walk with this style!”

He mimics a voice again and said, “If I had legs, I’d gladly walk you out of my tavern!” and in a challenging voice, he said, “Try me! But also sorry! I will perform appropriately hahaha!”

He sat back down as the statue with the bucket head was just motionless.

“Anywho, she was the queen’s maid, and in a hall full of people, her laughter was beyond the riches of the king and queen… now, it's just a faint memory.”

He held a handkerchief that smelled of dust, though beneath it lingered the faint trace of something sweet.

“I remember us running through the garden. Her hair flowing in the wind while she yelled, ‘Give it back, idiot! That’s my handkerchief!’ Like she actually wanted it back! Can you believe her? Of course, she meant ‘keep running!’”

He laughed quietly and poured himself another drink.

“Pretty sure she meant her heart… right?”

The handle of the bucket slightly tilted from its own weight, making it seem as though the statue had nodded.

“Exactly! Thank you for understanding my point!” the man laughed before taking another drink.

Suddenly, a mug flew across the room and shattered against the wall beside him.

“Oh! Missed me!” He pointed toward the broken pieces with a grin. “See? Even he agrees.”

As he lowered his cup, a sharp sting brushed against his arm from one of the shattered shards. He winced and instinctively grabbed the wound, only for the pain to fade almost immediately. Confused, he slowly lifted his hand away.

Dust spilled from the cut.

Not blood.

Dust.

The smile on his face slowly weakened as he stared at it in silence.

“What’s… happening?”

The tavern remained quiet except for the distant creaking of the door.

He looked toward the bucket-headed mimic and answered himself in a rough old man’s voice, “You didn’t ask that when things started moving on their own around here.”

“I pretend there are still people around me, alright?” he snapped back, pointing accusingly at the statue. “The doors open, chairs move, mugs slide around as someone touched them… but this?”

He raised his arm toward the mimic with a nervous laugh that failed to hide the fear creeping into his voice.

“This isn’t normal. Blood should come out… not dust.”

He wipes the chalky wound.

“It feels like… that cloud that swallowed me, dry, cold… and not only that, it's everywhere here.”

He accidentally toppled the chair beside him as he stood up.

“Is the dust around me from other people? That means there are other people, right?!”

He tries to get close to the mimic, trying to interrogate it.

“Tell me!!”

He held the head of the bucket, and he accidentally bumped the cup he placed near the empty seat, and the doors still creaked loudly, but a table tumbled over.

“I-I am sorry, I got heated.”

He faintly chuckles and fixes the table that toppled and the shards scattered from a broken glass and cup with a broom.

“Can you blame me, I mean, being alone after a day with an audience, heh, you’d hear voices right?... especially if it's been days since…”

He drops the broom by the side after cleaning and sits down as he drops his head with his drink again.

“I actually was supposed to have a date here, that's why I'm here.”

He went to a corner of the tavern with two seats neatly placed.

“At exactly this time… she was supposed to come.”

He moved the chair and sat in front of an empty seat, but slowly the door opened, and he saw footsteps from a dust trail towards him as it moved the chair, and a weight was felt sitting down on it.

“Last thing I remember was, back in the royal gardens at night, a thick cloud swallowed me, and when it's gone, I was standing in the same spot but… everything was empty and dusty.”

He looks at the barren tavern and at the tavernkeeper he made then places the handkerchief by the table before going back to the counter.

“I am sorry if I was a little noisy and rowdy earlier… It’s just when there’s no one to laugh at me, what use do I even have?”

He took a heavy shot of alcohol again, but in a larger portion.

“But don’t you worry, I’ll find my audience here, and maybe a way back right? I mean, I believe I am not alone here…”

He looks at the nearly empty bottle.

“Sorry about that, but do you take coins? I bet you do, so I’ll leave it here, and thank you for listening.”

He places down a couple of coins, some slowly dusty and corroded by time.

He started splashing himself with water and tap is cheeks, waking himself up, and covered his wound.

“Well, a jester like me should keep going, keep smiling, and keep on laughing. I mean, I might start forgetting who I am or what I used to do, haha!!”

After hyping himself up, he stood up and fixed the tavernkeeper.

“Now, the remaining thing is to keep looking for an audience! I hear some distant voices, so there is a chance someone is there, or you know, I already lost my head hahaha!”

He went to the tavern door, and as it opened, he exited and waved goodbye.

“I'll see you around, and hopefully not again!”

As the tavern became empty with the remaining sound of footsteps disappearing from a distance, the scribbled face on the bucket lit up and uttered one word.

“Disappointing…”