Lunchtime

“Did you hear?” Lana swings a leg over the table, slinging her corduroy bag under the bench, “there’s a beast.” She sits, rubbing at her lime green bandana as she pulls out her lunch. “Running about town.” When she begins to gnaw at her sandwich, I am reminded of a koi fish, the image exacerbated by her fluorescent orange jacket, and the lily pad coloured headgear.

“Thought you were going to say the party was off or something.” I study my own sandwich, counting the seeds in the bread. The vinegar in the BBQ sauce stings my nose in a delicious way.

Her head shakes violently, “never. Everyones going to hunt it though. The beastie.”

“Who’ll be at the party then.” I’m only half joking. I was looking forward to a good night.

She rolls her eyes, swallowing forcefully. “It’s all the wannabe hard men, we’ll be better off without them. Did you know about it? The beast?”

“Stop saying the beast,” I pull an exaggerated face, “and what d’you mean its been running about town, I’ve never seen anything other than that fucking evil stray cat and my own reflection.”

“Diesel isn’t evil he just knows who’s a wrong un” she informs me.

“Guess I’m the villain then.”

Lana scoffs, “you’re a diagnosed henchman mate don’t worry. The real villain is over there deciding between slop or sludge.” I cast my eyes to Joey, indeed scrutinising the hot food offerings at the buffet.

“You need to make a move or quit dancing,” I inform her, pressing a finger into my left temple, willing it to dull the fuzz brought on by the overhead fluorescents.

“Whatever. Anyway I don’t know how you’ve missed it. It’s been down the lanes, near Mitchie’s farm, through the woods, and all over fucking town, near Prism and all!” Another enormous chomp, “only place it hasn’t been spotted is Chicken Palace which makes no sense given those bins would probably make a banquet for a hungry wolf thing.”

“Maybe it’s a pescatarian.”

Never before have eyes had a stare so dry and yet not been experiencing a medical emergency.

“It’s not. It’s the one been tearing all the foxes asunder.”

I snort, “Asunder? Where d’you get that?”

“Reading this old book set in the medieval times. We should bring back some of their stuff. Good words and funky hairdos. Bad morals though. Anyway, it also got Donald’s dog.”

That’s where I draw the line. “Donald did his dog if anything did, let’s not pretend. He’s psychotic.”

“Well it’s made a great excuse for him all the same.”

“Perhaps it freed it. Maybe they’re running wild and free across the hills.”

Lana goes to counter, when she is cut off is the metallic squeak and huff of an added presence at the table.

“Yo yo Banana Jo” she instead spits, “how goeth the eight circle of hell?”

“The canteen hot bar was very pleasant actually thank you Lana.” Joey gives her a tight smile, fork already plunging into… something on her tray. “Catrinn’s on duty don’t you know, and she’s got new hair. Copper. Looks lovely.”

“You’re such a dyke I’m surprised you’ve not got a red arse from the floodwaters slapping your behind.”

“Too busy opening up a carpet shop aren’t I.”

I block out their homo erotic and phobic double act, focusing instead on the fibres on my hunk of steak and the way they spiral and braid together. Did they sit pretty in plaits when they were in the cows rump or did perpetuate motion twist them differently? Did death bind them up tight? Or set them free?

The ting of a fork on metal jolts me from my reverie and I tune back in to the world’s longest running live comedy improv drama.

“Can I have the lollipop then?” Joey stirs whatever is on their tray, a wicked glint in her eyes. But Lana smirks right back, giving Joey’s necklace stack a clattering swing, “nah I let the crossing guard keep some of their dignity when I nicked their get up.” She pats her jacket proudly and I see a shade of fondness in Joey’s brown eyes

“Yeah you look like a fish pond today mate.” She says, matter of factly, before spooning mush toward her mouth. I cackle and reach out and to give her a high five, “twin thing.”

“Whatever freaks” Lana stretches, exposing a sliver of midriff. I see Joey staring. “What do you think about the monster hunt?”

“Oh are we finally picking up forks and torches and going after Donny?” It’s incredible, the way Joey looks like she actually enjoys the mystery mash they offer here.

Lana smacks her hands on the table in frustration. “God it really is pile on Doo doo Day isn’t it. Can’t say I disagree but no actually, it's the macho vendetta all the lads are building up against the beast thing.”

“That wild dog thats been on at Mitchie’s sheep?” When Joey yawns I can see her two sharp canines and a bean lodged in her pink gums. I look away quickly, returning my sandwich to it's Tupperware. I'll eat later.

“It’s not a dog I’ll tell you that. The candle shop got it on CCTV. Massive fucking creature. Probably a werwolf.”

I laugh before I can help it, but Lana ploughs on.

“I mean it. Ginny said that she heard no one can identify what it is.”

“Well if Ginny said,” Joey simpers, “but thats because they’ve got three pixels worth of noir fluff on a night camera. As if the hippie shop can afford good tech. Why do they have CCTV anyhow?”

“Have you seen their twelve wick candles? Don’t mock mate. The amethyst caves… fucking beaut.”

“Never knew you to have such an interest in the ethereal Lana.”

“Just saying that if I were them, I’d fear a ram raid too!”

“Well maybe this big dog likes patchouli and skewiff tarot readings. Just wait for mercury to find lucozade or whatever.”

Lana’s eyes Could win the marble world championships, all the rolling they’re doing, “you are so not witty funny nor clever.”

“I’ll take sparkling, humorous and wise then.”

At last I interrupt what was sure to be yet another scintillating and never-ending battle of… not wits, by asking the all important question;

“Are we on the booze tonight or is someone scrounging up some ket?”

Lana jumps on the topic eagerly, “already rolled a sweet little bouquet of spliffage, and I know that Marley and Marley have a wee deal on X or MD as it stands.”

“Fucking muppets” Joey scowls, “I’d rather stick with grass and grappa if it means I don’t have to entertain their shite.”

“Yeah but I hear their latest tabs make you see sparkles Josephina, fucking sparkles!” Lana’s own eyes are glimmering, green pools of addictive elation.

“Sure that’s not Meggie’s body glitter?” Joey reaches out to flick the zipper of the neon tangerine jacket, “reckon you’ve still got some of it crusted up in your eyes after New Year.”

“Oh my god go fucking live in Mitchie’s barn if you’re going to keep mooing on about that. She’s bicurious! I’m a giver! I know she nicked your grade in food tech like centuries ago, but she does cracking scones and snogs!”

Joey drags her spoon across her tray, smiling beatifically as we all wince.

I hack at the thin layer of rapidly forming ice before I have to deal with another sexually repressed schism. “Please tell me Ross is going tonight, I need a D’artagnan to temper this Musketeer shit we’ve got going on here.”

They both nod and I sigh with relief, “Jessie’s gonna pop by as well. Got a shift at the farm early on so they’ll kip till midnight then keep going till dawn.”

Lana sighs admiringly, “never known such a planner as our Jess. God they’re good. And mad.” Joey taps their fork against the crust of their tray in agreeing salutation.

The conversation finally shifts away from sniping, both at each other and “the beast,” instead focusing on day after party breakfast plans. I tune it out. I won’t be hungry. Planning on taking a nibble out of Mitchie’s pigs this time. Turns out Donald’s dog has a taste for bacon and who am I to deny my new friend. I wanted to take a bite out of his old owner when I cut him loose, but didn’t want filth caught in my teeth. Annoying that I’ll have to content with this witch hunt thing. But that’s alright. No one looks at the girl, especially one with hairy legs. Ironic. But true. No one sees her as anything to look at. No one sees her teeth as threat. Until they’ve grown very long and they’re in your neck.

Lucky for everyone, I’ve got better plans than quasi cannibalism. Even when I tore those sheep apart I tried to leave the wool vaguely blood free, after because whilst I may be an animal, I have manners. I always did.