The Mist and the Lightning. Part VI - стр. 13
Asa sat down on Lis’ knees and stroked his hair: “Red,” she said.
“Yes, dear, fucking red. And the “reds”, as you know, are the most crappy race. They have a rotten gut, so they say.”
She leaned toward his mouth. Lis answered her kiss, it was better than…
He lifted Asa in his arms and went to the bed, threw her at the bed. Asa immediately knocked him over.
They tumbled for a long time, Lis felt excited, but couldn’t cum, no matter how he tried. Tol drank wine and didn’t intervene, watching them with a pleased grin, as if anticipating the coming unforgettable evening.
Asa also seems very impressed. She was sitting on top of him now, and galloping, galloping, galloping… And Lis’ horse was galloping. On flat terrain. Without any barriers.
He looked at her tattoos. Beautiful. A little darker than her dark skin, with swirling patterns. He recognized familiar themes in these interweaving. They mean something. Some are like those… this monogram on the thigh, slightly convex like that of…
And Lis timidly ran his hand over her tattooed thigh. He felt irregularities, light bulges of the picture, where the skin was apparently pierced deeper than necessary. Ahhh…
Satisfied, Asa fell off to the side. Tol stood at the foot of the bed, holding the puppy on its hind legs. The puppy twisted frantically, bending and trying to bite Tol’s fingers. He was too round and pot- bellied to get what he wanted.
“You know, Lis,” said Tol, not paying attention to the dog trying to get out, “I’ll tell you as my best friend! When you're not showing off, you're so cool!”
Arel sat on the bed:
“My stomach hurts,” he said plaintively.
“What's wrong with your stomach?” Nikto asked aloof, he was looking for something in his bag and it seemed he couldn’t find it.
Outside the window, a windy but clear spring day began.
“It hurts, awful. Maybe the stomach, I don’t know… And the same thing yesterday! What should I do?”
“Smoke and everything will pass.” “Make me a smoke, Nick.”
“And “hard” does not suit you?”
“I love grass more. I like “hard” less. It’s you who likes “hard”.”
“Okay, now… wait…” Nikto stopped rummaging in his bag, went to the table and poured some grass on a sheet of paper.
“Hey?! What are you doing there? Nik, I think this is some important document. Are you going to tear it up?”
“I will just pin on it and that’s it. I am not going to tear anything.”
“Well, pin it… Arel tightened again, hugging his long-suffering belly with both hands. “Or maybe…” he began timidly after a while.
“No.”
Arel sighed heavily.
Nikto laughed, bowing his head over the paper and reading it: “Twelve days, three hours.”
“What?”
“This paper. Document,” Nikto handed it to Arel. Arel indifferently took the sheet:
“Ahhhh…” he said, “it was Enriki who gave me that. The decree. He grunted scornfully. Those freaks imposed a fine!”
“You’re taking time, it’s dangerous.” Arel cocked his head:
“What do you suggest?! To give you away?!” He asked in exasperation. Nikto looked down, handing Arel a clogged cigarette:
“Hold on.”
Arel literally snatched it from Nikto’s fingers.
“Why did they set such a deadline?” Nikto asked. “Why such strange numbers, twelve days, three hours?”
Arel blew smoke, and handed the jamb back to Nikto: “Will you?”
Nikto nodded.