The clock had just struck midnight when the boy had managed by virtue of sheer emaciation to get halfway through the fine wall grate, and seemed to currently be trying to orient his unspeakably mutated pelvis in order to get the rest of the way through with limited success. An occasional snarl emanated from his cracked lips as he glared, puffed and shouted what one could assume to be profane sewer-dweller curses at the nearby Colgate, who could only watch in drunken amusement.
"Ooh!" he vocalized as the boy after a solid 15 minutes of bending, twisting and seemingly dislocating his components managed to make headway. "Ah!" he continued in childlike wonder as the great obstacle was finally defeated, and the boy slid like an eel into the great gutter, though he seemed less at home in that than Colgate would have expected from someone dwelling in the sewers. "Water's less thick than he's used to," he mumbled and giggled with delight. With some effort, the boy dragged himself to the side and sucked air for a while, coughing up a good amount of rainwater. Colgate thought of offering a hand, but vivid images of brain fever and necrotic fasciitis that would follow made him think better of it after a minute's consideration.
It took a while, given the gutter's slipperiness and his general weakness, for the boy to get out, long enough that Colgate managed to articulate a plan of going back into the pub to retrieve two pints, then amend that to three pints and also his good friend Millett, then after a minute's dithering actually execute that plan with due haste, which was none at all.
By the time he got back with one pint and a barely standing Millett, the boy had nearly finished climbing out, and when Colgate had half-finished the last pint, he was out, flopping weakly on the ground with his limbs at odd angles. Knowing the cure for such a situation, Colgate let go of Millett, who came to a noisy rest on the nearby wet asphalt, though he was sufficiently wrapped up to feel little more than a gentle nudge of his drunken form. He then raised the boy up to his feet, having retrieved his gloves and coat from inside and thus mitigating his worries of the numerous diseases the sewer-born chap no doubt carried. The boy stood weakly and seemed rather appropriately half-drowned, so Colgate generously fed him his half-pint of ale, which was met with weak acceptance.
This Colgate knew to be a good sign in his heart of hearts, and after drunkenly reassuring the little chap that he's going to be all right, he let go of him, allowing his half-boneless, emaciated form to slide to the ground as he pulled Millett up to his feet, shepherding him into a wall at first, then into the pub at last.
A few minutes and another pint later, Colgate returned and dragged the boy into the pub by his feet, confident that he had found the ideal partner against Millett and Farley for a few rounds of bridge and perhaps another pint or two before the lads packed in for the night.
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Topic: Story collaboration (Read 393 times)