Organization

8

Location: Old City.

Location: Cafe-bar "Dirty Harry".

Time: 23-25 ​​local time.

Agnett, Agnett. I thought good parents...

The girl rolled her eyes and pulled out a dainty little folder from somewhere. Cigarette case, long and thin mouthpiece. The process of collecting smoking accessories (cigarette filter mouthpiece) reminded him of assembling a poly-mode and he smiled. Agnett felt the gaze and for the first time in the evening smiled warmly, and not in response to a joke. Or a lucky hit. And just like that. It was unusual.

Ernest asked the bartender for a busy sign, and left a new (and again opened) bottle as a deposit. During this time, the red-haired woman threw on the coats already familiar from the airship and a small backpack. They left, taking compliments for blows along the way. Moreover, all those who voiced approval agreed that the bottle of Aperol played a decisive role in the tavern fight.

Apart from them, no one dared to smoke outside, and as soon as they left, the freshly minted bar hooligan/security guard/Charter understood why. It was a hard frost, and without any tobacco, a thick steam poured out of the couple's mouth. The sidewalk and the road were covered with thick frost. And the redhead's cheeks began to blush, just below the sharp cheekbones.

“I never thought it could be so cold in the middle of the desert at night,” Ernest grumbled, lighting his pipe.

“But it’s still the end of winter,” Agnett let out a bluish ring of smoke. - But when it's summer, then oooh. Temperature fluctuations are much sharper and larger. During the day, you can safely walk in a bikini, but at night - no less than in a sweater.

“I would love to see this show.

— Oh yes, my woolen sweater is the envy of the female half of the city.

They snorted in unison. There were almost no passers-by and cars on the street. Although there were a lot of cars on the echelons above, here, at ground level, silence reigned. Only somewhere above in the distance howled engines. They smoked for a while. Silently, just admiring the view of the New City at night, towering over the Old. At some point, Ernest felt that he was taken by the arm. Didn't resist.

— Maybe well, this bar? he heard a quiet question. And resolutely replied:

- Well, I do not. Now I just have to ask you where you learned to hit people on the head with bottles.

- Hey!

A poke in the side, laughter and - they are back at the bar. Not hand in hand, but actively chatting with each other. In the room, life continued to thrive. Four guys drunk to death (looking like students) tried to pull the fifth one out of the basement, helplessly dangling his limbs and head. On the top step, the closing pair parted to the sides, creating an air split. The bar embraced the howl of the awakened "wounded soldier". Sighing, one of the bouncers drove away the "porters", lifted the still swearing student under his arms and leaned him against the wall. His comrades either rolled down, or somehow climbed to the top step and laughed hysterically.

“It reminds me of something,” the redhead whispered in his ear, dousing Ernest with the aroma of aperitif and raspberry perfume.

Already at the table, Agnett told how at sixteen she went to get a “report” about underground battles, and barely fought off the bookies who mistook her for a new prostitute (coincidentally, also a redhead, but with an even sharper character). Sometime then she hit for the first time with a bottle. That time - from under the champagne.

— From under champagne or with champagne?

— Oh, I know the difference, believe me. So, there was a fighter who fell down three times, but managed to knock out the opponent. And he, just like these guys, stood on all fours, vomited and, in between, laughed hysterically.

In response, Ernest had to tell a story about how they constantly try to rob him in an unfamiliar place. The city was only the ninth, not even an anniversary one, on the list. True, I had to keep silent that a couple of times I had to leave without valuables and money. And barely alive. It turned out much less dramatic. But it's for the best - there was so much drama today.

The conversation itself accelerated and did not think to stop. They jumped from one amusing incident to another. They touched modern and old cinema, did not agree on the theatrical arts. They began to argue fiercely, throwing arguments at each other and breaking into shouting. And only fifteen minutes later, with some help, they realized that Ernest was referring to the Hauer line of kinetic pistols, and Agnett was referring to the roles of some ancient cinema actor.

In general, the bottle of Aperol slowly but surely emptied, and the conversation shifted in general towards the city.

“I wish I lived in the Old City,” the redhead sighed. - But they gave me an apartment in Novy, that's the irony.

Have you ever seen the inside? Living in it is not a pleasure for everyone, to be honest.

"Did you live in it to talk like that?" the interlocutor chuckled.

- I live, why.

- And how much?

Ernest glanced at his watch. The hour of the night.

- A full twelve hours. Almost a lifetime.

Double burst of laughter. Give a smoke in the fumes to a drunken peasant who came up for a light. Calmly, with a smile, listen to his sincere and surprisingly pure compliments to Agnett. Salute with a glass, smile, drink.

“You tensed up,” the redhead squinted.

— Instincts, what to do.

Sigh.

“You didn’t think you caught PTSD?”

Why, I thought. I try to control myself. And judging by the fact that only you notice this (and you are a very attentive girl, this cannot be taken away) - it works out for me.

- You will need to get drunk regularly. When you are drunk, you stop talking with these chopped phrases of yours, and you look more like a normal person.

Is that what the social anthropologist is telling me?

- Hey, I can be offended!

“And I thought you would perform a ritual over the blue stones, and something would fall off from me.

- Oh, I see, did you notice a local peculiarity?

- Not understood.

- Stones in the middle of squares and squares. Didn't understand?.. The locals, "Masters", revere two things above all else. Stones and water. The rest: stars, moons, meteors are much weaker. Water for them is a symbol of life and the world of the living. Stones are the world of the dead, where they will all end up sooner or later.

- I don’t understand, where are the stones in the squares. Do they worship death?

No, no, you didn't listen. Those that lie in the squares consist of a specific mineral that changes color. From brownish red to deep blue during rain and for a while after. And blue...

— Sacred color, guess what?

- Yes. This duality of the stone for them is like a connection with the afterlife and a reminder that life takes only a moment on a dead stone. I didn't overdo it?

- With an aperitif - a little bit. But with the terms - not so much. Don't forget, I have a human brain, though squashed by the army. I can distinguish dualism from archaism.

The conversation turned somewhere in the direction of general humanitarian knowledge, and in the meantime, "Dirty Harry" subsided.

The fact is that the bar was open until the middle of the night. But there was a working week ahead, and people slowly began to disperse to their homes. The first to leave were the old people, who felt the rhythm of life in the boiling of the bar. Then the white-collar workers flew away, followed by the blue-collar ones, and hard workers from regular and irregular jobs dispersed with might and main in noisy companies. There was only a very noisy youth, to which (formally) they belonged and Agnett. But, perhaps, something will have to be left or dragged with you. And put the bottle in your backpack.

"You know what, let's finally exchange communicator numbers," the redhead said. “You couldn't get a job without a hartist card, so they gave you a chip.

- Released. Write down ... - Ernest calmly dictated the number, waited for the call. Accept, yell into the phone. Earn the reproachful expression on Agnett's face, discard. Write it down in your contact details. Sigh: - It seems it's time to disperse.

- It's time, - the redhead agreed despondently, but perked up: - But first, let's finish our drinks and get up in the fresh air.

They knocked over the cordials, and Agnett went to the counter to bring the dishes. A.N. packed the bottle into his backpack and started filling his pipe beforehand. He was finishing tamping down tobacco when the raspberry scent mixed with the spirit of aperol heralded the redhead's return. Before icy palms closed their eyes.

- Guess who?

— Agnett the Red, Lady of the Swamp, Keeper of the Killer Aperitif Bottle.

“Bore,” the redhead snorted, and with an unsteady gait moved towards the exit, spinning her beret on her finger.

To Ernest's surprise, he walked much more steadily, even though he had to concentrate on the goal. After a while, a decent amount of alcohol without a snack will hit the stomach, but before that time it will be necessary to close a small debt of honor. The main thing is that the lady should have a similar view of the situation. A.N. dodged the closing door, managed not to spill the tobacco, and looked up. Stumbled upon a frozen enchanted statue of Agnett. He raised his eyes.

There was a gray glow in the air, and the streets were sharply white. Snow! It was rare and very slow, but it looked as unusual as possible. Especially when something resembling a blue slug crawled past the bar, squawking in an incomprehensible language, at the speed of a frisky invalid. But with two meters in length and violating the overall harmony, either with a snort or a grunt.

“Nammu,” the redhead commented, finally turning her attention to Ernest.

- To whom?

“Nammu, you fool. And, judging by the intonation, loving snow.

Are they still able to distinguish emotions?

You haven't seen their stone carvings yet. Read about them at least while lying on the couch, rather curious "guests".

- I'll learn. I just have a sofa. True, if you lie down on it, your legs will hang a little, - A.N. snorted.

- Will you show me?

“Your legs won’t hang off him a little,” Ernest released the ring with a snort. - And where did you live?

- Dormitory on Legionnaires Street.

Damn, thought Ernest. Legionnaires Street, although it began on the border of the Old City, but diagonally crossed the entire New City. Perhaps it would actually be easier to put a redhead at home.

“The Street of the Legionnaires is big,” A.N. voiced his doubts.

“Oh, someone doesn’t want to take the girl to him so much that he studied the map?” House 3A, don't worry, Ser Gawain, Agnett laughed.

“Then lead me, green lady,” Ernest grinned, sticking out his elbow.

The redhead grinned, took her elbow and abruptly took off from the spot. Having barely run a hundred meters in this state, the couple slipped and almost crashed onto the sidewalk, dousing the mute walls of the streets with laughter.

In spite of the cold and now ceasing to go, then increasing snow, the walk turned out to be pleasant. No one dared to bully them, on the contrary - a couple of times security patrols stopped a couple, checking documents. And as Agnett later admitted, they separately asked if everything was all right with her personally and whether she was going of her own free will.

The old artsy architecture has given way to "square-nested" skyscrapers and glass-and-poly-concrete block buildings. Passers-by have almost disappeared from the sidewalks - in this part of the city, they preferred to move by air or monorail. True, the noise from the airways also gradually decreased. Legionnaires' Street was away from the main echelons, and the city gradually fell into hibernation.

“And here is my hostel,” the redhead nodded.

— A skyscraper with an Art Deco plinth?

You have a good education, but no. A concrete box next to it.

- OU.

Yes, it's much worse.

They walked the remaining meters in silence, only Agnett clung even closer to Ernest. Finally, they stopped at a swinging door, behind which a dim light burned and a guard post was visible. With a gloomy and sleepy attire of forces.

“Sorry, but we can’t go any further. Don't get me wrong…” the redhead hesitated. - A lot of paperwork needs to be filled out, and they have the right to refuse. Due to blood alcohol.

— Nunnery directly.

The redhead spread her hands guiltily, but then smiled playfully.

“And you are only happy, too, to me, knight!”

Ringing laughter.

— It was a good evening, Agnett.

- Agree.

Silence.

You won't block me in the morning, will you?

— Pf, even in the evening.

Laughter. Ernest held out his hand.

- See you then?

The redhead deliberately waved her hand wide and hit her palm:

- See you!

So, laughing, they parted ways.

Ernest rode back in a taxi with a clear conscience - he was cold, but he did not want to drink on the street. Already at home, on the couch, sipping beer and swearing at cold radiators, he weighed the results of the day. Even if nothing works out with the redhead, and SB turns out to be a gang of assholes, today was a great day.