He entered the room and assumed a confident expression. He was bluffing, which was obvious. And they knew it. You can't fool sheep. Not when it came to poker. They could sense everything. Almost as if they could see into your cards. But he, despite everything, played with them, hoping to finally win. Which, of course, could never happen.
He played all night and, as usual, lost. And they, as usual, laughed at him. Damn sheep. They should be turned into wool. And then into sweaters. And bathed in jelly. Not that it was some kind of punishment... he was just always curious what a sheep looked like in jelly. It must have been funny.
He woke up in the morning and went to work saddened. He wanted to win so badly... just once... Unfortunately, he wasn't destined to do so. But he knew what had to be done. Well, since sheep were so good at poker, he had to...
"Learn to play poker?"
"No... it'll be easier to become a sheep," he said. Meanwhile
, the Countess came downstairs, and Admiral descended, using a special ramp installed for him. They headed for the dining room. Everything pointed to Admiral being attacked by the Countess on the stairs... he always tried to descend to breakfast as quietly as possible. It was the only meal he could eat in peace, but since he was in a wheelchair, it was extremely difficult, even impossible. While he could hobble quietly, creaking quietly was incredibly difficult, and he hadn't mastered it yet...
"...So this cousin of mine..." she continued, not caring if anyone was listening.
The day at the inn had surprisingly gone quite well. And it probably would have been quite boring if not for the Countess's evening climbs up the stairs. The poor thing had fallen and broken her leg. Or rather, broken her leg. But what a fall it was! A double somersault, a spin, and a snagging on a picture on the wall! More than one acrobat would have wanted that... And since she was such a close friend of the Admiral, she asked him to look after her... And how could you refuse a woman in need? Impossible!
The next day, the owner was waiting for the receptionist at his desk. He thought that nothing would motivate him like shouting at him in the morning.
"Bee!" Something made a sound like "I'm so sorry."
"Oh, please," the owner said, moving to the side.
After a moment, he considered. None of the current guests at the Inn were bleating....
"What the hell?!" He looked at the sheep.
It was truly strange. So... a bit overgrown. Of course, sheep had every right to stay at the Inn after death, provided they paid well. However, they didn't do so due to the fact that they were often kidnapped from all sides and sacrificed. Even after death. That's why they were staying at the Private Center for Definitely Dead Sheep.
This one, on the other hand, was... overgrown, and it was too thick. Her wool didn't cover her entire body, only covering part of her back. Her legs were a bit too large. And her head wasn't a sheep's... She resembled...
"Receptionist!" the owner yelled, "what do you think you're doing?!
"Bee!" he replied with humility in his voice.
"What?! You can't!
" "Bee? Bee. Bee, bee, bee. Bee!
" "I won't allow it! Either you take it off or you're fired!
" "Bee!" and then he crawled to his room.
And in the countess's room...
"Could you, Admiral, bring me some arsenic from downstairs? If it's not too much trouble...
" "Of course!" he replied, trying to sound as natural as possible.
The countess only had a broken leg and could walk without a problem with a cane. He, on the other hand, was in a wheelchair, and getting around was difficult for him. But she didn't care. This was the third time today he'd gone downstairs to get something for her. Each time it was something incredibly important. It was as if a stupid fracture had excluded her from normal life. If the Admiral hadn't known her, he would have thought he was doing it on purpose.
After twenty minutes, he brought her the arsenic with great difficulty. His strength in his hands was starting to fail, and two of his fingers had fallen off along the way. Lifting them in the wheelchair was extremely difficult. The Countess complained that the arsenic was a bit stale ["But that's absolutely not your fault, Admiral! You're so helpful and kind!"]. After drinking it, she ordered a nettle cake, then another arsenic, and so on for the rest of the day. It was as if, in her illness, she needed even more food than usual... And she was still eating for two, which wasn't apparent. She must have burned off all that food by constantly chattering about all her relatives.
"And did I mention my uncle who had a broken leg?"
"About four times, Countess...
" "Excellent! So he..." and she began again. But at least as she spoke, she didn't want anything to eat or drink...
Toward evening, when the owner was finishing all his paperwork, someone knocked on his office door. When he was told he could enter, he did so without further delay, as if the owner might change his mind at any moment.
An old, wizened man with a waist-length beard entered the room.
"Father Time?!!" the owner asked in surprise, then added, "What brings such an esteemed guest to my humble threshold? Could it be the fame surrounding my Inn?"
"Under no circumstances... a small dive... Well, I'm here about my client..."
"Thank you, but I have plenty of clocks." Grandfather Time was famous for making and selling watches. For some reason, someone was spreading silly rumors everywhere that he controlled time. Time, of course, controls itself... And a few shops in hell and a small Chinese restaurant in "Heaven," and he has his own program on Satellite Television for the Dead. "
That's not the point. Selling watches is hard to make a living these days... Apparently, the dead have finally realized that, with eternity at their disposal, it's not that important. I'm here as a representative of the Ministry for the Protection of the Rights of the Dead."
The owner shifted slightly in his chair. He'd heard a lot about them. They made foolish things into gross violations of prevailing norms and extracted money from poor people who didn't respect the rights of the dead... But he did respect them... Which he told Father.
"But I do respect them," he said, as I mentioned a moment ago.
"Apparently not." We have here a case of a very wronged sheep...
"That old scoundrel wants to sue me?!" the owner fumed at the thought of the receptionist.
"Scoundrel? That'll go down... this case will probably be easier than I thought..." Father Time smiled at the thought. "You're being accused of speciesism.
" "Species... What?!
"Speciesism." Father explained everything patiently... Father. "It's speciesist persecution. The Hell Council is very sensitive about this..."
It was true, ever since the head of the council was none other than an old polar bear who ate innocent animals in life... And after death, too, or so the rumors went.
The owner immediately ran to the receptionist's office and barged in without knocking.
"What's that supposed to mean? Why?
" "Bee! Bee!" he began to explain.
"I was like a father to you! I took care of you...
" "Bee!"
"Okay, maybe I yelled a lot...
" "Bee!
" "Yeah, sometimes I hit you too...
" "Bee!
" "But I didn't think about your family that way..." "Is there anything I can do to get you to drop the lawsuit?
" "Bee!
" "Of course, that's not all I care about... You're a great receptionist... I wish you'd still work here...
" "Bee?
" "You can't become a sheep! Why do you even want to be one?
" "Bee...
" "To win at poker? Damn it, why do I pay him so much if he's such an idiot?!" and left the room.
He was undoubtedly very upset. But the owner wasn't the only one having problems at that moment...
" "Should I give you a bath, Countess?!" The Admiral was outraged.
"In her underwear, of course... then she'll be washed separately. Could you, my friend?" she asked with hope in her voice.
"Never in my life! I have to go!" The last thing he wanted to see after death was a half-naked countess. He'd endured torn bodies and a brutal war. But he couldn't bear the countess's body.
So this unpleasant duty fell to the buoy, who had to do it. Bathing the countess wasn't that much of a problem, though it must be admitted that NOT drowning her when she was constantly talking about family members required a lot of determination. And memories and images of that undoubtedly traumatic experience remained in his mind. From that moment on, every now and then, just before falling asleep, the buoy would have the image of the countess in her underwear before his eyes. Moreover, more than once, until some time later, when he was chopped into pieces and eaten during the fateful Winter Expedition, he would wake up screaming at night.
And all because the words sexy, black, and lingerie took on a whole new meaning on the countess... It seemed the lingerie itself was trying to escape her intimacy, and only the thought of the naked countess prevented him from freeing her [the lingerie, I mean] from his hands... or rather, her body.
While our group was bravely grappling with their problems... the owner was plotting.
And not just any plot... but truly, madly plotting. Unfortunately, for some reason, at first he confused plotting with crocheting, and now on his desk was a half-meter of pink scarf, incredibly poorly sewn and never meant to be worn around anyone's neck.
However, when he finished the scarf, he remembered that plotting wasn't about that... And what could he be plotting? He wanted to free the receptionist from the madness that had gripped him... And at the same time, avoid being sued for a large sum and bringing the Inn into disrepute. He sat up all night trying to figure out what to do... He couldn't fire the receptionist, and the one who used "bee" in interrogative, declarative, and imperative forms was definitely not encouraging people to come for a rest.
"Ha-ha!" he laughed triumphantly in the early morning hours when he came up with a brilliant idea.
Three hours later, new guests arrived at the Inn, tempted by a free three-day stay. They were three sheep. The receptionist was delighted that members of his species had chosen to rest here. It was a unique opportunity to exchange customs regarding wool care and hoof cleaning. True, he still had hands and feet, but he already planned to cut them out of cardboard and paint them the appropriate color. And later—who knows? Maybe he'd even crop his ears to resemble sheep's? Now that he was a sheep, the possibilities were endless...
And the sheep got a free stay at the Inn on one condition... They had to play poker with the receptionist. The owner, however, didn't mention that they were supposed to lose. It seemed logical to him that a human could beat the sheep in a typical human game. And if it was a human who had become a sheep, then he had extra skills... so victory should be certain!
They started playing in the evening. All four of them ordered a grass cocktail. The owner was present as an independent arbiter, tasked with overseeing the conduct of this mini-tournament and ensuring fairness.
Despite everything, the receptionist lost. Despite the owner's efforts to win, it was practically impossible for him to lose... but he did (!). The owner even thought it was out of spite, but he didn't want to say it out loud and yell at him. If he were a human, he could, but when he was a sheep, it was persecution.
He tried to cheat as much as he could. He practically told him what cards the sheep held, added chips to his stack, and did everything he could to help him win. Despite everything, he failed. The receptionist saw no reason to win. The devastated owner went to bed.
The next day, the countess seemed to decide to make everyone's lives even more miserable. She clearly sensed that her leg would soon heal, and she would no longer be the center of attention. By lunchtime, Admiral had been downstairs fifteen times, each time for a different item. After dinner, however, the countess decided to go for a walk. She was supposed to go with Admiral. Unfortunately, he, because of his wheelchair, couldn't really accompany her. He managed to trick a buoy into this wonderful excursion into the garden. This gave him the afternoon to himself. He decided to retreat to his room, hoping the countess would forget he was alive. After all, they could bring food to his room... And until he recovered, he'd just sit there....
Boj smiled at the countess when she told him how lucky he was to be able to spend the afternoon in her company. He wondered if he'd really been such a bad person... He remembered those two girls he'd abandoned when they were pregnant. Well... after all, he guessed he could suffer for an afternoon.
He borrowed a wheelchair from the Admiral, sat the countess in it, and they went to the garden behind the Inn. And the garden was truly peculiar... It was inhabited by, for example, a pair of gargoyles, who were homosexuals and constantly demanding the right to organize a demonstration for homosexuals. Considering that only they would participate in the demonstration, the owner steadfastly refused. This didn't change the fact that they began kissing every time someone entered the garden.
Moreover, there was a truly treacherous labyrinth here, constantly changing its position. And soon the Templars would be wandering through here... However, there would be time for that story too.
"I'd like to sit on the bench. I'm tired of all this walking," Boj didn't even mention that she was constantly sitting while she was being pushed. "It should be fine under the tree..."
He pushed the cart under the tree with effort. The Countess wasn't heavy, but he wasn't a strong man, and he'd had to push her for fifteen minutes.
"I think it's too cold in the shade... I prefer it out there in the sun. "
Boj pushed the cart into the sun. He was starting to get fed up with it.
"A little exercise in the fresh air is healthy," she said, looking at Boj critically. "But I prefer the shade..."
Without a word, he pushed her over there...
"Or not... On that bench by the pond."
Luckily, she sat down there and refused to move any further.
"I recently found a wonderful diet!" Well..." she didn't finish, as the bench gave way beneath her, and she fell into the lake.
"I'll run for help! Please don't move!" shouted the sheep, finally free of her.
The owner was watching the sheep sitting in his room.
"He's supposed to win. Unless... Do you want to serve some for dinner tomorrow..." He deliberately paused to create the right atmosphere. "Sheep Cutlets?
" "Bee!" one sheep cried in terror.
"Bee, bee, bee?" added the second.
"Bee!" shouted the third.
"So I won't intimidate you... You're tough. Or maybe you'll let me bribe you?"
The sheep were greedy, but also stupid.
"Bee... bee... Bee!
" "I don't know..." At what he heard, the owner began to cheer himself up. "As much as two kilos of grass? A bit much for something like that... maybe one and a half?
" "Bee... bee..."
And so the deal was struck. That evening, the sheep were supposed to lose a game of poker to the receptionist, and everything would return to normal.
Meanwhile, the yeoman entered the inn. He wondered whether to run for help... If he did, the countess would probably want to change, and he'd have to help her. He, on the other hand, didn't plan on exposing himself to such a sight in the next millennium. So he turned into the dining room and poured himself a glass of arsenic. Then another, and another. Of course, he intended to help her... just not yet.
The countess, meanwhile, sat in the pond, waiting. She was certain that something truly important had simply come up. A visit from the king, perhaps, or the Prince of Hell... because, after all, nothing else could be more important than the countess...
The admiral, on the other hand, enjoyed the entire evening of rest. He hadn't imagined silence could be such a wonderful and exciting companion.
The receptionist sat down to play. Surprisingly, he was doing very well. Despite everything, the sheep were winning. And they were trying their best. At some point, they simply started playing with their eyes closed, and only then did the receptionist slowly start winning. The prospect of receiving a large amount of grass was creeping closer. After three hours, he finally took a slight lead. The owner then declared the game over if he started losing again. Then they would have to play all night, and no one wanted that.
And the countess was still sitting in the lake. Two gargoyles ran up to her and started kissing.
"Well, I remember how Uncle Leonard, who was a millionaire, by the way, started dating a man once. A rich man, of course."
She went on like this for half an hour, ignoring the kissing gargoyles, who eventually fled. For the first time, someone had defeated them. Meanwhile, night had fallen, and the countess had fallen asleep. She would have long since emerged from the pond and reached the inn, but she decided to wait. There are some things a lady simply shouldn't do alone.... But don't ask me what—I've never been a lady and probably never will be.
Boj, on the other hand, drank arsenic and went to sleep in his room. He forgot about the whole world, which included the countess.
The next morning, the receptionist said he could be human again because sheep couldn't play poker very well. Boj, on the other hand, remembered the countess....
"I'm so sorry, ma'am! Such a workload... like never before!
" "Nothing's wrong, dear boy... Just take me to the Inn... I wonder how my poor Admiral is coping without me..."
And he was doing perfectly well. He hadn't felt this great in a long time. Suddenly, he heard the creaking of a cart on the stairs... it meant the countess was coming back! The poor thing was so frightened that he fell and broke his arm.
"Oh, my poor man! Now you won't be able to do anything alone... But don't worry! I'll take care of you as carefully as you have me!" – The Admiral's blood ran cold.
And that was pretty much all the events that took place at the Inn during that time... Well, maybe except for the fact that for the next week, there were Sheep Cutlets for dinner...
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz