Wednesday takes stock.

[callmewednesday]

Wednesday was not ill-pleased with the airport. It was an airport like any. It had modern conveniences. As lodgings went, the hotel was satisfactory, and a damn sight nicer than some of the rathole motels he'd had occasion to frequent. Yes, he had once occupied the throne Hlidskjalf in the great hall Valaskjalf from which he could survey all

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[mitcandis]

"Bacon? You found bacon?" Victor asked the stranger.

Even in the face of an absolutely wonderful smell, Victor remembered his english today. Even the ghost had spoken english. Maybe it was an american airport, there seemed to be more of them than nearly anyone else.

His english was getting better, too, though he'd never lose his german accent.

[callmewednesday]

"That I did, and free for the taking," said Wednesday cheerily. "Our hosts aren't stingy, I'll say that much. We won't have to resort to long pig. Name's Wednesday; I don't believe we've met."

[mitcandis]

"Lang?" Victor shook his head. "My name is Victor. Hallo! I would like some bacon, if you do not mind."

[callmewednesday]

Wednesday forked a surprising quantity of sizzling bacon onto a melamine plate and handed it over. "Don't mind in the least. Glad for the company, to tell you the truth. This is an empty, empty place."

[mitcandis]

"That it is," Victor agreed sadly. "I had some friends, but ... either they have gotten lost or found their way home. At least the rooms are nice, but so few people."

[callmewednesday]

"We can't complain of the rooms. I have yet to see whether housekeeping will come by to change the sheets, granted." Wednesday dealt out strips of raw bacon onto the griddle as though they were exceptionally floppy and macabre playing cards. "My condolences for your loss, whether the departed have gone on to better or worse than this place. It's a damned shame to lose old friends." A shadow passed across his craggy face. He was thinking of Thor.

[mitcandis]

"No housekeeping for me. I do my own laundry." Victor watched his hands, entranced. It was an artistic way to cook.

"Have you lost someone, here? Maybe they will come."

[callmewednesday]

"I've met very few someones here as of yet," Wednesday replied candidly. "Whether they come or go is none of my concern. I've also yet to do any laundry."

... Dry cleaning. How the fuck was he going to manage dry cleaning? Oh, sure, he'd lived without it for centuries, but in the centuries before dry cleaning, textiles were tougher, and more forgiving. Less snazzy, too. There was no way in hell Wednesday was putting an Armani suit in a washer.

[mitcandis]

"I met a ghost, the other day. He was awkward and angry." Victor went to fetch one of the good german beers, rolling it between his palms.

His own clothes were jeans, a shirt-- his favorite green vest over it. All worn, all machine washable.

[callmewednesday]

"The dead usually are." Wednesday flipped over the bacon, strip by strip. "Did this one happen to say what had him miffed?"

[mitcandis]

"He didn't like talking and he couldn't drink. We shared beer, so he was somewhat less angry, I think."

[callmewednesday]

Now that was interesting. "Did you pour out a libation for him?"

[mitcandis]

"Sort of? I poured it into the glass. The fumes for him, the beer for me."

[callmewednesday]

Wednesday chuckled. "A very neat arrangement. This wouldn't happen to be a vaporous green fellow, would it?" Call it a hunch; fumes connoted a certain shade.

[mitcandis]

"Herr Haight, the same. You have met him, too?"

[callmewednesday]

He hadn't seemed awkward and angry when Wednesday met him, but Wednesday did have a way with the dead. "He was my welcome wagon to this fair prison, in fact. Shot right up into the ceiling when we were done with our palaver. I'll have to remember he can imbibe, so to speak."