Fool's Journey

"I know I know... just... don't give me that grin and tell me it's fine and not a big deal when I can tell otherwise, okay." She takes his hand, looking at his fingers and knuckles. "You know this is gonna hurt, right."

 

He huffs through his nose. "Nnnnnh. It... kind of... isn't? I mean. This isn't the first time I've broken something because I can't keep my cool. It's just... a thing that happens!" He hesitates, then grins. "...and yeah, but, like. I've literally been shot through the spine? This... this actually isn't big."

 

She pales and gives him a horrified look. "You've been shot!!? ... ... Through the spine!!!?"

 

"Uh, yeah. I've also been bitten, had chunks ripped off, managed to get really fucked up talking the spirit that's in my skateboard into being friends but we're chill now. Uuuuh. Recreational knocking out of teeth while roughhousing is a thing, especially 'cause Mike hits hard? That's not even counting the time I ran into a bunch of wild pigs? Uh. It's... kiiind of an occupational hazard, Mischa?"

 

"... your skateboard is haunted??! It didn't smell like magic though. Why is this an occupational hazard of working in an antique shop?? Or... do you mean about being a werewolf?"

 

"It is not haunted. It's got a spirit linked up. That's different. And yeah. Fuzzy package. Uh. Fingers? Help?"

 

"Oh. Right. Sorry." She takes his hand firmly and tugs each finger into place and alignment. "What's a Spirit-Linkup?"

 

"Uuuh. Well. That's reeeally the wrong word, probably, but basically I've got a motorcycle spirit living in my skateboard?" He grimaces with each repositioning, but nowhere near what she'd expect.

 

"So... kind of like it's possessed? But not in a bad way?"

 

"Yeah. I mean, it can be a bad way, but we're chill."

 

"That's good." She pats the back of his hand. "How your fingers feelin'?"

 

Nick wiggles his fingers. "...just about there."

 

She nods. "You feelin' better now?"

 

"Much better," he nods, then clenches his hand. "Tip-top."

 

"Good." She nods, then looks out the front of the truck. "I'm still sorry..."

 

"Not your fault." He turns the key in the ignition and moves the vehicle out of park. "Doesn't really matter, anyway. Things happen, and there's no way to make it so they didn't."

 

Mischa siiiighs, long and sad. "Yeah..." She stares out the window.

 

"So. What happened?"

 

"Huh??"

 

"To you?"