- BA -

The cashier scanned the articles, attempting a weak smile as she gazed upon the two clients before her, a woman and a man, both in their late twenties, probably early thirty for him.

Not them again. She only knew them by the fact that they were local residents, that the young man was called Tom, and that he himself called the young woman Mad (although she was never able to figure out if it was a personality-related nickname, or whether her parents actually named her that way), and that their weekly grocery list was centered around fish meals.

She continued to scan the articles: a dozen lobsters, a bag of mussels, bread, Asian plum sauce, onion rings, an enormous bag of flour, way too much chili powder for their own good... the usual.

Once she was done, she raised her head to look at the young woman, and restrained her cringe. The young woman always wore one of those party steampunk dresses, with a Victorian collar that made her neck look way too small for her round chubby face, a tight laced bustier that could not hide or contain the bulging muffin top belly underneath it, and a slitted ruffled skirt coupled underneath with ridiculously loose pants. The only reasonable thing about it was that the emerald green dress with the pure white accents complemented the woman's black eyes and brown hair (which were tied in a weird bun that ended up looking more like a peacock tail on top of a human head).

"That will be 231.56 dollars," the cashier finally said. "Credit or debit card?"

"Cash, please," the nicknamed Mad said with a bright smile, opening her purse and pulling out a wallet that didn't seemed able to safely contain all the cash within.

She eyed the woman's male companion as he packed the groceries in those big reusable bags. He was dressed as any decent person should, in used jeans and simple shirt, his brown hair uncombed but not weirdly hairdressed. In fact, he was above-average good-looking in comparison with the usual male kinds of this particular suburbia of Kansas City's, with his fit looks, his long yet soft-edged face, and his kind brown eyes that always had that humourous gleam. The cashier begrudgingly returned her attention to the young woman as she handed her half of the money in paper, and the other half with an annoyingly large amount of coins and change.

"I don't need the receipt," the young woman beamed as she and the young man picked up the bags. "Have a nice day!"

"You too, bye," the cashier distractedly replied back.

Watching them leave, the cashier shook her head disapprovingly. That couple looked like the woman was a Goth trying to initiate her partner in one of those clubs; and that the only lure she could have for him was a lobster banquet. The cashier shook her head again as a heavy-breating, grumpy-looking couple wordlessly and rudely slammed their groceries upon the rolling mat. Now, this couple was typical of the majority of shoppers, the cashier thought as she attempted a smile, only to be rewarded with a grumpy glare.

**********************

Ploup!

"Eww, look at their faces... it's so ugly," Madzistrale squirmed as she resettled for better stability upon the wet quay, her green dress' closures and seams protesting at the sudden tensions.

"Yeah, but look at their round eyes," Tom said adoringly, as if talking about a puppy, setting aside two cut rubber bands, and picking up his scissors.

"Mouths are not supposed to have tentacles in front! Or claws!"

"She didn't mean that, cutie pie, no, she didn't mean that," Tom cooed to the lobster as he carefully poked its tail and encouraged it toward the water.

Ploup!

"Only one to go!"

Madzistrale carefully took out the last lobster from the bag, and inserted it in a cone-like apparatus that kept it somewhat steady. She then pinned one of its pincer on the floor, and steadied the other, still grimacing all the time for the lobster's mouth claws and tentacles wiggled in protestation. Tom however looked at it with adoring eyes, gently tickling with his index its mouth, before then moving in with his scissors. Not a minute and both pincers of the lobster were free from its rubber band.

"There you go, little buddy," Madzistrale proudly said, liberating it from the stabilization apparatus.

With a final satisfying ‘ploup!’, Tom and Madzistrale turned to the last bag.

"And now, for the easy part!" she happily said, removing four heavy bags of mussels from their groceries.

Holding them in the water, Tom then carefully cut the bags open, and pushed the little molluscs in the water.

*******

The receptionist cringed at the young man standing before her; more particularly at his messy black hair where a big patch of white hair streaked it from the left side.

"Good day," he said pleasantly. "I'd like to see Bryan, please."

She blinked.

"You mean Professor Shalom?"

"Yes; I need to consult him on something."

She looked at her database just to make sure before answering.

"Well, you probably did not heard the news, but Professor Shalom is in the hospital since at least nine weeks."

The young man's face fell in genuine shock, and she began feeling bad for finding his hair funny. With his soft brown eyes, he looked like an old-fashioned good guy.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

She looked at the notes:

"He suffered a stroke, during a fundraising marathon. The race was finished when the co-runners realised that he was nowhere to be seen..."

She looked up and resisted the urge to go hug him, for he was visibly pained, with hints of teary eyes. The professor seemed to mean a lot to him.

"I'm sorry for breaking the news to you this way... If you want, you can ask at the St-Sepulchre hospital. They may let you see him. And as for your consultation, maybe I can guide you to another professor?"

The young man shook his head.

"No, thank you miss. I'm sorry for taking your time, that will be all."

"Okay, well, good luck, sir."

He smiled weakly and made a semi bow, which surprised her.

"Thank you, have a nice day."

She glanced down at her computer. She hated bringing bad news to people.

**

"So your name is Gab...zry...el Summerfield, correct?" The nurse squinted at the signature on her board.

"Correct," Gabzryel confirmed, trying unsuccessfully to comb his messy black and white hair with his hands.

They turned a corner and took the elevator as its doors began to close.

"You're actually the first person to inquire about him since the university checked up on him."

"What? How come?!"

The nurse shrugged sadly.

"No idea. He seems to have been disconnected from his family. We called his parents, no answers. After some investigation, they're somewhere in the south but still unwilling to answer any of our calls."

"Girlfriends, boyfriends, friends?

She shook her head.

"No luck there either. He's already dead to people, it seems."

They walked out of the elevator, and she hushed him, showing the no talking sign. She led him through more corridors, and then stopped before a door, which she opened just enough to let him see inside.

A man in his late thirties laid on the bed, various machines plugged to him. Only a rising chest and a steady beeping from the cardiometer let the world know he was not straight-lined.

"It's been nine weeks, and no change from him. He's not getting worst, that we're grateful for, but he's not getting any better either.

Gabzryel fought the knot in his throat and some tears that threatened to show. That scene was way too familiar.

"He's got no one..." the nurse said sadly, "...so, may I ask what's your relationship with him?"

"His student from Philosophy class in university."

The nurse nodded.

"Well, we have a problem because we need the signature of someone close to him, and fees need to be paid for his convalescence. And since we can't reach anyone, we'd have no choice within a few weeks to unplug..."

"I'll sign for him," Gabzryel sharply cut.

"Well, I don't think you qualify..."

"I'm his student, and I consider him a mentor. I sign for him, and I pay six months in advance, and if something goes wrong, the director will answer for that," Gabzryel firmly said.

"Okay... Give me some time, I'll go prepare the papers. Do you want a moment with him? If yes, please be careful not to touch anything."

"I know how it goes," he said sadly.

She nodded, and walked away. Gabzryel approached the man, and on an impulse, stroked the dark hair. The sensation was familiar, although the hairs were shorter and coarser than hers.

"We haven't seen each other eye to eye, but I won't let them unplug you. Not again, not like with her. So hang in there, buddy."