Including us? asks Sweezus.
Yes, says Vello.
Including me? asks Terence.
If you stay silent, says Belle. No wee jokes. And no lunch box.
I'll mind the lunch box, says Saint Roley.
.......
Later that night, they all meet at the Clown Bar.
It's in the Folie Méricourt, and is cool and hipster.
Humboldt looks at the menu.
Rich tender pigeon with fresh raspberries. He will have that.
But should he? Pigeon? What about Terence?
This is nice, says Gaius. But the food looks a bit rich for our Team Director.
His piles are cured, says David. It was jumping around in a clown suit that did it.
Shut up! says Vello. A fine subject! I am now back to normal. And I can tell you this. I'm done with clowning.
Then why are you wearing the frilled collar? asks Belle.
Ah! says Vello. To blend in.
But no one else in the Clown Bar has a frilled collar. It's not hipster.
How was I to know? asks Vello.
Sweezus, Arthur and Pablo arrive, with Terence, Saint Roley and the lunch box.
What can I have? asks Terence.
Shut up, says Sweezus. I'll order.
Terence crawls under the table.
This poses a dilemma for Saint Roley. Where should he go?
Come in, says Terence. It's a house with leg walls.
Saint Roley hops in, with caution.
Right, says Vello. Order whatever you like, I'll choose the wine.
Black pig with deep fried whelks, says Pablo.
You're kidding, says Sweezus.
No he isn't, says Arthur. Black pig with deep fried whelks.
Sweezus doesn't like the sound of it.
He orders a bowl of warm oysters and smoked eel in green sea soup.
Adventurous, says Belle.
She kicks her shoes off under the table. This will be a good night.
She has forgotten that Terence is down in the leg house, with Saint Roley.
Belle's shoes! says Terence. Let's put them in the lunch box.
Saint Roley holds his judgement on that.
Terence opens the lunch box. No Sea Salt. Only leg hairs.
Where's the Sea Salt? asks Saint Roley.
In my shorts pocket, says Terence. Come on, let's put Belle's shoes in.
With the leg hairs? Saint Roley is doubtful.
She deserves it, says Terence.
Belle sticks her head under the table.
Fluffy white mousse with raspberry sorbet anyone? says Belle.
See! says Terence.
What's that in my shoes? asks Belle.
Writing, says Terence. Your fortune.
O yes, and what is my fortune? asks Belle.
Terence has no idea. It's dark under the table. What would Belle like?
A baby, says Terence.
Jesus! says Belle.
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