Tragic Rigid

The night in the Clown Bar wears on.

Sweezus has finished his design for Vello's new statue.

He shows it to Vello.

Do my legs look like that? asks Vello.

Belle leans over.

That's the  wheels! You're on a bike, remember?

Let me see, says David. Oh yes, but your head looks quite small.

I haven't factored in the perspective, says Sweezus. His head 'll be bigger.

As in life, observes David.

It's a very nice statue, says Belle. And it looks good in green.

That's the MEDIUM, says Vello. Soup lines on paper napkin, with crystals of Sea Salt. Am I to keep it?

Yeah, boss, says Sweezus. But wait till it's dry.

Too late. Vello has picked it up, folded it and shoved it into his pocket.

Terence has been quietly picking the biscuit topping off his fluffy mousse and raspberry sorbet, but now he has finished.

What to do with the crumbs?

Nothing.

But Belle sees them.

Eat your crumbs, says Belle. They're made of crushed macarons.

No, says Terence.

Arthur reaches over to try one. He likes macarons.

So does Sweezus. Their hands crash, and macaron crumbs scatter.

Maybe Saint Roley would like them, says Belle. I know he's always hungry.

She pokes her head under the table.

Hello, says parallel Saint Roley.

Thank you for doing that, says Belle, spotting the neat pile of leg hairs.

Doing what? wonders parallel Saint Roley.

Are you hungry? asks Belle.

Yes, quite hungry, he answers.

Come up to the table for some macaron crumbs, says Belle. And Arthur might have a spare whelk or two. He's finding some of them chewy.

Parallel Saint Roley hops up to the table.

Gaius looks at him with the eye of a natural historian who has drunk more wine than usual.

Hmm.

Look at this, says Terence, to parallel Saint Roley. A parrot claw!

He is pointing to the tragic rigid claw of Humboldt's baked pigeon.

How to react? Parallel Saint Roley tries a blank face.

Then he tries a beatific one.

Light beams from his visage.

You're different, says Terence. Turn that headlight off.

I may as well come clean, says parallel Saint Roley. I am from under the next table. Your real Saint Roley is there, impersonating me. I have taken his place for the rest of the evening.

How fascinating, says Gaius.

I thought I detected a difference, says Humboldt.

Do you have similar histories? asks Gaius, ignoring the insinuation that he has missed something.

Both lost a brother, says parallel Saint Roley. Both joined a motley crew of humans. Both given thankless tasks. Both always hungry.

Me too, says Terence.

He would say that.  But he did lose a blood brother once (baby BB). So it's true in a way.