When the girls left the store, they were immediately approached by the picketers, who were once again led by the angry looking priest.

“Has the whore of Babylon,” the man called in a strong vibrato, “Tried to tempt you, child?”

Tara’s eyes involuntarily drifted to Chrissy.

Chrissy very slowly, almost theatrically, pushed her sunglasses up into her bangs, a frown following where the brown glass passed.

“What,” she started, enunciating every word as if they deserved special attention, “Did you call my mother?”

The priest immediately backed up, his righteous fury apparently unhelpful against a teenage girl’s anger.

“He’s asking, dear” the woman with the dish gloves said, “If the girl is still erm. Free of taint”

“No,” Chrissy said dryly, somehow letting her sunglasses slide back down her face without touching them, “We’re going to summon a demon after lunch.”

The woman wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Chrissy saw it as her time to move.

She took Tara by the hand, pulled her along and threw the sign of the horns to the picketers.

“Rock on,” she called to them, before muttering to herself, “Assholes.”

Tara let Chrissy lead for some time. She took corners seemingly at random, stopped here and there to check a menu or admire something in a store window and Tara obediently followed, until something occurred to her.

“Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Why are we holding hands?”

“Oh,” Chrissy mumbled, hastily letting go and pushing both hands into the pockets of her jacket, “Hey do you know where we can eat here?”

Tara shrugged, “McDonald's?”

Chrissy made a face, “Vegetarian.”

Tara realized what Mrs Brigman had meant with ‘no plants, but a new question reared it’s head.

“Oh, but your jacket…?”

“Bought it before. No sense letting the cow die for nothing.”

It seemed to Tara that the cow might still have died for nothing when or if Chrissy outgrew the garment. Then again, for now she still had to roll the cuffs up for a comfortable fit, so maybe she’d have the jacket for a long time.

“Oh, I know!” Chrissy suddenly said, loud enough to startle a mother and the baby in her stroller, “Do you know any burger places?”

“I just said… McDo…”

“No, not like that,” Chrissy sighed, walking a little faster to get away from the crying baby, “A burger place, not a burger chain.”

Tara shook her head, she didn’t get to the city often, “No idea. We’ll find one sooner or later I guess.”

.

They walked for some time until they found a small place called Antoine's, which smelled invitingly of grilled meat and baking fries, underscored with the barest hint of a strong cologne that whoever wore it thought might hide the other scents on him.

“Perfect,” Chrissy said and without waiting for Tara’s opinion she barged in, picking a booth at the back of the place.

“I’ll be right with you…” a boy about their own age mumbled, the abject disinterest dripping from his words. That was, until he looked up and saw what his customers were. He slicked his hair back and added in what he might think was a sultry voice, “...Ladies.”

Tara looked around the place. It was clean, but absolutely devoid of imagination. Everything was red and gray, checkerboard floors and pictures of pinup models on the wall. The only thing slightly out of the ordinary was the jukebox that played some sort of Italian ballad instead of the expected 50’s rock ‘n roll.

“So the idea of the game is,” Chrissy started, half looking over the menu, “… It’s kind of like writing a book together.”

“A round robin?” Tara suggest. This spoke to her.

“Something like that, but some decisions are left to chance.”

This did not speak to her.

“Chance?”

“Yeah, cause when you write a story you can just say ‘the main character does this’.”

“Within reason,” Tara agreed.

“Right, but some of that decision is left to some dice.”

“Dice?”

“You put the dice to a characteristic. So let’s say, your character has twelve strength…”

“Don’t you mean strengths?”

“No, a characteristic of twelve. Twelve out of twenty.”

“Why twenty?”

“That’s the biggest die.”

Tara cocked her head, “You mean ‘dice’?”

“Singular is die.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

“Ladies,” the boy that had greeted them said, suddenly next to them, “Are you ready to order?”

Tara was surprised she didn’t notice his approach. The cologne smell came from the boy after all and it was overpowering at this proximity. The boy was best described as greasy, from the apron to his Elvis-like haircut. Apparently nobody had elected to tell him that the fifties were over.

“Cheeseburger and a large fries,” Chrissy said, not even dignifying the boy with a hello.

“Don’t you mean a large fry,” Tara teased.

Chrissy stuck her tongue out.

“I’ ll have the same… And a vanilla milkshake.”

“That’s on the house,” the boy said, offering her a self satisfied smirk and a strange roll of his head, “You want one too?”

Chrissy shook her head.

“Coming right up,” the boy said and returned to the kitchen, yelling as he did.

“Dad! Two cows with curdled milk!”

There was no answer that the girls heard.

“What were we talking about?” Chrissy asked.

“Dice and stories.”

“Oh, right… Okay, so you make a character with the help of the dice and the dice decided what you can and can’t do.”

“Sounds weird,” Tara mumbled, quite happy knowing that A’rat would do whatever she told her to without the interference of dice.

“It’s fun!” Chrissy insisted, “And it’s more fun because there’s an element of danger.”

“I know what you mean,” the boy said, placing the milkshake in front of Tara, “That why I bring a little danger everywhere I go.”

He tried what he thought was a winning smile on Tara.

“You do,” Chrissy agreed, “Your shoelace’s untied. Very dangerous.”

The boy looked down, finding his sneakers were neatly tied. He made a face at the girl and walked off.

“Can’t believe he fell for that,” Chrissy snickered, “ Idiot.”

“Right,” Tara said in a dry monotone and picked up her straw. The boy knew his craft. It was a beautifully presented milkshake with a cherry in the middle of the heart he’d made of whipped cream.

Before Tara even had the chance to poke her straw through the top layer and into the drink below, Chrissy appropriated the cherry and popped it in her mouth.

“Hey!” Tara called, “That’s mine.”

Chrissy held the bright red fruit between her teeth, managing to get her words out with only a slight lisp, “You can sill have it back. Just have to get it.”

Tara wasn’t sure if Chrissy was joking, so she simply shook her head and started on her drink.

Chrissy popped the cherry, she licked her lips and swallowed it. Tara wasn’t sure if she was trying to be sexy or childish.

“Anyway,” she said, “Danger? In a game?”

“Oh yeah. Your character can die.”

“That doesn’t seem fun…”

“I don’t think I’m explaining it very well,” Chrissy sighed and leaned back, “ You just have to try. You’ll see it’s fun when I show you...”

The boy returned with their burgers and fries, placing them down and immediately adding himself to the conversation.

“Oh, we’re showing things?”

“Not to you,” Chrissy said curtly.

“Don’t be cruel,” the boy sighed leaning down on the table, “I’ m Antoine Junior. AJ to you. And you are?”

“Not interested.”

“And your friend?”

Tara hastily shook her head.

“A shame,” the boy sighed, “Well If you change your mind…”

“Mhm,” was all Chrissy had to say to that.

Tara only had eyes for her milkshake until the boy left.

“You’ ll show me what?” she asked when wanna Elvis had retreated.

“How to make a character,” Chrissy answered, “It’s simple enough and we can try out the game a little.”

Tara nodded, then raised her brows when Chrissy pulled her away.

“Weren’t you…?”

“Shh,” Chrissy said and neatly removed the top from both buns, took the patty off hers and placed it on top of Tara’s, then closed them again and returned the now double decked burger to Tara.

“ Aha… Why didn’t you just order a sandwich with cheese?”

“You don’t get pickles and they always put mayonnaise on.”

Tara looked with some distaste at the odd overly condimented cheese sandwich Chrissy brought to her mouth.

“Hate mayonnaise,” she said and bit down.”

Tara was about to offer that Chrissy could have just ordered a cheese sandwich with butter or something, decided against it and started on her own.

For a time the girls only ate, finding the food good enough that it didn’t need to be interrupted with conversation.

“Any good?” Chrissy wanted to know when Tara finally had the last of her overlarge burger down, “What do you rate it?”

Tara shrugged, “Seven out of ten?”

“Good enough,” was the response and she stood up and headed up to the boy who inflated at her approach. He deflated almost as soon as Chrissy started to talk to him.

Chrissy returned and leaned down on the table, “We can leave when mom’s food is done.”

She strangely picked up the cherry stem from the table and put it into her pocket, “I’m sure she’ll be wondering what’s keeping us….”