Asking For Directions

Owl Creek - Wyoming

Cyrus shook his head in bewilderment. Was he having a stroke? Was that guy? Cyrus did not know, but he did know that, despite all known laws of reality, he understood whatever bizarre apocalyptic language this man was speaking.

"Yes I see now, drink from the mushrooms," Cyrus replied while plucking one for himself and slurping it down. "These aren't the magic kind are they, Pearwin?" He joked, although he didn't think his new comrade found it funny.

Perrine smirked, finding Cyrus’s comment humorous. He shook his head, “Noo, moor lik a laxateev.” One would get used to it eventually, once their body adapts, but in the beginning it will make one involuntarily regular. Perrine remembers his first time all too well. Plus the taste, it wasn’t like bottled water. It tasted like mushroom, a hint of creek sediment and tree sap. Small price to pay for hydration in the wild.

“Whear yoo headin too?” He inquired.

Cyrus finished drinking the, well, ass water before responding to Perrine,

"I'm look for friends of mine. I heard through the grapevine there's a place for... people like me. Or maybe I should say... us?"

Perrine didn’t even flinch. He was experienced in pretending he was normal and wasn’t about to acknowledge anything. He gave Cyrus an incredulous eyebrow shift.

“Frwiends in Shearidan?” The nearest and largest town to their current location.

Cyrus couldn't see well enough to read any body language, so he wasn't sure if his question had any effect. After hearing the other man's question, he decided to be a little more vague, "I'm not really sure. I heard tell it was a more rural community."

Perrine understood. “Dese frends ezpextin yoor giftz?” His use of the word gift was intentional. “Day hav naims?”