Mortimer & Drake

  “It’s good to see you Drake.” The grey clad figure said, sitting on the bench. His companion was dressed in a slim black coat, very finely tailored and clearly bespoke; his hair and nails maintained to absolute perfection.

            “It has been a while Mortimer” He said, never shifting his gaze from the crowds that constantly surged past their bench in the busy town center. Mortimer shook his head and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his hoody pocket; the fact that they were so mismatched in appearance bothered him very little, and he knew that the only reason Drake didn't seem bothered was because he knew that Mort would derive satisfaction from seeing him ruffled.

            “Those things will be the death of you” Drake said, mouth curling into a thin smile at his own joke.

           

            ‘You’re not funny you know” Mort said, blowing smoke in his face. “Humor is really a department you should leave to someone else. Anyone else really.”

            Drake scowled slightly but his features were smoothed in an instant as he checked his unnecessary show of humanity. Drake’s skin was snowy white, and smooth to the touch, it very much gave him the appearance of a fine china doll.

            Mort took another drag on his cigarette, the smoke showing slightly through his grey, translucent skin stretched across his gaunt features.

            “Is there any particular reason that you've invited me to this fine shopping district in Cwmbran? Or are we just going to people watch?”

            “I do not cattle watch thank you” Drake said curtly “It is with great difficulty that I remain this close to them for so long. I've been told to invite you to a gathering we’re having”

            Mort almost choked on his cigarette, spluttering as smoke went down the wrong pipe.

            “Oh” was about all he could manage after he had finished his coughing fit.

            “Yes, Mina seems to think that it would be rude to not invite you considering the history” Drake continued, pulling a small oblong piece of card from his coats inner pocket. “It’s a ballroom dance”

            Mort suppressed a smirk as he took the proffered invitation. It had clearly been hand painted, certainly at great expense to the host, then again to a man of Drake’s means this type of thing was almost common.

            “A ballroom dance?” He muttered, spinning the card over “You do realize that it’s 2014? Ballroom dancing has become the dominion of reality TV and quasi-celebrity types” He extinguished his cigarette and immediately lit another “Besides, I don’t dance”

            Drake scowled again, this time taking some effort to settle his bone china features.

            “You used to dance.” He said, flicking an imperceptible piece of dust from his lapel.

           

            Mort didn't answer for a while, caught in a torrent of reminiscing, but eventually came to his senses when his cigarette began to burn his fingers.

            “Yeah well I quit” He said eventually

            “You quit dancing but you can’t stop smoking?”

            “Not can’t, won’t. As much as my last wife would disagree there is a difference”

            Mort’s eyes glazed over as he began staring intently into the crows of people passing them both by.

            “Who is it this time?” Asked Drake in a bored voice.

            “The woman in the leggings and tank top” Mort replied “She should really read the label on those health supplements more closely”

            “How does it happen?”

            “Heart attack, in about 15 minutes”

            Drake nimbly reached into his breast pocket and delicately lifted out a silver pocket watch. He clicked it open and glanced at the face briefly before snapping it shut and slipping back into his pocket.

           

            “I should be going anyway” He said, picking up his cane.

            “Could you have checked the time any more flamboyantly?” Mort asked with a smirk.

            Drake ignored him and gracefully used his cane to push himself up from the bench.

            “Suppose I had better go too” Mort sighed also pulling himself up from the bench, albeit with much less grace and poise. “If I don’t get after her now she’s going to get away from me”

            “You would not want that to happen” Drake said, straightening his coat “There would be hell to pay”

            Drake smirked again, once more finding himself much funnier than anyone else ever did.

            “You’re still not funny”

            Mort pulled his hood over his face, obscuring his features beneath a mask of almost impossible shadow. The two men walked off in opposite directions, one clad in black and red finery that would make a millionaire look shabbily dressed, the other in a gray and black hoody and jeans that looked like that had spent the past 40 years on a charity shop rack.

            “Are you sure you won’t come” Drake called back across the street “Mina will be very disappointed”

            Mort turned around and shook his head beneath his shadowy mask.

            “Tell her I’m very sorry” He smirked “But like I said, I quite dancing” 


This is a story I wrote a number of years ago, originally titled 'Death Quit Dancing' a name I borrowed from a local band. In the end I thought the title was a little too on the nose so I decided to name it after the two characters who star in it. This is also the basis for my comic series 'Mort', which is currently searching for a new publisher after the last one went into hiding when the owner was found to be scamming writers and artists out of their royalties. There are a number of sequels in the pipeline in this series which differ from the continuity of the comic version.