“Why did you give up decorating your Red Room in the basement, Wheeler, my oft times wife, oft times girlfriend or girlfriend to be… or wife to be? Now it’s just all white. More than white — blank! Not even any furniture down there to plop our asses down on any longer. All that stuff is up here now.”
“The painting of King Charles is back where it’s suppose to be: over at Salty’s. It was really never here in the first place in the eternal time to be. Additional questions?” she queried.
“Um. Is, er, Arthur still over there? Washing dishes?”
“Arthur ‘Orient’ Morgan has finished his sentence with me.” She paused, leaving Newt dangling.
After waiting for the more which never came, Newt spat out: “Spiff. The one he replaced. How about *him*?”
“It’s a her,” Wheeler answers, “but she’s gone too.” More silence.
“Soo, he got his painting? Of Charles? The one that *was* down there — in the basement. The one he had to work 2 weeks washing dishes for.”
“It was 2 years, but, yes, we had a trade. I got my picture back and he got his picture back. You could say it’s a kind of divorce… between me and him. North against South. Like a Civil War except more like a Civil Suit. Let’s say we’re still trying to establish the proper boundaries between us. Like: where is the waist to all this?”
“Waste?” Newt questions back, not understanding the word. Wheeler says nothing to this. Newt composes himself again after another non-answer. “Okay–”
“The picture might as well have been of Michelangelo,” Wheeler suddenly speaks, interrupting Newt’s return. Newt noticed she said *of* instead of *by* here. What does that mean?
—–
“I think it’s time we discussed how you got here. The Omega that became the Alpha.”
“Alright,” answers Wheeler simply. “You start.”
—–
They were still at it at half past 4, determined to see this through. “… determined to see this through,” Wheeler sleepily uttered 5 minutes later. They were done.
