“Hello, Sister Beatrice speaking,” she announced sweetly.
“Hello, Sister, it’s Bishop. Would you happen to know where Morgue is?”
“Oh, yes, sir, I do,” she sang, excited. “You’ll be proud to know he’s currently in the kitchen learning how to cook! He has a knack for it!” she beamed.
Sinrik rolled his eyes at hearing it.
“Is there any way for him to come to the phone?”
“Oh, absolutely, I’ll bring it to him. We’ve been diligently following your recommendations regarding his training, too,” she updated.
“Minus bringing me to see him,” Sinrik called, bringing her sharp gasp.
“Is that Mr. Chaos, blabbing his mouth about me?”
“It is,” Bishop said, her scorn a balm on his nerves.
“The nerve! Remind him why I did that, it was to help him! Athisrequest. I surely didn’t have to do that, I did it out of compassion and empathy, things he could stand to learn! Maybe you can fiddle with a few of his wires and set him straight.”
“Happy to,” he said, getting another of her shocked breaths.
“Oh Mr. Bishop, I…surelydidn’t mean it, I was just—”
“Minding everybody’s business,” Sinrik helped.
“Okay, on second thought, do what you want with him, he’s forever ungrateful—”
“No, no,” Sinrik said, leaning into his conversation. “I’m very grateful you helped me escape from prison and thought Sir Bishop erred in his judgment.”
“Now, that is a huge misrepresentation of—”
“Sister Beatrice,” Bishop said, distancing himself from Sinrik. “Don’t worry, I’m not listening to the big Mouth of Mayhem.”
“Truest fact,” Sinrik said behind him. “Maybe you can ask him why,” he called louder. “Maybe he’ll answer for our little song bird of the bayou.”
“Mr. Morgue!” the sister sang on the line. “You have a phone call,” she announced, like it was another milestone in his growth. “It’s Mr. Bishop,” she whispered. “Here he is,” she said, back in the phone. “Morgue, you can go outside for privacy if you want.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Morgue said.
Bishop turned, seeing Sinrik had walked off. He called out, “Later.”
Sinrik answered with a middle finger over his head, putting warm little bubbles in the river of blood-lust that still owned his veins.
“Morgue speaking.”
“Morgue, it’s Bishop. I uh, wanted to thank you for bringing the jet.”
“Oh,” he muttered, sounding thrown off. “You’re welcome.”
Bishop assessed Morgue’s response against his developing architecture. It was nothing odd but then he didn’t really have anormalmap to go by since he’d never upgraded a brainwashed human with a conscience gate before.
“I had a question about it,” Bishop said.
“Okay.”
Bishop sorted through what he knew and still wanted to know. “Sinrik called you,” he said.
“Yes. When I was enroute.”