9. Deuteronomy C-Ornflake

 It is a typical weekday evening in the Salisbury.

Outside, rain harries passers-by, badgering them from office to railway station.  Sharp gusts of wind lash the unwary with surprise sprays, turning umbrellas inside out, causing momentary staggers as they attempt to hold their footing.

Inside, a group of goth-rockers silently gaze through the window as dark clouds shroud the city in gloom.  Stultifying boredom, that’s how they like it, that’s why they choose that particular corner to escape the downpour.

Alfie Hoole is sitting at his usual place at the end of the bar.  Five pints into the night he looks up from his paperback.  The fat bloke on the fruity has dropped the jackpot at last.  That should keep him on there for another twenty minutes at least.

Lemuel Cullen and Persephone Skink sit at the table by the fire cradling their drinks.  Not much is said, they have had a minor falling out again.

Lemuel rises from his chair and feeds the jukebox with ten pounds worth of coins; he looks at the playlists stored on his phone and makes his selections.  It is his usual eclectic mix of Metallica, Rammstein, Fall Out Boy and Elton John.  He reasons that he is the saviour of this establishment, the music deterring the Britpop fans from ever venturing through the Dread Portal into the inner sanctum of the Salisbury.  Word spreads quickly in this city.  Like a forest fire.  Or a virus.

Lemuel accidentally nudges Deuteronomy C-Ornflake standing in their usual place by the jukebox and mumbles his apology.  Deuteronomy says nothing out loud but regards Lemuel with a scowl, rather like a Conservative would look upon the homeless.

Deuteronomy is an interesting character.  S/he is a regular in the Salisbury but keeps him/herself very much to him/herself.  S/he in their own words is ‘neither male nor female, not either/or, just complete.’  

An up-and-coming avant-garde artist and musician, s/he wears a floral headscarf covering a bald head, a long multicoloured top with light linen trousers and sandals.  The most striking aspect however is their perfume.  It makes patchouli seem anodyne.  The scent is unique, one we suspect that they concocted themselves and proceeded to bathe in it until it became and essential part of their being.  Everybody is aware of the presence of Deuteronomy even if they haven’t actually spotted them.  That is everyone in the Salisbury, everyone in the doorway, everyone at the local railway station and most people up to two stops away from there.

Deuteronomy has been a student of the occult all their life.  Recently s/he established their own society; ‘The Celestial Order of the Golden Temple’ and counts Aleister Crowley as a close friend.  For those of you who doubt this s/he maintains that he lives in semi-retirement in Miles Platting, normally carries a Bag for Life and can regularly be seen on the 76 bus from Piccadilly at 7.30am.  Deuteronomy wished to include the words ‘Hermetic’ and ‘Thelema’ in the title of their society, but Aleister put the kybosh on that having used these words extensively in his own writings.

Deuteronomy has long held the belief that one could alter their physical appearance by the power of thought alone.  And if thought doesn’t work then one could always use a scalpel.  And hormones.  Early in life s/he had an ideal fixed in their mind of how s/he wanted to look and concentrated very hard.  It worked.  If you look at old photographs and compare to his/her appearance now, then one can only conclude that their theory was correct.  The transformation has been truly remarkable.  The only problem is that s/he appears to have changed their mind several times along the way.

As the music changes from Rammstein to Elton John, Alfie orders another over the bar, Fat Bloke on the fruity complains “who put this rubbish on?” and the rain outside continues to pour.