Virgil Abenezer Blunk

Virgil Abenezer Blunk, who in his youth was called Abner so as not to confuse him with his father Virgil Aloysius Blunk, rifled through the mail anxiously. Surely today would be the day that the new installment of Archaeologists Quarterly would arrive, complete with an article on his failed endeavor to find one of the lost churches of Avacyn. “Failed is such harsh word,” he muttered to himself while continued sort the mail. “Drat! It’s still not here, Mother.” A sharp writhing in his chest and a reflexive movement of his hand from the mail to just over his heart to massage the twinge. “Yes, Mother, I know you’re hungry.” Virgil moved his hand to a small bowl beside him, dipped his fingers in a thick viscous liquid, and then began to absentmindedly move his fingers along the edges of his gums and teeth. A soothing relaxation in his chest. He continued to sort the mail, a faint red smear trailing behind where his fingers drifted. “What’s this?” he said as he opened a small envelope. “A party, Mother. Rather, a wedding I should say. And all the Blunks are invited. It’s been ages. How do you think the family is doing?”