“How did you get my goddamn number?” Desmond croaked, wanting to toss his phone into the flooding rains that were still falling days later. The wind had died down, much to everyone’s rejoicing.
“Brigid gave it to me,” the voice said. It was Callista, his nemesis. “Now, can you help me out here or not?”
“How did the fox get my number?”!
The lion sighed and said, “From Eligh. Now, can you—“
“Why the fuck would he give you my number?! Don’t ever trust politicians.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” She laughed, and to her surprise, he laughed with her. The first positive interaction they’d had since being acquainted. “So, okay, let me first say this: I’m sorry for harassing you. I’m a bit of a… Well, shit, I’ll just say it. I’m a nymphomaniac—“
“And I’m asexual, so you lose, bitch.” He said, his tone being sharper than he intended. If he had to visualize her during the moment of silence, he’d have sworn she was biting the side of her mouth and holding back a nasty retort.
“…You know what, fine. Sorry, I called. I shouldn’t have harassed you or begged Brigid for your number, which I am going to promptly lose after we hang up.”
The cafe had been completely dead this past week, no beast except for the true caffeine junkies wanting their SSPL, and with Toh currently out with an upper-repository infection, Desmond had been left to run the cafe himself along with the two part-timers. Taking the lack of business as an opportunity, he ran through tutorials on some of the flashier drinks they offered, making and perfecting recipes at the cost of ingredients(Toh shouldn’t have gotten sick).
“You know what? Keep talking. You mentioned the troll to someone before you realized I had answered—“
“Uh-huh, I did. You know all about the attack the other night, right?”
“I’ve seen the pictures.” He said, hoping she realized what else that had entailed.
She’d been biting her lip this time at what he could also be implying, knowing full well that photos snapped at the creature from the busted remains of her apartment had her standing buck naked in the foreground, her ass looking positively amazing in the lighting, even with the giant ugly-ass monster and its ruptured, flaming eye socket filling in the background.
Remembering who he was talking to, he realized his plan to embarrass her was actively backfiring on him. He’d seen her during the Pride Event; she was proud of that body of hers.
“Yeah, the shots from the street looked especially dramatic. The speed at which your Fireball flew through the air was actually really impressive.”
The little bell above the door jingled as a goat entered the building, holding the hand of a smaller goat dressed horn to hoof in a yellow raincoat and big, colorful rain boots.
“Listen, I have work to do. I can help you with your troll problem later if you want to call me…” Desmond paused momentarily as he realized what he was saying, “—back after work, I can help. But right now, you gotta leave me the fuck alone!”
He realized the goats at the front counter had heard him based on the expressions on his face. The taller one looked especially surprised, though, from his choice of words or the fact that he mentioned the troll, he wasn’t sure or even particularly cared.
“What do you want?”
That really caught the goat by surprise, “I’m sorry? That’s no way to address a customer.” Their accent was feint, but he was sure there were hints of Norge in there. “I’ve heard Americans were rude, but wow!”
“I’m sorry. Let me rephrase that,” He mocked, clearing his throat, then said, “Welcome to Toh’s Beans! What do you want?”
The goat raised an eyebrow, sweeping their bangs from their unique-looking eyes.
“Look, man, that’s the best you’re getting from me.”
He could tell the goat was going to bite back but was stopped dead in their tracks by the smaller beast’s insistent tugging of their raincoat’s sleeve. Desmond finally noticed the beast’s identity. They weren’t a child as he had guessed, but a full-grown adult. They were just… short.
Desmond actually gobsmacked for the first time in a while, hopped off his stool, and emerged from behind the counter like Louie DePalma from his cage in the pilot episode of Taxi. He shuffled around the side of the counter in a fashion that could have earned him applause from a studio audience. He made eye contact with the smaller goat, wriggling all eight tentacles as he did.
“And what can I get for you, Georgie?” He was saying it, but he realized it and couldn’t stop it. “You’re from Norway, right? Did you know we all float here in Brickhedge?” Goddammit, he had become the same beast that made those fucking references whenever he was seen walking around in a similar get-up.
At least he understood now how easy it was to do so, but still, fuck!!
But the shorter goat just gave him a blank stare, blinking a few times. “I am not understanding your words, sir.”
Just let it go, Des. Drop it; no need to continue embarrassing yourself; you already know you’re going to beat yourself up for this later, anyway.
Be professional; this isn’t your cafe; think about Toh and everything he has done for you since you were abandoned in town, he told himself.
“Sorry, my apologies. What can I get for you folks?” He said, putting on his best customer service voice.
To his surprise, the two goats were members of a bigger family that was visiting the country on vacation. They hailed from Sweden, not Norway like he first suspected. The pair were a couple, freshly married, so the trip had been doubling as their honeymoon.
Being who he was, he couldn’t help but remark on the smaller male’s choice of hoofwear. Beasts that weren’t working in construction or otherwise dangerous or dirty jobs didn’t normally wear such objects, so the sight had been a curious one, like a scab he couldn’t pick at.
“Ya, water shoes a gift from my husband for wedding,” he said, smiling as he sipped his all-too-sweet American coffee drink with delight. “They, how you say this in your language? Cost shit ton.”
The pair of goats had been the only customers Desmond would see between now and closing, which Toh had given him the go-ahead to lock up early due to inclement weather conditions.
When 4pm rolled around, the star-nosed mole did just that. Shutting off all but the dim lights that illuminated the wall of plastic mock-ups of the bakery items offered in-store and locking up the back and front doors, Desmond slipped his yellow raincoat on and fled into the downpour outside.
The walk, on average, took about ten minutes, barring any sort of traffic that would slow his crossing down. Tonight, however, with the rain coming down like it was and him walking into it, it’d take even longer to get back to the safety of his apartment, which he’d feared would eventually flood once the rain reached its fourth day straight, but that had not been the case, thankfully.
At 4pm on most days, the streets would be full of beasts of all ages, either just enjoying the weather or heading home from work, among a hundred other things. Today, the road and sidewalks were completely void of life, full of debris and dying leaves that the constant wind had simultaneously dislodged and strewn about all over town.
Black iron street lamps, which had a set timer to turn on at 6pm this time of year, were already on, giving the gloomy, humid atmosphere an even worse feeling than it already had, thanks to the presence of the troll in the surrounding woods.
Had the weather been in a better state, Desmond had no doubt in his mind that he and Advrik would have already had to hunt the monster down with a big fat paycheck waiting at town hall with the wolf’s name on it.
But due to the tropical system having stalled out for an unusually long amount of time, coupled with images of the attack on the lion’s apartment the other night circulating on the internet, things had become slightly more complicated as new faces began to appear in town, sparking the fear that they may also be monster hunters.
The goats, in particular, had been an interesting, unexpected occurrence. Doubtful that they’d come all the way from Sweden in such a short amount of time just to hunt a troll, their presence here was still a peculiar one.
Desmond arrived home nearly twenty minutes after leaving the cafe, soaked and wet from head to paw. Leaving the raincoat in the entryway and making a beeline for the first available bathroom, the mole quickly toweled himself down before retrieving a change of clothes from his room and showering off.
When he finally made it back to his room, he’d been carrying a plate with two barbecue chimken Hot Pockets and a can of Mountain Dew. Sitting down in his chair and bringing his computer out of sleep mode, he retrieved his phone and brought up his recent caller list.
“I can’t believe I’m about to fucking do this,” he said to himself as he brought up a page about the various documented troll species, seeking out the same link he had followed the other night while trying to identify the monster.
He hit redial and immediately regretted it when she answered a few seconds later.
No comments:
Post a Comment