“Is it the relish thing?” he asked. “I mean, that poor man was completely unaware that Halfly’s is opposed to the use of relish. He was on the brink of returning his smeared meat sandwich and storming off, but I remembered that I’d had a couple of packets leftover from when I had gone to Spinty’s Buffet the other night for one of my monthly dress ups.” He sighed and bobbed around for a moment. “I know it was the wrong thing to do, but I was just trying to make the customer happy.”
Finver pointed at him. “And therein lies the problem.”
“The relish, then. Well, I can only offer—”
“No, not the relish. Who cares about the relish?”
Pekder pointed at the sign that hung next to the window. It read, “No Damn Relish!” Everyone knew that Dark Halflings had an innate disgust for relish. Some people attributed it to the sensitiveness of their taste buds. It was those buds, after all, that allowed the little folks to make the most amazing sweets in the land.
“Yeah, well, right,” Finver said, “but that ain’t what I’m talking about right now. I’m talking about all your infernal helpfulness. All that dancing and prancing and singing, if you can really call it singing—you should seriously consider voice lessons, by the way—-and all the other…well…happy things you do.”
Perkder smashed his lips together and closed one eye. “So you’re saying that I’m too pleasant?”
“Of course you are! Haven’t you ever met any of your own kind? You’re not supposed to be happy. No Dwarfs are supposed to be happy!”
“Actually, there was one rather famous one that went by that—”
“A proper Dwarf,” interrupted Perkder, “is one who is loud, boisterous, and in a constant state of having a chip on his shoulder. He grunts a lot. He glares a lot. He doesn’t smile unless he’s asking someone to see if there’s something in his teeth. You’re not like that. You’re…you’re a disgrace to Dwarfdom!”
Perkder leaned back in his chair, trying to keep his mood pleasant.
“Let me get this straight,” Perkder said with one eye squinted, “you’re saying that you don’t want me to be so helpful?”
“Right.”
“You don’t like it when I make customers happy.”
“It’s a horrible way to run a business.”
“You’re telling me that the people who bring money into the park are to be treated poorly, groaned at, and made to feel like they’re in a constant state of wasting my time?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
Perkder was amazed. “And you find that acting like that is better for repeat business than to show people a fun time?”
“I think that’s obvious,” said Finver with a tilt of his head. “Halfly’s Park has been in business for more years than any other company in all of Ononokin. We have record years every year.”
“Easy to do with the bar being set so low.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Perkder said with an innocent smile. “You were saying?”
“The point is that we didn’t get to where we are by going out of our way to make some snotty little brat smile!”
“I’m sorry,” Perkder said, feeling awfully confused, “but I’m really not getting it.”
Finver harrumphed. “What do people do when they get sad?”
“Cry?”
“No.”
“They don’t?”
“Well, yes,” said Mr. Snickings, “but what else do they do?”
“Sulk?”
“They eat chocolate, you imbecile!”
“Oh, yes, that too, I suppose.” Perkder then jolted as the revelation of what Mr. Snickings was saying knocked him upside the head. And that’s when Perkder did something he rarely did. He frowned. “That’s terrible.”
“It’s not terrible. It’s profitable.”
“Mr. Snickings, are you seriously asking me to make people sad so that they can go about buying more chocolate?”
“No,” Finver said seriously, “I would never ask you to do such a thing.”
“Good, because—”
“I’m telling you to do it! There ain’t no asking going on from this side of the desk,” he added while making a little swirling motion with his finger.
“Well, I won’t do it, Mr. Snickings,” Perkder said, crossing his arms. “People should be happy, not sad. I won’t be a party to making people sad.”
“I assumed that you’d say something stupid like that,” Finver Snickings replied with a roll of his eyes, and then he did something he rarely did: he grinned. Then he reached into his desk and pulled out a piece of paper and three Halfly’s chocolate bars. “Here’s your final pay and some wrapped-happiness. Turn in your badge and locker key on your way out.”
“You’re firing me?” said Perkder with his mouth agape.
“Not so stupid after all, I see.”
ORCMART
Grubby Longthumper knew his role on this mission. Keep an eye on Modacio and make sure that she kept to the plan and delivered the goods. He would also try to learn about this mysterious missing step that she had stated that the Zomboner Corporation had missed. Not that he’d planned on sharing that step with Teggins, of course. One didn’t get to the highest point as a thief by sharing secrets, after all. Modacio had little choice in the matter of sharing that secret, assuming she wanted to stay alive, but Grubby didn’t have a price on his head. His plan was to get the secret, see an accident befall Modacio, and claim ignorance while pulling in millions under the table.
The Ogre, Kone, had stayed quiet for most of the trip. He’d spent the majority of his time digging at his nose and studying whatever contents he was able to excavate. Grubby had nothing against Ogres as long as they were of the gruff variety. Unfortunately, Kone seemed to be more of the dumb type. The oaf had picked up Grubby once already, as was the norm with the dumber Ogres, but after a stern talking-to, he promised not to do it again.
“Why are we heading to Dogda?” asked Grubby as they arrived at the Civen Portal Station.
“There are only about five hundred known Zombies in the Underworld,” answered Modacio. “Of those, the masses live in caves or in remote areas. Not many city dwellers.”
“I know all this. Why Dogda?”
“Because a contact of mine says that a Zombie has been living there regular for the last two years.”
Grubby wanted to question the sanity of that move, but then he thought about it. Dark Halflings called Dogda home, and Dark Halflings were rude, even if he did say so himself. They spoke their minds. If you were fat, they called you fat. If you were dumb, they called you dumb. If you stank and were rotting, they called you a Zombie. Now, if you were a Zombie, they just called a Zombie with the underlying assumption that you understood that they meant you stank and were rotting. When compared to any other place in the world of Ononokin, a Zombie would be called fewer things while living in Dogda.
“Pretty clever, actually,” Grubby said with a smirk.
“I don’t care if he is or isn’t,” Modacio said after entering in the coordinates on the portal for transportation to Dogda and got ready to engage the system. “I just want a piece of his flesh so that I can clear my name.”
* * *
Bob slipped out the back of his tiny apartment. He never went out the front because that’s where all his neighbors hung out. The Dark Halflings were livable, but the other races inhabiting his complex were cruel at best.
Climbing down the fire escape ladder, Bob gently padded to the ground with a wince. It was a risk every time he dropped from the ladder. Just a little to the left or a little to the right and he’d break an ankle or a knee. And if he fell over… well, that would be all she wrote for his hips.
Fortunately, he landed successfully and headed off into the night toward the grocery store.
* * *
“Der am a lot of little people here,” Kone said with a giggle.
“Put them down,” Modacio said, smacking Kone hard on his bicep
.
“Ow!” Kone put an angry Dark Halfling down and rubbed his arm. “Why’d you hit me for?”
“Because you’re an idiot, I’m guessing,” said Grubby.
“He’s not an idiot,” Modacio said in Kone’s defense. “He’s just a little slow sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Kone said, looking angrily at Grubby. “I are just slow sometimes.”
“My apologies,” Grubby replied nonchalantly. “I had no idea you two were a couple.”
Modacio rolled her eyes and pulled up her ePad while Grubby took a note about how he thought that Modacio and Kone were bedfellows. It had no actual bearing on the success of their mission, but he did say he’d report everything.
“A couple of what?” said Kone after a pause.
“So how are you planning to find this Zombie?” asked Grubby, ignoring the Ogre’s question. “It’s not like we’re in a small city here.”
“Look like a small city to me. Who da stupid one now?”
“You are,” Grubby stated and then turned back to Modacio. “Well?”
“That’s what I was just looking up. My contact says that our target has just entered Orcmart.”
“What the hell does a Zombie need with Orcmart?” asked Grubby with a mean chuckle. “Did they start selling replacement thumbs or something?”
* * *
Bob walked into Orcmart as if he were just a normal, everyday customer. Fortunately, the average clientele at Orcmart was just a shade over the makings of a Zombie. On average, they were hygienically-challenged, poorly dressed, grotesquely overweight or disturbingly emaciated, and they sported the average IQ of a dust mite.
They were Bob’s kind of people.
One of his favorite Undernet sites was PeopleOfOrcmart, after all. The pictures were so funny that Bob had to use caution when looking at them. The repercussions of a Zombie laughing too hard could cause all sorts of permanent facial damage, not to mention a dislocated lung.
He looked over his shopping list. It was the same stuff he’d always bought: bandages, cologne, and scented candles. Bob was in a constant battle with smells. The scented candles only lasted half their normal life when trying to combat the stench that he emanated, and the cologne burned his flesh like holy water on a Vampire.
As he approached the candle aisle, he noticed an Ogre was looking at him from over one of the shelves. Bob sighed as best as a Zombie could and then squared one of his shoulders—the other one never cooperated. He pressed on to the candle aisle.
Turning, he found a Human woman wearing a tight-fitting black outfit. She was gorgeous. To Bob, though—someone who’d been a Zombie for many years and who hadn’t felt the welcoming touch of a female form in all that time—he would consider a Troll with crossed eyes and a runny nose as acceptably attractive.
He backed away and waited for her to finish before he entered the aisle.
“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “I’m not one of those people.”
Bob attempted to blink, which was hard to do when one was without full eyelids. “Oh,” he said back, surprised. “Thank you.”
“My, uh, father was a Zombie,” she said in a way that made Bob think that she was making that up…on a subconscious level, anyway. His conscious thoughts didn’t care what she said as long as she kept talking. “I mean after he and my mom, well, you know.” She stepped forward and put out her hand. It was gloved. “My name is Mod…uh…Maddy.”
Bob looked at her hand and gingerly put his out. She gently shook it as he said, “I’m Bob.”
“Bob? Odd name for a Human.”
“Full name is Bobinguck Mermenhermen.”
Just then an Orc came into the aisle and said gruffly, “Dis guy botherin’ you, lady?”
Maddy turned and put a hand on her hip and started pointing at the Orc. “Not in the least, and it pains me to no end that people like you pick on him just because he’s a Zombie.”
“Uh,” the Orc said, looking over at Bob, “I didn’t know he was a Zombie, lady. I mean, I can smell it now and all, but to me all non-Orcs look alike.”
“Oh, well, then—”
“I just seen this guy paddin’ around in here a lot lately and he’s got a no-good look about him. Maybe that’s cause he’s a Zombie?”
“Hey,” Bob said, feeling a bit miffed.
“Well, he’s just fine, thank you very much.”
“Whatever you say, lady,” the Orc replied with a shrug. “Just doin’ my job.”
“Sorry about that,” Maddy said to Bob as the Orc walked away.
“I’m used to it.”
* * *
Grubby had been standing in the next aisle listening to every word and jotting down a few notes.
Modacio was playing the guy well enough, though she had stumbled a bit at the start. It wasn’t like it was all that difficult to fool a Zombie. Nobody paid them any attention, except to yell derogatory terms at them, so Modacio had a captive audience regardless of what she said.
Across the way, Kone was playing around with the stuffed animals. He was currently holding a fluffy green bunny while digging through his pockets, no doubt searching for a couple of coins.
“What are you doing?” whispered Grubby.
“Whut?” said Kone at full voice.
“Shhh! What are you doing?”
Kone scrunched up his face as if thinking very hard. Then he pointed at the bunny and held up the money.
“You should be paying attention over here,” Grubby said, motioning toward the next aisle over.
“You fink dat guy wants a bunny?”
“Shhh! No, you dolt. I think that you need to put the bunny down and get ready in case something happens.”
“Like whut?”
“Shhh! What if the guy runs away?”
“Him a Zombie,” Kone said with a look that conveyed he thought Grubby was the stupid one in this conversation. “He ain’t runnin’ nowhere.”
“Shhh! For the love of The Twelve! Shhh!”
“Why you keep shushin’ me and den askin’ me questions? How am I s’posed to answer questions if I gotta stay shushed?”
“Shhh!”
“You shhh! I’m buying dis bunny.”
“I’ll rip it to shreds, if you do.”
Kone took two long strides across and picked up Grubby by the top of his head and looked squarely in his eyes. “You touch dis bunny and I punch you in da nose. You got dat?”
“Got it,” grunted Grubby as the crushing force of Kone’s fingers dug into his skull. “…and shhh.”
Kone put Grubby back down and said, “Humph!” Then he walked toward the registers.
It would be a wonder if the Zombie hadn’t overheard most of that conversation. Grubby could only hope that the rotter was too engaged talking with Modacio, which would make a lot of sense seeing that she was quite easy on the eyes.
Peeking through the shelves he found that they were no longer there. That could be fortunate or not, depending on one’s perspective.
“Need help with something?” said a sultry voice, causing Grubby to jump nearly half is own height.
He turned around and found a Dark Halfling Vampiress standing there. Where Modacio was attractive, this one was a goddess. She was tall, by Dark Halfling standards, had long silver hair, piercing emerald eyes, ruby red lips, and she carried herself with attitude.
Grubby gulped.
“No, uh,” he said, picking up the nearest box as if he’d intended to purchase it. “I just needed some…” He looked at the item he’d picked up and gulped again. “…Some, uh, feminine pads.”
The worker looked him over. “You don’t look like you’d need feminine products.”
“Oh, no,” he said with a silly laugh that did nothing but make him feel even sillier. “You see, it’s not for me. It’s for my, uh…” He didn’t want to say “wife” or “girlfriend.” Not that he had a chance with this girl or anything, but that wasn’t the point. One never knew what women found attractive, so why
tip his hand? “My…uh…cat.”
“Your cat?” she said, crossing her arms.
“Yes, that’s right. Mrs. Uh…Peebles. My cat. She has a, well, issue with urinating all the time.”
“Sounds like you need pet diapers, then,” she said, taking the box out of his hands and putting it back on the shelf. She then put a finger under his chin and pulled him along. “I’ll show you where they are.”
* * *
Ten minutes later Grubby darted out the Orcmart, feeling like an utter fool.
There was no doubt that Modacio had set him up by sending the Dark Halfling Vampire to distract him. As he thought about it, even the damned Ogre had been in on it. What self-respecting thief would buy a stuffed animal, after all? Then he thought about that and wondered what self-respecting Ogre would buy a stuffed bunny?
Regardless, this spelled certain doom for both Modacio and Kone. He knew they were in the city or at the portal. One quick message from him to Teggins and they’d both be having tombstones carved.
“Where have you been?”
Grubby turned and saw Modacio sitting on one of the posts. Kone was petting the bunny. So they hadn’t run away. That was surprising. And Kone had bought the stuffed animal. Even more surprising.
“Uh,” he said, his confidence shaken ever so slightly.
“Because of you,” Modacio said menacingly, “I had to let the Zombie go about his business.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Grubby said desperately. “I uh—”
Modacio leaned over and peeked into his shopping bag. “Oh,” she said with a shocked look. “I’m sorry…I didn’t know you had a problem.”
“What him get?”
“Diapers.”
“You poop yourself?”
“No, I did not poop myself,” Grubby said, affronted.
“Now, Kone,” said Modacio sternly, “what did we say about you having a filter?”
Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin) Page 43