The orc straightens up. “You know Mr. Flush?”
“Fick yes I know Mr. Flush, as you call him. We go way back, way way back.”
“I will need to confirm this.”
“Then fickin’ confirm it, I don’t have all night. I got real problems over here. Tell him it’s Hiccup. He’ll fickin’ know who I am, dammit.”
The orc enters the lobby of the Golden Swine and returns a couple of minutes later, a mollified look on his face. “Please follow me, Mr. Hiccup.”
“That’s more like it,” he says as he enters the lobby. The goblin glances up at the bifurcated stairs in the center of the room, at the apex of which is a beautifully painted portrait of the Goblin Riviera. “I forget how fickin’ pretty this place is. Gotta love that ambiance. I should call in favors more often.”
“Please, this way.” The orc leads Hiccup past the check-in desk to an office with a thick door made of imported Astrilan wood. The orc knocks once, and is told to enter.
“There he fickin’ is,” says the goblin behind the desk as soon as he lays eyes on Hiccup. He’s a fit goblin in a cowboy hat made of leather, his muscular features visible under his matching leather vest over a pressed blue shirt. There’s a sheen to his face, likely because of work he’s had done, and his ears have been shortened so their tips are no longer pointed.
“Curtis!”
A cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth, Curtis comes around the desk and shakes Hiccup’s hand. He lets the orc know with a nod that he can let himself out.
“Fick your orc guards, by the way.”
Curtis chuckles. “I can’t say I disagree with you there, Hiccup, but they get the job done, and they’re big and mean, just like I like them. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Hiccup takes a deep breath, thinks about lying, and decides to tell the truth for once.
“Fick me, I hate ink shadows,” Curtis says after Hiccup has finished telling him his sob story.
“Anyfickin’ hoo, that’s why I’m here, I need to collect on a favor.”
Curt takes another puff off his cigar. “Okay then, remind me again what favor I owe you.”
Hiccup takes out his little leather book, licks his finger, and flips through it.
“All those are favors owed to you?”
“Sure fickin’ are. Ah, here it is. The time I didn’t ask out your daughter, even though she clearly had it out for me. Fick, that took a lot of guts on my part, Curtis, especially when she started ovulating.”
“So, you’re saying I owe you a favor for not asking my daughter out?”
“Exactly. It took a lot of willpower.”
Curtis nods. “Yeah, I’ll have to agree on that willpower part, Ms. Gingerbread Flush has always been a looker. Why, if she wasn’t my daughter … Just joking. I’m not going to make that joke because it is crass, and I’m not a creepy ficker. What I will say is that she has a nice ass, as do all members of the Flush family, yours truly included.” Curtis spins to show Hiccup his rear.
Hiccup considers the goblin’s ass for a moment. “It’s a good ass, firm, and perfect for sitting.”
“That’s what I’m always fickin’ saying,” Curtis smiles. “Now as for that favor, you’re right, I do owe you, because I can’t have riffraff such as yourself dating my daughter.”
“Hey!”
“Take no offense, old pal. If you’re riffraff, I’m fickin’ gutter trash. Two peas in a pod if you get my drift. But let’s get down to brass tacks: you want to treat that ink shadow to a night at the Golden Swine, correct?”
“You get me, Curtis, you fickin’ get me. I seriously don’t want to lose my chalupa.”
“You know I get you, old pal, so here’s what I need from you, you know, as a friendly gesture and whatnot.”
Hiccup clenches his fists together. “I thought I was the one who was calling in a fickin’ favor.”
“You are,” Curtis says, biting his cigar. “Trust me there, but fick me I’m swamped at the moment, and I don’t have time to do this itty-bitty task. It’ll only take a minute, no sweat off anyone’s backs.”
“Swamped? Fick, Curtis, you’re smoking a cigar in your office! And I don’t have a sweaty back.”
“I’m trying to quit, dammit, Hiccup.” Curtis places the cigar in an ashtray. “Now, relax, it’s been a long day.”
“A long day? Pfft! Do you realize the fickery I’ve been through today?”
“You told me, and I believe you: putting together a parade, a massage, and a dinner is hard work. So, I wanted to keep it simple for you, and that’s why I thought you could stop at the apothecary on the way back to your quarters.”
“You don’t even know where my quarters are!”
“The Guildhall District, right?” Curtis opens a binder on his desk and stops on a page with Hiccup’s name on it. “I believe you’ve taken a position with a new guild as their security guard.”
“Gee fick, Curtis, you keeping tabs on me?”
“I keep tabs on everyone in town, part of my business.”
“Like fick it is.”
Curtis nods. “I’m glad we agree. Now, I need you to pick up some nightmare powder from a guy named J.J. Pickle.”
“What kind of poofty ass fruit flake name is J.J. fickin’ Pickle?”
“It’s just J.J. Pickle, and seriously, Hiccup, I’m your old pal, right? This will be a simple task, five minutes tops.”
“If you fickin’ say so.” Hiccup throws his beefy hands in the air. “But I’m getting tired, and when I get tired, I fickin’ let people know about it. What am I picking up, anyway?”
“As I said, it’s called nightmare powder.”
“Yoy! That sounds scary.”
Curtis picks up his cigar again and places it in his mouth. “It is scary, and I don’t support what my heirs are doing, but I do support the income it brings in.”
“What the fick are you talking about?”
“They started it two years ago, it’s called Fright Knight, and it takes place over a long weekend here at the Golden Swine. Also, knight as in knight, not night as in night. I guess that doesn’t make sense said out loud. It is spelled knight with a ‘K.’”
“Never trusted that spelling, and in any event, I met one of those knights with a K today, at a knitting club. A real fickhat.”
“Fick knights.” Curtis grins, cigar between his teeth again. “So anyfick, during Fright Knight, we hire a ghoul to haunt the hallways of the Golden Swine. We sprinkle nightmare powder on our guests’ pillows to turn up the scare level.”
“The scare level? Who the fick thought of this?”
“Gingerbread and her husband, Jared. Like I said, it has proven to be quite popular. Who knew people would pay to get scared? Fick me, people are stupid.”
“Gingerbread’s husband’s name is Jared?”
“Yep, trust fund goblin from Bluwid,” Curtis says as he leans back in his chair and places his hands behind his head.
“Sounds like the name for a pussy. But anyway, fine, Curtis, I’ll get your goddamn nightmare powder, but that’s it, and this better not result in me getting my ass kicked.”
Curtis E. Flush laughs. “Ass kicked? Who said anything about you getting your ass kicked? It’s just a simple pickup. Grab the powder on your way home, and bring it to me tomorrow when your guest checks in.”
(.)(.)
It turns out that Hiccup’s hotel magnate friend Curtis was right that it would be a relatively easy pickup. What he didn’t tell the cantankerous goblin was how annoying J.J. Pickle the pharmacist would be, a gnome with a lisp that checked two big boxes for things Hiccup couldn’t stand. Three if you counted his size, and four if you counted the fact that the gnome was an immiNPC.
“It’th the beth nightmare powder in Jatla, nay, Hyperborea! Juth take a little of thith and you’ll be on your way to nightmareth, nightmareth, nightmareth! Yay nightmareth! I make the powder from frethth ink thadow tearth and a family recipe path down from generation to genera
tion. Thee, I’m come from Unigaea, like moth gnometh in Tritania.”
“I don’t give a fick where you’re from, and unless you want me to start randomly murdering your customers, you’ll hurry up with my fickin’ prescription. It’s late! Nearly past the hour of the Faun. That means it’s my bedtime, and boy fick, Pickle, do I have a big day ahead of me tomorrow.”
J.J. Pickle, who stands on a stool behind a counter, glares down at Hiccup. The gnome wears a black cone hat and a matching tunic with the name Pickle embroidered in gold letters across one side of his chest. His hands work meticulously behind the counter, measuring ingredients, chopping various items, and bagging everything up as he makes the nightmare powder.
“Thereth a lot of goblinth in Jatla, but I haven’t met many ath rude ath you, mithter.”
“And you’ve been in Jatla how long?”
“Two yearth.”
“Look, Pickle, in case no one told you, Jatla is a shithole. Hell, even the one percenter district pales in comparison to a city like Aramis, or – fick me for even saying this but it is fickin’ true – Kayi. Point is, if you haven’t met a goblin as rude as me, you haven’t been out much.”
“Too buthy here to go out! Buthineth ith really good.”
“Yeah, I fickin’ get it, nine-to-five keeping you down. You and me both, buddy. I mean, my nine-to-five is relatively easy, and the manchild running my guildhall is either ball-less, or his balls are so far up in his gut they’re tickling his tonsils. You get the picture. Fick, I make my own schedule.” Hiccup’s eyes glaze over as he stares up at the gnome. “Where in the fick am I?”
“I thee,” Pickle says as he finishes packing up Hiccup’s powder.
“See fickin’ what?”
“Here’s Curtith’ order. Now, about you, I thee that you are having thomthing like Early Onthet Goblinheimerth. I have a friend in Waringtla, a giant named Lothar, who now runth a bakery that doubleth ath a great library of forbidden texth, which he callth the Occult Bakery and Athenaeum. If you’re interested, I may be able to reach out to him to thee if there ith a Unigaean way to cure your illneth.”
“Not necessary, besideth – sheesh, you got me doing it too! – I fickin’ hate giants. Too big.” The wizard behind Hiccup coughs to remind him he’s waiting to place his order.
“Keep your fickin’ witch hat on,” Hiccup barks, “or I’ll shove it up your ass.”
“Pleathe!” Pickle narrows his eyes at the goblin. “Do not thpeak to my cuthomerth that way!”
“Fick everyone in Tritania who isn’t me.”
Hiccup swipes the bag off the counter and hits the exit.
(.)(.)
Hiccup slows down once he’s a few blocks away, his lower back and thighs hurting from so much walking. His guildhall isn’t far, just a couple of blocks. As he waddles in that direction, he prays that there will be nothing to deal with when he arrives home.
Smoke has settled over the Guildhall District; the air is crisp with the scent of coal smoke.
“I didn’t get my gobnap in,” he reminds anyone who will listen, which is no one. And when he sees a muscular ogre turn the corner with a menacing look on his face, Hiccup shoulders past, ignoring the fact that the ogre is clearly looking for a fight.
“Ogres are always looking for fickin’ fights,” he mumbles as he reaches the door to his guildhall. Not feeling like lifting his hands, Hiccup kicks the door open, and steps inside to find Tamana sitting at the table, cleaning her ironing board of a sword.
Tamana Nakamura Level 2 White Warrior
HP: 85/138
MANA: 68/79
ATK: 52
DEF: 19
MATK: 12
MDF: 38
LUCK: 3
“Easy on the door, please.”
Tamana is in noob armor, her long white hair pulled back into a sexy tight ponytail. She sits on a chair with her legs open – yes, Hiccup checks twice to see if he can get a peek, he can’t – her buster sword between her thighs, the bottom stabbed into a floorboard.
“Where’s Marbles, Tammy?”
“Ryuk logged out for the night.”
“And here you are, polishing your sword, eh?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. I am still getting used to its weight. Ryuk and I are supposed to go after some mountain trolls tomorrow, a small quest, but hopefully we’ll get some EXP.”
“I’ll tell you what would give Marbles some EXP, as you call it.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” he snorts.
“What, Hiccup?”
“Tammy, as much as I’d like to watch you polish that big-ass sword, I’ve got to get my handsome tush to bed. If there was one word that described my day, it would be fickery. Too much fickery.”
“Fickery?”
Hiccup drops onto his dirty chaise and kicks his boots up.
Tamana, who has a strict rule of taking off one’s boots before entering, twitches when she sees Hiccup placing his soiled boots at the end of the chaise. He reaches down for a copy of the Polynian Times, and places the rolled scrollazine on his belly.
“Fickery,” he says again, ignoring Tamana for the time being. Normally, he’d watch the sexy white warrior polish a sword for days, but he’s pooped, and he’s done more since meeting Barry the ink shadow in the morning than he’s done in a week. A lot of walking, too.
“You were out all day?” Tamana asks.
“Yes, is there a problem with that, Tammy?”
“Well, you are the security guard here, at our guildhall.”
Hiccup turns to Tamana, his reading glasses now across the bridge of his nose. “Do you two fickers have any enemies yet?”
“No.”
“Frenemies?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“And do you have any rupees?”
“Not many.”
“Do you have anything valuable in this guildhall?” Hiccup looks around, from the map pinned to the wall to the table. About the only thing worth anything here are the drapes, which are made of Thulean silk.
“Not yet.”
“Then what needs guarding? Look, Tammy, I like you, but if you didn’t know, I’m a busy fickin’ man these days.”
“Doing what?”
“Charity work,” Hiccup lies.
Tamana laughs.
“Hey! I’m being serious here. First, I volunteered at an old people’s home for ink shadows. Those poor fickers. They get old and their nonexistent bone structures only makes things worse for them. After that, I helped my cousin, Spewy, who is in a bind.”
“A bind?”
“He’s more interested in male starfish than he is female chalupas, if you get my drift. There’s a conversion therapy camp in western Hyperborea, in Tlapa, run by some dirty Christian fickers from your world trying to turn Tritania to Jesus. Or is it God? Fick me, I can’t keep up any longer. Anyways, the proselytizers got a conversion camp, and I’d like Spewy to go.”
“You’re serious?”
“Not really, I don’t give a fick if he likes starfish or female chalupas. I just want him out of Jatla because he’s annoying, does things like joins a knitting club, then his mother, Irene – my ex, long story – hits me up and asks me all sorts of questions, wants me to check on him, yada yada yada. Fick, Tammy,” Hiccup yawns, “any more questions?”
“So a retirement home and then your cousin. Busy day.”
“And then I taught this guy named Dougbug how to give a proper happy ending, and this ficker named Og how to make an omelet. Also, somehow, through my good fortune I was able to collect a telescoping wand, a tube of boner ointment, a bottle of Hot AzzBalls, and something called nightmare powder. What the fick else do you want from me, Tammy?”
A genuine grin spreads across the white warrior’s face. Hiccup is almost placated by the grin, almost.
“Well?” he finally asks.
“You are quite the character.”
“That I am, that I am. Now, keep quiet with all
your polishing. Fake news won’t fickin’ read itself.” Hiccup ruffles the Polynian Times as he opens to the personal ads.
Chapter 6: A Typical Jatla Parade
“Who the fick is it!?” Hiccup farts himself out of bed and is up on his feet in a matter of moments, his ax in his hand. He was having a dream about getting a very steamy massage from a trio of Tamanas until someone decided to wake him at the Hour of the Morning Pig.
Another loud knock and Hiccup is seething with anger.
“It’s me,” Spewy calls through the door. “Wake your ass up!”
“Fick me, Spewy, why the hell are you here so early?”
Hiccup opens the door and lets his younger cousin/secret son in.
“Take a seat wherever you’d like, just not the chaise. That’s my fickin’ seat.”
“Do you have any food?”
“Fick no, I don’t, Spewy,” Hiccup says as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “I thought you’d bring something.” He yawns. “Why are you here so early again?”
“The parade. We’re ready.”
“Shit, that’s right! Now that fickstain ink shadow just needs to show up.”
“You called?” Barry rises from the floor and both goblins scream like sissies. They leap into each other’s arms, hold tight, and then Hiccup pushes Spew Gorge away.
“Fick,” he says, his blood boiling now. “Barry, you could have fickin’ knocked! My fick, don’t ink shadows have any manners?”
“I did knock.”
“I thought that was Spewy!” Hiccup turns to his cousin.
“I thought it was a giant rat that lives under your guildhall.”
“If there was a giant rat living under my guildhall, we’d be eating breakfast, Spewy!”
The ink shadow laughs. “Two goblins, two penises of varying size.”
Spewy shrieks and just about jumps into Hiccup's arms.
“Easy, Spewy, I told you these fickers were bad news. And for the record, Barry, we all know my chalupa is the largest here, so let’s not embarrass Spewy.”
“Hey!”
The ink shadow laughs again. “If you are measuring size by girth, then yes, I agree.”
Jatla is not a Shithole Page 5