Elf Puncher

by Simon Archer

“Did you hear me?” the half-demon repeated as he leaned on the bar and into my line of sight. “I said, that seat’s taken.”

  “Yeah, by me,” I answered, not bothering to give the halve the time of day.

  “My friend was just there. He went to take a leak,” the half-orc explained, gentler than his companion. “He’ll be right back, and we were saving it for him.”

  “Well, he left, and this is my seat in the first place,” I argued. I squared my shoulders and shifted a bit to settle in for good measure.

  “Your seat?” the half-demon said incredulously. “As far as I know, this dump doesn’t take reservations.”

  “You should have some respect for this so-called dump,” I retorted, finally annoyed enough to look his way.

  “You should have some respect for us, wight,” the half-demon said, using the derogatory term for non-magical beings, a.k.a. humans.

  “Hey!” Herc called from down the bar. “Either shut up, or take that language outside.”

  “Sorry, sir,” the half-orc responded before his heated demon friend could get a word in. “We were trying to explain to him that our friend had this seat first, and he’s going to be right back.”

  “Rico,” Herc called, focusing more on the glass he was drying than me. “Get your ass out of that seat, or get your ass out of my bar.”

  “Herc!” I protested, holding my hands out like a scolded child. “What the hell?”

  “I mean it, Rico, you know I do,” the bartender threatened.

  The half-demon next to me sneered as I pushed myself up from the bar and kicked out the stool from behind me. It toppled over, but the half-orc caught it just before it clattered to the ground.

  I glared at Herc the whole time as I rounded the bar to the other side, away from the halves. Herc curled a finger in my direction, indicating that I should come closer. I obliged and gripped the edge of the wooden bar. It was slightly elevated, just enough for me to curl my fingers around, tight enough for them to turn white.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Herc asked in his gruff voice, always more of a loud whisper.

  “Look, I know I’m late,” I said as I leaned forward a little, “but that doesn’t mean you gotta go and give my seat away, Herc. You knew I was coming.”

  “It’s not your seat, Rico. You and I both know that,” the bartender said with a knowing gaze.

  “It might as well be,” I protested. “I’ve been coming here every night for years. What makes you think I would miss it now?”

  “I don’t know what you get up to, Rico,” Herc said as he tapped the wood with his knuckles. “Why were you late?”

  “One of the cows wasn’t feeling well, and I had to make sure she was alright before I left her,” I explained. “I think she might be pregnant, but I’m not quite sure. The bull hasn’t been feeling well either, and I didn’t think he was up to performing lately if you know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean, Rico, and I don’t need a detailed explanation of it,” Herc groaned with disgust coating his voice. “That shit’s gross.”

  “It’s natural, Herc,” I said with an eye roll.

  “Call it what you want, I don’t need those images in my head.” Herc threw the damp rag over his shoulder. “Well, whatever the problem on that farm of yours, it caused you to be late, and some halves grabbed your seat.”

  “I thought you said it wasn’t my seat,” I prompted with a slight jab with my elbow.

  Herc recoiled like I’d stabbed him with a knife. “Careful with those big bones of yours, boy. And no, it’s not your seat, but you seem to think it is. It’s not, though, so don’t go causing any trouble in my bar over it, you hear?”

  “Who’s causing trouble?” a cheery voice said from beside me.

  I turned, and for the second time that day, Deity surprised me with her presence. This time, her apron was strained with flour, sauces, and other messy substances I couldn’t identify. Her hair culminated on the top of her head and out of her face, which seemed to glow with excitement.

  “No one if I can help it,” Herc growled in irritation.

  “I can’t imagine Rico getting into any trouble,” Deity said as she slapped my shoulder lightly. “Right? You won’t be bothering anybody.”

  “No,” I said with a rapid shake of my head.

  “See, Herc?” Deity stuck her neck out to the bartender. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “You say that now, Deity, but I got a bad feeling about tonight,” Herc grumbled to the bar as he swirled the rag around a couple more times.

  “You and your bad feelings,” Deity said, demeaning Herc like he was being childish.

  “Hey!” Herc whipped the rag at her, and instead of retreating, Deity chuckled. “Remember I had a bad feeling about you and those pastries? Then look at what happened?”

  Deity’s face fell so rapidly, the shine draining from her eyes, it struck my heart like an arrow. My mouth opened before I knew what was happening.

  “What happened?”

  “It was nothing,” Deity tried to blow off the subject, but Herc, emboldened by my question, barrelled on.

  “Deity here is supposed to be our cook,” Herc started, his voice prepping me for a lengthy explanation. “Our cook. She’s supposed to cook things. Not bake.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” I asked. The minute I spoke the words, I saw Deity’s face reddened and narrow. I knew I said the wrong thing.

  “No, they are not the same thing,” Deity responded, clearly insulted.

  “Exactly!” Herc continued. We apparently poured gasoline on the flame of his argument because the man’s voice rose in volume as he spoke. “So, when I came in this morning, what do I find? Deity’s baking these peach pastries. I say she needs to stop and get to work on finalizing the lunch specials. She says to give it a couple more minutes.”

  “Then he yells at me to get to work, which I did,” Deity defended.

  “But, when she’s doing her real work,” Herc countered, “she forgets about the precious peach pastries and nearly burns the kitchen down!”

  “It was only a little fire,” Deity said nonchalantly. “Who knew peaches were so flammable?”

  “I can’t afford a new kitchen, but I can afford a new cook,” Herc threatened.

  “Not at what you pay, old man.” Deity threw the insult at him playfully.

  We all knew that Herc couldn’t fire Deity. She was the closest thing to a daughter he and Kelly ever had. The poor man cared about her well-being too much. Unfortunately, he was also very set on doing things his way.

  “Regardless of what I am paying you,” Herc argued, “I hired you to cook. Not bake. Do that on your own time.”

  “I don’t have the kind of kitchen you do,” Deity replied, her voice tilting into a bit of a whine. “Let alone the amount of space.”

  “I don’t care,” Herc said as he pointed his finger at the chef. “That kitchen is for cooking bar food only, items on the menu, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, Herc, I hear ya,” Deity said with a wave of her hand.

  “Can we get some refills down here?” the group of halves called down the bar.

  Herc threw the rag back over his shoulder with a huff and tramped over to the foursome which left Deity and me alone. Again. I couldn’t decide if this was a dream come true or an utter nightmare. As we stood in what was another lengthy and awkward silence, the whole situation was leaning steadily towards nightmare.

  “They were nectarines,” Deity said suddenly, her voice so low I almost didn’t hear her.

  “What was that?”

  “They were nectarines,” Deity repeated, “not peaches. But I don’t think Herc knows the difference.”

  “I like nectarines,” I said dumbly. “And peaches. I like peaches too. I’m sure whatever you were planning to make would have been scrumptious.”

  I mentally punched myself, unsure that anyone had used the word “scrumptious” within the last hundred y
ears unless they were a child or a nagging older female.

  “They were supposed to be really good,” Deity said, her joyousness growing with each word as she described them to me. “They are croissant-like in their base, but the nectarines would be melted into a syrup and spread over the top.”

  “Do they have a name?” I asked, proud of myself for keeping up with the conversation and not mentioning more fruits I enjoyed.

  “No,” Deity said as she looked away at me. Suddenly, she found her short fingernails scraping along the top of the bar more interesting than me. “I made them up.”

  “You were making them from scratch?” I wondered in awe. “Isn’t that really hard to do?”

  “I mean, yes,” Deity said with a shrug, “but I have these dreams about recipes, and it seems so easy like magic. Or what I think magic would be like if I had magic, do you know what I mean?”

  I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but I liked the sound of her voice and the fact that she was talking to me at all. So I nodded and kept my face neutral, hoping she would continue.

  However, just as Deity opened her mouth to speak again, a chorus of trumpets echoed throughout the bar. They pinged the air as sharply as the chimes on a clock. It was an alert, a wake-up call for anyone within earshot. The trumpets played a short diddy, something close to a musical slogan. It was something I had been hearing since I was a child, it and ignited the same excitement in me as it did then.

  Those notes strung together in that melody was the signal to the start of a fight. It was the notice telling everyone that the MFL Fight of the Night had begun.

  4

  The music ended, and two announcers, Harvey Ballbright and Tenjer Opulus, began their analysis of the fight. Their images flickered through the air, tinted with a sea-green color, though neither elf looked like that in real life. Or at least they didn’t look like that in their own trading cards.

  Harvey had a mohawk of blonde hair that seemed to grow with each match. He liked to mix up his style, and it was the talk of many what his locks would resemble for the upcoming season. He was the wild and comedic one of the duo.

  His partner, Tenjer, was rather beefy for an elf who, as a race, were more typically on the slight side. He had a prominent nose that Harvey teased about breaking on a regular basis, much to his chagrin. Everyone knew that elves didn’t fight. They ran the entire MFL but never laid a foot in the ring themselves.

  “Welcome to The Fight of the Night!” Harvey’s loud voice projected throughout the bar.

  A cheer emanated from the projection of the crowd on-site, mirroring the one that erupted in the Blue Water Inn. I was among the loudest there, throwing my fist up in solidarity.

  Deity coughed next to me, and I turned back to her, remembering that we were still in conversation.

  “Oh, sorry, Deity,” I said, my shoulders curling inward in embarrassment. “You were talking about dreams?”

  “It’s okay,” Deity said as she patted my arm. “I know how important the fight is to you.”

  “You do?” I asked, surprised she knew anything about me at all.

  “Sure,” Deity said as she pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re here nearly every night, aren’t you? And I don’t suppose it’s for my brilliant cooking.”

  “Your cooking is really good, though,” I said, trying to make sure I didn’t insult her in any way. “I especially enjoy the curly fries.”

  “Well, thank you,” Deity said with a slight bow of her head. “But you should go watch. We can talk about my pastries later.”

  My eyes inadvertently slipped down to her chest, knowing that those were not the pastries she was talking about, but my mind went there, anyway. I quickly snapped them back up to Deity, whose eyes were even more nerve-wracking to look at. So I shifted my vision to the fight.

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest, determined to stand at this point. Deity turned and adjusted her body language to match mine. She even narrowed her eyes like mine, more dramatically, though.

  “Does this help you watch it better?” she asked as she pushed her neck out farther.

  “No,” I said. I blinked several times and tried to open my eyes wider. Now, I looked like I had no eyelids. I relaxed my face again. “I was just thinking about the match.”

  “Who is playing tonight?” Deity wondered.

  I glanced down at her, my eyes naturally widening this time with surprise. “You follow the MFL?”

  “No,” Deity admitted, dragging out the word, “but I like learning about new things.”

  “Uh, well,” I cleared my throat, “there are usually two fights a night. The lightweights, which are gnomes, dwarves, halflings and goblins, and then the heavyweights. Those are the demons, giants, orcs, and reptilians.”

  Deity’s eyes shifted upward like she was picturing the list floating in the air above her as I ticked off each of the races. “Okay, yeah, I follow. So we’ve got a lightweight match and a heavyweight match.”

  “Yes. The heavyweights are first: Warpin the Relentless verses Cranston the Driver. Then later, it’s the big MFL South Lightweight title match, which is a big deal this season.”

  “Big MFL title match?” Deity repeated my words carefully.

  “So there are four big titles for each weight class,” I explained. I held up my fingers as I listed off each one. “North, South, East, and West.”

  “Easy enough,” Deity said, nodding at me to continue.

  “So tonight, we get to watch Warpin be awesome and a title match,” I smirked and sighed. “It’s a good night for fighting.”

  “So who’s competing in the MFL South Lightweight title match?” Deity asked, saying the words slowly like she was trying out a new language.

  “Jorine the Dragon verses Silp the Slick.”

  “Ah,” Deity said as if she was all-knowing and wise. “I don’t know who any of those creatures are.”

  “It’s okay,” I said with a shrug. “Jorine is a goblin with a wicked tail that is basically an extra limb. Silp has this final move that changes the terrain of the ring, making it extra slick. When she’s beaten her opponents into submission, she’ll use her special move to make it near impossible for them to get up.”

  “Hence the name,” Deity reasoned.

  “Hence the name,” I confirmed.

  “Do a lot of fighters get their names from their special moves?” Deity asked.

  “Most do,” I said, and I had to think about it for a second. My catalog of fighters flipped through my inner eye as I calculated their names and the origins of them. “Others make it based on their family or who they aspire to be as a fighter.”

  “Do they ever change their names?” Deity continued.

  I enjoyed her questions. She asked them with a sincerity I wasn’t used to. Whenever I talked about the MFL with other creatures, they either knew everything about it, like me, and we could debate for hours, or they didn’t know anything. If that were the case, they usually placated me, their disinterest written all over their faces. A rare few were flat out honest and said they didn’t care for the fights. Then the conversation usually turned awkward or silent and promptly ended.

  So, I accepted Deity’s kindness and interest eagerly. I wasn’t good at talking at anything other than the MFL. I might be able to get through a conversation about farming, but even that was unlikely. My farm was something I worked on, more second nature than a topic of conversation for me.

  Needless to say, I met her questions with growing enthusiasm as I shared the history of the MFL.

  “They hardly ever change their names,” I answered. “It becomes your brand, for better or for worse. You have to pick it as a part of your first fight, and you can’t copy the title of anyone else.”

  “How many fighters are there?” Deity wondered with a curious tone.

  “Currently or including retired and dead?” I checked so I could report the right number.

  “Currently.”

  �
��One hundred twenty-four.”

  “What?” Deity said, her jaw hanging open. “I had no idea it was so popular. I mean, I obviously knew it was popular, just look at this place.” She gestured out a hand to the bar which had filled up since the first fight started.

  “That’s because Warpin’s fighting,” I clarified with my own gesture out to the crowd.

  “Warpin the Restless?” she asked, trying to remember the title.

  “The Relentless,” I corrected, “but close.”

  “He’s a big deal?” Deity shifted her hands from crossed in front of her to her hips. “Why?”

  “Because he made history by being the first half to fight in any MFL match,” I said with a sense of pride like one a father would have for a son. “And better still, he won.”

  Deity frowned and rocked her head back and forth in a slight bob. “Impressive.”

  “Right?” I turned to face her now and held out my hands, unable to talk about Warpin without flopping them about. “He’s incredible and just seems to be getting better. It’s like magic, but not because you can’t use magic in a fight. Only for your special move. There’s this art to the way he moves… Man, you’ve just gotta see him fight if you can get out of the kitchen for his match.”

  “I will do my best,” Deity agreed. “If he’s as good as you say he is, he might be worth the ass-kicking Herc will give me for skimping out on my duties. Speaking of which…”

  Deity pointed conspiratorially over to the bar where Herc was glaring our way. He looked ready to shoot lasers out of his eyes. I thanked Walden that he didn’t have that ability or any magic for that matter.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, hanging my head. “I distracted you. You should get back.”

  “I should,” Deity agreed, but then she side-stepped so that she stood closer to me and in my line of sight, even though I was still staring at the floor.

  She was smaller than me… but in all honesty, who wasn’t?... though Deity held her own. I realized, then, that she would fit nicely in my arms if I were to reach out now and wrap her in them. I resisted the urge to do anything, and in direct opposition to those feelings, I lifted my head and took a step back from her.