They’re talking in baby talk
[ID: Taako and Lup as infants. Both are tan skinned elves with curly blonde hair. one twin wears a teal colored onesie while the other wears an olive onesie. one of them holds a large shiny red gem, while they both look on with rapt interest. End]
Magnus was old enough to go out on his own, having absorbed the road rules and following them implicitly, all the way to his destination. Usually, his dads let him go to the Bodega, or to the school, but this was a special occasion.
He was walking two blocks to where Mr Mukaara lived. The whole mess with processed sugar in mind, Magnus had come up with a plan. He’d written it down and everything.
He found the apartment block, and found the buzzer to ring. Then it was a wait on tenterhooks to see if Mr Mukaara was going to let him in. The front door unlocked, and Magnus zoomed up the stairs to Mr Mukaara’s flat.
The Dark Elf greeted him with, “Hey, squirt. You all good?”
“My dads said I don’t haveta keep apologising for the thing, but I am sorry and I thought of a way to fix it.” He waved the notebook. “We make the secret society.”
“Okay, what’s so cool about a secret society?”
“Not a secret society, the secret society. We share all the secrets so nobody makes any mistakes ever again.” Magnus flipped some pages, proudly displaying a reasonable copy of the ‘no young Elves’ warning label and Magnus’ writing nearby, Shuger makes Elf branes go funy.
“And I help with the spelling?” Mukaara suggested.
“You help with the secrets,” Magnus insisted. “Like… everyone says that young Elves shouldn’t have sugar, but they never say why. That’s how mistakes happen.”
“Oh. So it’s things everyone knows but nobody talks about,” Mukaara was getting it. He gestured the boy in. “Or things everyone thinks everyone knows, but mistakes happen because they don’t know.”
“Exactly,” Magnus made himself comfortable at Mukaara’s table, and showed another page. This one had a drawing of a burger with yellow dots and a picture of Mr Angus McDonald throwing up. The writing said, The McDonald famly is alerjick to sesame str seeds. “I don’t want any mistakes hurting anyone ever again, so I figured, we get the secrets and make sure everyone knows about them.”
“Everyone important,” said Mukaara. “We probably shouldn’t tell the whole world? The McDonalds do some work that makes them enemies. We don’t want enemies knowing this stuff.”
“That’s an important secret,” said Magnus. “It’s gotta go in the book.”
Mukara found a blank page. “You draw, I’ll write.”
“Deal.”
There’s more than one way to protect the people you love. Making certain they’re all safe has many, many facets.
[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 0]
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]
Tumbl'd 3: Forever TAZ - Chapter 39 - InterNutter - The Adventure Zone (Podcast) [Archive of Our Own]
In this chapter: Unknown forces have set La’ming Ton and Merle Highchurch up on a date. Merle helps La’ming realise her true love.
[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 1]
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]
Taako had what one might call a happy ending. He had a home, he had a husband who could make him blush on the regular. He had an apprentice. He had his sister back, which was one hundred percent bonus… He had a school, he had fame, he had it all.
Unfortunately, he also had Susan, busybody neighbour and president of the local homeowner’s association. She was on him about everything. Not forming an Elven gang, conforming to gender norms, not dressing like that, perfectly legal additions to his home, the cats, the boy, the friends, the family…
The last straw was the plants.
“This is a gated community,” said Susan. “We have standards we like to maintain, and one of those standards is a perfect lawn.”
“That’s why I’m converting it all to garden beds,” said Taako. “Lawns are wasteful, and garden beds are perfectly allowable according to the terms of accomodation.” He, too, had absorbed chapter and verse. One had to be a pedantic little rules lawyer to get anything approved by the homeowner’s association. Susan was always the outstanding ‘nay’.
Susan didn’t like many things, but she hated weeds more than anything else. Even beyond Ango stimming from time to time. She was still salty about the hundreds of rows of raised gardens that Taako was creating, and especially the strimmer usage on the dot of eight in the morning. Which always seemed to happen after Susan had had a wine and cake night with her cohort of anti-vax soccer moms.
“Yes. Well. I have noticed a few little invaders in your garden. You are aware, aren’t you, that dandelions are an unsightly weed?”
“I’m growing them on purpose, sweetie. They’re for my anxiety.”
Susan sneered and pursed her lips so hard that her face resembles a pickled cat’s ass. “It is not an approved plant,” she insisted.
“Medicinal herbs may be grown, so long as they’re grown in elevated garden beds,” quoted Taako. “I planted them in rows as prescribed, and I think they’re coming along nicely.” He pointed off towards a particular garden bed where happy little dandelions were growing in neat little rows. “Do you want to see my hemp crops? They’re the most luxurious plants in the county, I’m told. Must be all the horseshit I’m getting out of your mouth.”
Susan did her Offended Gasp. “How dare you! I’m the president of the Homeowner’s Association! I can have you evicted!”
Taako’s smile grew wider. “Not during an election year.” He waved his wand and the garage opened up to reveal Angus McDonald and half the neighbourhood kids running the Taako For Homeowner Association President office. The slogan was, “A kinder, friendlier neighbourhood.”
“Haven’t been campaigning much, this year,” said Taako. “Too busy regulating lawn depths to make sure folk’ll vote for you. You’re gonna have to hustle if you want to beat the influence of my Diet Buster Brownies that I offered to everyone in the community, last week.” He conjured one on a little paper doily for her. “Want to try one?”
“Those,” she said, “are loaded with gluten.”
“You and I both know none of your family have celiacs, you’re just avoiding gluten ‘cause it’s trendy. Meanwhile, you little homeopathic cake shop down the road couldn’t get an order right if it would save their souls. You nearly poisoned my boy and I five times. We had to learn Purify Food and Drink, over here.”
Susan was reduced to sputtering incoherence.
“Also, if you don’t like a lawn full of fairy pom-poms, then fuck you.”
Taako cut her dead and got back to the garage, where he was manufacturing T-shirts for his campaign.
[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 1]
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]
The thing about being a Dwarf with 1999 party points is that one quickly becomes The Guy for party consultations. However, if invited himself, the party quickly goes to Off The Hook without warning. For everyone’s safety, it was better that he helped plan the parties, or procure the party supplies, but never actually attend a party.
The Neverwinter PD let him hold an epic rager every New Years’, SWAT on hand to hose everyone down if things got too heavy, but even that could begin to pall after a while. Every now and again, Merle wanted to be in the party, not just helping to create it.
Which was why he was glad he knew La’ming Ton. As The Guy for party shit, he knew where to get hold of a giant fake cake and a lady willing to jump out of it at the drop of a hat. If it wasn’t La’ming, it was one of her coworkers in the Neverwinter Blue Movie scene. Those kids knew how to party. But it wasn’t just that that warmed his cold and shrivelled heart.
It was the fact that Ransei Somner, one of the aforementioned coworkers, was reaching a milestone and wanted a party. She and La’ming wanted Merle at the party.
“The whole studio’s going to be there,” said Ransei. “So we want something a little bit over the top.”
“You want me to jump out of a cake?” Merle joked. “You gotta admit, it has novelty value, there.”
The girls laughed. “Yeah, nah. Nobody jumping out of a cake. We’d rather eat one, y’know.”
“None of the hard drugs,” said La’ming. “I have a P&T the next evening.”
“Oof. Okay. Shit that’ll have you back to normal by noon at the latest. No lingering tells by three PM? Yeah, I know some stuff. Help us all get the party on without being too down the next day.”
“Of course it wouldn’t be a party without you there, Merle,” said Ransei. “You’re practically one of the family.”
“You got all the permits lined up?”
“Fire brigade, ambulance, riot control, and police,” said La’ming. “Of course I told my daughter you were bummed out and she helped with all the red tape. And I mean all the red tape.”
“You’re like a class five hazard or something, dude.”
“Eh, it’s a curse.” Merle shrugged. “You’re really doing this? For me?”
“Of course. We love you.”
*
It made the news, of course it did. News like a porn star rager, held in a building slated for demolition, and having that Merle Highchurch as a guest, gets around. There were definitely a few people there who came just to say they had been there, that they were in the room where it happened.
Things went off the hook when some asshole put on Cuban Pete and Merle lost all of his sense of restrained. The party, he always insisted, had to come out somewhere. This… just accelerated the process.
A hundred partiers were swept up in his aura. A hundred more caught it like a virus. After that, things were a little blurry and someone woke up naked in the park with a duck in one arm and a traffic cone in the other.
All things considered, they were lucky to get out of it with no property damage.
La’ming Ton only regretted the killer headache the next day, and the fact that she had to turn up to the P&T with a giant ice pack on hand.
If there was one bright point to the day after the night before, it was that Lulu and Koko’s teachers also had comically large ice packs on hand and a wary way of watching her and wondering if she knew what they did last night.
[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 1]
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]
Lucretia Clark wouldn’t talk. Sno could understand why. She had spent so long avoiding questions by being silent that it became her way of being. The problem was, she was age three, going on four, and language skills were a concern. In brief, it was get her to talk, or have Child Services make her talk.
That was not a thing she wanted happening to a small and already traumatised child. Therefore, she was using everything she could find to try and help Lucretia talk.
This was one such desperate measure. Lucretia liked watching Fascinating Planet and the host of the show was exhibiting some of the more socialised exotic animals to adults and kids for an entrance fee. Every child would be allowed to touch and handle these animals, and the host would talk. It was an intense experience.
Lucretia recognised the host in an instant and pointed. “Davenport,” she said.
It was the most syllables she’d said at one time. “Yes,” said Sno. “That’s Mr Dru Davenport. He hosts Fascinating Planet. We watch him every other Saturn-day.”
Lucretia, amazingly, started humming the theme tune. She was coming out of her shell already. It was a treat to see her happy.
The worrying part was that all the other kids coming to this thing were twelve and up. Some were almost adults. Lucretia noticed too, and clung tighter to Sno’s hand.
“You want an up-hug?” Sno offered.
Nod. Lucretia had gone quiet again.
Sno lifted her up and wrapped her in her arms, purring softly and soothingly. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “I arranged things with the organisers. They know about us. They know about you. There’s no need to worry… You’ll see.”
Lucretia had her communications cards, and found the one that said, Rejection.
“They won’t throw us out. You’ll see.”
The queue let them shuffle forward and there, standing on the ticket desk, was the man himself.
“Davenport,” Lucretia whispered.
The world-famous Gnome had a rainbow parrot on a leash, which seemed interested in either climbing on top of Davenport’s head, or sidling along an arm. The bird had apparently learned a few choice phrases, one of which was, “Potty poo!” That one amused all the kids. Even Lucretia had a smile.
Davenport noticed them, and gestured to some of the staff. There was a Tiefling who gave them VIP lanyards and instructions to wait after the show. This was news to Sno.
“Pretty bird,” said Lucretia.
Davenport introduced the bird as Vina, and told all about how she was bred in captivity to help save her entire species. As well as, “Potty poo!” Vina could say, “Awesome,” and, “Wanna seed.” She was still a baby. Others of her kind could carry on prompted conversations.
Vina’s best trick was staying still and letting so many kids - including Lucretia - touch her vibrant feathers.
The show itself was amazing. Groups of twenty learned about animals they hadn’t known existed before, either from Davenport or some of the creatures’ handlers. They even had a swamp dragon named Errol who could follow a few commands for a nugget of sulphur.
Lucretia did not want to touch the little python, no matter how safe everyone said it was. She shrank away from it when Sno had it in her hands, so she handed it back and let the other kids have a go. The followup, including more hugs and purring, was a small monkey in a diaper who liked to braid long hair.
That one was a crowd favourite, and Davenport continued his lecture with a monkey giving him a plait.
It seemed like mere minutes, but the show was over and Sno waited with Lucretia for the others to file out.
Davenport was left alone with them. No animals to talk about. No rehearsed tricks to prompt. He sat where Lucretia could see him and said, “Hi, Lu-lu-lucretia. I know it’s a li-little strange to to to to hear me talk like this but… well… I used to ha-have trouble ta-talking too, I still do, some-sometimes.”
Lucretia voluntarily left Sno’s arms, and put her hand in Davenport’s outstretched one. “I don’t like to talk,” she said, barely above a whisper. “People wanna know everything. When I don’t talk, they stop asking.”
Sno knew better than to jump around cheering, despite the breakthrough moment. This was absolute proof that Lucretia’s language centers were just fine, thank you. As it was, she held as still as a stone and barely breathed.
“When I g-got your letter, I did some homework,” said Davenport. “It was-wasn’t ni-ni-nice, what happened. I can un-understand why you were sca-sca-scared of- of- of answering questions. You- you- you know the- the dangerous part is over, bu-but you just can’t… you can’t let g-go of the ha-ha-habit.”
She nodded.
“I have a sta-stammer. It kept me quiet for- for a long time,” he breathed a laugh. “They-they-they used to call me the-the Wordless One in school. And one day… Some-something incredible ha-happened.”
Lucretia was entranced. “What happened?”
“A re-representative from- from the local zoo came by with a- with a Pangolin. They- they were there to- to- to teach the kids about pres-preservation efforts and why zoos were- were important. They didn’t get to- to talk that day. They just asked one- one question. ‘Does anyone know what this is’.“
“You knew,” said Lucretia, eyes twinkling.
“I infodumped. The-the amazing thing? When I’m ta-talking about animals, I don’t- I don’t stammer. It’s like… I’m home. Safer than home. When I- when I have an animal nearby I– It’s like someone hit a swi-switch.”
Lucretia nodded. She could see the difference in Davenport with animals and Davenport without. “I don’t have a switch.”
“Lots of people do-don’t,” he agreed. “Lots of people ha-have to- have to find the-their own way. There- there’s no map, there’s no guy-guide, no- no- no compass. You, Mi-miss Lucretia… are your- your- your own trailblazer. I be- believe you can find a way out of- out of your habit.”
Lucretia said, “I’ll try,” and, “Thank you, sir.”
Two weeks later, and her school was complaining that she wouldn’t stop talking.
[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 1]
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]
The greatest news of Lucas’ life was that they were making a movie based on Fires in Elfington. The worst news, when it arrived three months later, was that they were making it all live action.
There were several reasons not to do things like that. For a start, the casting was generally off from the animated originals, in more than merely possessing internal organs and working musculature. In this case, the producers chose an actress to play Syn’amon who was… decidedly more curvaceous than the ectomorphic animated model and her real-life counterpart - Officer Snocoun Ton of the Neverwinter Police Department.
Worse - they whitewashed as much as they could about literally everyone in the entire cast. Everyone was, where possible, as pale as possible. They cast a pale green, buxom Sea Elf as Syn’amon instead of getting a Beach Elf, and there were people who could tell the difference. They lightened up the Mischief Twins’ skin tones to paper-bag brown, and generally miscast the entire thing.
Lucas was in a foul mood by the time he got to the premier. Therefore, seeing a buxom Sea Elf parading around in a sexier version of Syn’amon’s default outfit was like a red flag to a bull. He was an important person in the STEM fields, damnit. He came here as a representative of the Fires fandom. He shouldn’t have to put up with this kind of misrepresentation.
“Hey, do you know who wrote the original episodes of Fires in Elfington, and what inspired them to do it?” he said.
The Sea Elf in costume was busy doing T&A poses for the flickering cameras.
“Do you know how many episodes that outfit featured in and why they were worn?” he demanded.
Still not a thing. The woman wrapped her arm around him and feigned a swoon.
“How about how many episodes were commissioned for the third extended season?” he snapped. “Do you know anything about Fires in Elfington like at all?”
Someone in Mue Sakka costume came out of the crowd. It was scary accurate and faithful to the anime. “Shiringami Tatonaka, a news story about Officer Snocoun Ton rescuing the young lady who’s now her daughter; thirty-seven in the original run and two hundred in the extended series; and twenty-five. Are you done geek checking my spouse now?”
The woman in costume said, “Dude, this is just my day job, okay? I didn’t need to pass a test to wear an outfit. Gods…” she let him go and posed with her wife. She shouted so the crowd could hear her. “This lovely woman made my outfit from scratch, using the fifty seconds of clear footage available in the first teaser. Isn’t she amazing? Take a bow, babe.”
Lucas raged. “That outfit isn’t at all true to the original anime! It’s an affront to the fandom! Productions like that and outfits like this should be banned from all gatherings! It isn’t fair to Tatonaka-san!”
The wife, a mousy brunette, wheeled on him. “It’s people like you who are an affront to fandom! Do you know how long it takes to draft a pattern from fifty seconds of footage? The number of times I had to go back and forth on the freeze-frames to take detailed notes? The best guesses I had to take? How about how long it takes to source material that looks and acts like the finished costume, before it’s sewn? How about how many stitches does it take to fake the veins and structure inside a skeleton leaf? Do you know what kind of wadding gives the right flexibility and resilience whilst also not developing a wrinkle memory? Do you know any of that, mister smarty-pants?”
A couple done up as the Mischief Twins were capering about in the background, barely visible in his peripheral vision. He didn’t care about them. He cared about his rights as the keeper of trivia. “I bet you don’t even know how many frames were involved in the famous science scene.”
“Foreground, background, or by plane?” challenged the wife. “Even if I told you, you’d claim I memorised it to impress you. News flash, assmunch, I’m actually KnowHaver98 on your precious forum. I curate your precious trivia archives. And finally, nobody actually wants your attention, you greasy unwashed nerd.”
The woman playing Syn’amon pointed up, showing him that the Mischief Twins had created a gigantic, illusory sign above his head. It said, World’s Most Obnoxious Jackass, in bright, pink letters.
Lucas stormed away from that scene, retreating to the relative safety of the local Whinging Fanboy Corner, where a pocket echo chamber soothed his frazzled ego.
“Who does she think she is, parading around in that thing like a slut,” he grumbled.
“Uh. Sno’s mom?” said one of the crew.
Wait. What?
“You didn’t know that?” said a lieutenant. “You didn’t know that?”
“Man. I thought you knew everything about Fires in Elfington…”
“What a traitor.”
Wow. That had to be rock bottom. Kicked out of his own group of loyal detail addicts. He staggered away from that scene, ordered a stiff drink, and took solace in the numbing effects of alcohol.
The glowing sign dissolved, eventually, and Lucas slunk into his appointed seat, prepared for the worst.
He got… something remarkably good. All the nasty rumours about the movie were just that. Big ol’ sacks of foul-smelling air. He found himself actually enjoying it, since the studio really did hire the best actors for the roles.
*
The fans still on his side by the time his take-down finished going viral were actually impressed with his rationality in his critique. There were less of them by the time he posted an introspective blog entry entitled, Are there any true fans? His answer was a lengthy diatribe on how it depended on how you counted it.
Lucas stayed very quiet in the fandom. He’d been deposed by the echo chamber crew, and watched with distant eyes as that particular aspect of the fandom imploded from its own toxicity. Meanwhile, people were loving the movies, live action regardless. They were finding out all the cool things that roped him into the fandom and -he had to admit- several hundred Syn’amon/Original Male Character fanfics.
When he came crawling back to Firefaire, he did so in a staid ancient Humanman outfit he’d made himself. From scratch. He’d taught himself after he realised that Makarune Ton was a very impressive seamstress. Her tutorials were right on the button, too.
That was where he met… her.
She was more or less an average nerd. Pasty, slightly doughy, and seeming unfit. She did, however, have a pretty darn accurate costume for Peppakorn, a background Elf who maybe had three total minutes of screen time in any version of Fires in Elfington. He politely asked for a photo and she surprised the pants off him by popping an accurate -and uncomfortable- pose.
They talked shop about costume creation and fanfic for seeming hours. Losing track of time, space, and any other relative dimensions. For the first time in his life, he made a friend of the female persuasion.
Her name was Aurie Kenisson, and she taught yoga for a living. She’d loved the show from the instant Tatonaka-san had blogged about the possibility and she had dived straight into Elven history to find out if it was plausible.
There were a few historical figures who could have been the real-life Syn’amon, but it was more likely that this was a result of synchronicity than any actual research. Many of the records were indistinct about who did what where and when. It was Elven. All descriptors were verbs, so it was hard to translate into Common.
Lucas was impressed as hell that she’d learned Elven just to verify her research. She was dedicated. He had to admire that.
It took him quite a while to realise he had fallen in love. Ten, twenty years ago? He’d have dismissed her, ignored her, and gone drooling over a body pillow artwork with impossible anatomy.
Things change. People change.
Lucas was glad that he was changing, too.
[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 0]
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]
There are many names for it. The paddy wagon, the come-along cart, the chunderbox… Whatever it’s named, it’s usually used to haul masses prisoners to incarceration, and its use is mandatory in City Watch pre-nuptual parties. Stag night, hen night, bachelor parties, spinster parties… they have many names too.
Sno expected the SWAT gear, and the wagon, and the blindfold. She did not expect to emerge in a sort of picnic area and what looked like giant, colourful blocks. They suited her up in some armour and safety goggles. Half the precinct’s officers were wearing blue armbands. The other half were wearing red. She had a red armband.
Avi had a red one, too. It was the lower ranks against the higher brass. Including their captain.
Then he handed her a paintball gun and they all filed onto the range with the colourful blocks.
“You’re telling me that we’re to shoot at our commanding officer?” she said, seemingly appalled. “Avi, I couldn’t possibly - SNEAK ATTACK!” Pow, pow pow!
The games were on. They were really more fun than they should have been.
The only worrying part was the gigantic cake lurking incongruously near the range. In plain view like the Eiffel Tower was in plain view in Paris. Avi had to have something planned, but she knew it wouldn’t happen until they had all finished shelling the living piss out of the senior brass.
It was more fun than should have been legal, and the Chief was all colours of the rainbow when they all staggered off the range to crack some cold ones.
Sno wasn’t far behind the rainbow parade, having got as good as she gave, but now that the safety goggles were off, her eyes kept drifting back towards the gigantic, fake cake.
Following that, and a wash and a change of clothes, it was back in the wagon for another blindfolded trip to somewhere far more intimate, with friends and family. Or so Avi said.
“I know you have something planned with that cake, Burnsides,” she managed, losing track of the turns they took. “It didn’t pop off at the range… what’s going on?”
Avi, annoyingly, said, “Spoilers.”
Sno stewed on that for all of five minutes before she said, “This is about the stunt I pulled for yours, isn’t it?”
“Spoilers…” This time, there was a breathy giggle underneath the noise of the engines.
The door opened to Koko in white tie and tails, “M’lady, this way to the extravaganza…” He offered his elbow and handed her down out of the wagon as if he were handing royalty out of their armoured car. He was the very image of picture perfect grace and style.
The facade of the place he was leading her into had a palatial feel, and there were other friends and family playing the roles of entourage for this part of her journey. Lulu became her personal assistant, and Sno was sure she spotted her Mom as one of the makeover assistants, but it was hard to tell because they kept blinding her with cucumber slices.
On one hand, the spa and makeover sesh was exactly what she needed to unwind after the looming cake on the range. On the other hand, she still had no idea what the hell Burnsides was up to.
They dressed her up in the frilliest, fanciest, faberge meringue of a Princess Dress, replete with enough bling to sink a barge. Gave her a few lessons on how to behave like a Princess, including how to walk in unfamiliar heels. Then they turned her into the Grand Banquet Hall for the “Suitor’s Ball.”
There were definitely a few Fantasy Chippendales in the mix. Orc, Dragonborn, Humanman, Elf, Tiefling… even an Aarakocra. All civil as hell when she danced to the orchestra’s tune. Yet, lurking in a corner off to the side of the buffet… there was that damned fake cake again. Sticking out like a baboon’s buttocks. Taunting her.
She almost didn’t notice Mukaara taking her hand.
“It’s not a proper Princess Experience without your Prince, right?” he said.
Well. At least he was going to share in the mortification when the inevitable happened. “You are my best nerd,” she whispered. “Where’s Mom and her -uh- ‘work friends’?”
“Being paparazzi?”
Utter confusion. “What? All of them?”
“Yahuh.”
Suspicion. “Where’s Burnsides?”
“Dancing with his grandkid on his feet. Why?”
“See the cake on your ten?”
Mukaara looked. “Oh shit. This is about the thing with the nuns, right?”
“Yeah. I thought he’d forgiven me, but… yeah.”
It was a mostly enjoyable night, if it wasn’t for that fucking cake, it would have been perfect. The glitter, the glamour, the chance to be as girly as she liked without judgement… Sno loved it.
She just couldn’t forget about the cake, though.
Burnsides, when she could catch a glance at him - or a murder glare at him - was loving every inch of the evening.
All good things still came to an end, with Magnus dragging Mukaara off for an overdue bucks’ night, and Sno catching a pumpkin-shaped carriage all the way back to her flat with an evilly-smirking partner in the other seat.
“Okay, Burnsides. What the fuck?”
“Revenge,” he said. “I had you dreading that cake all night, didn’t I?”
“Who was in there?”
“Nobody. It’s empty. A dummy. A blank.”
“YOU GOT ME ANXIOUS OVER A FUCKING BLANK CAKE?”
He laughed. “Revenge served cold, Nono-dear.”
“You know I’m gonna owe you big time for that.”
“True, but you can’t fault the artistry of it.”
She had to admit. He had her on that one. “This wedding better go off without a snag. And without a certain cake.”
“Aw, but Barry was gonna jump out of it for the Reception…”
[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 1]
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]