Author Topic: Wolfman Bob  (Read 2314 times)

Offline Kirwond

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Wolfman Bob
« on: April 07, 2004, 10:45:13 AM »
Note: Inspired by Quiz 107 on The Attic. And, yes, I'm silly.

Bernard mopped the counter, even though it didn’t really need it. It was just something to do, and in the Copper Coronet, it was good to have something to do that said “I’m the bartender, scum. Don’t point that sword at me, or you won’t be gettin’ no drinks.” He wiped the dingy wood again. Yeah, that sounded tough. Though he didn’t know if he would say “scum.” It seemed more like something Lehtinan would say. Speaking of Lehtinan…

He looked over towards the stairs. Yeah, there was the boss. Bernard spat reflexively. If scum was defined in one of those wizard books, with all the big words and stuff, Lehtinan’s picture would be next to it. The boss was talking with one of the patrons, a tall customer with long silver hair. The man had a gittern slung over one shoulder.

A customer grabbed for Bernard's sleeve. “Hey, Bartender…”

“SHADDAP!" Bernard said, smacking the man's hand away. “I’m THINKIN’!”

Bernard continued polishing, watching the silver-haired man set up on the little stage. For some reason, the Coronet hadn’t been raking in the gold like it used to. Lehtinan couldn’t understand it, and really, neither could he. The pit fights were still bloody, the beer was still cold, and the girls were still saucy. What more did a slum dive need? Bards, Lehtinan had decided, and sent out an open call. This poncy git must be the latest minstrel to try for the spot. Hopefully he wouldn’t recite Thayvian poetry like the last one. Which reminded him, he needed to send some flowers to the funeral.

“Hello, everyone!”

The crowd sat up attentively. Since most of them were quite drunk, the net effect was negligible.

“I’m…uh…Wolfman Bob! And I’m going to play a little song about the forest!”

“You don’t look like a wolf, man!” one of the patrons cried.

“You’re right, I don’t. Let me fix that.” The man erupted upwards into a seven-foot mass of hair and teeth. “Is that better?” he asked in a gruff but still recognizable voice.

Bernard looked uneasily at the crowd. The barmaids had threatened to quit after the last major brawl. Apparently they weren’t paid well enough to scrape entrails off the floor. But the crowd seemed fine with the sudden appearance of a werewolf on the stage. In fact, some of them were cheering.

Lehtinan slunk up to the bar and Bernard slid him a glass of Berduskan Dark. “Think the…hrrrmmm…the new boy will be okay, Bernard?”

“S’long as he doesn’t sing about flowers and unicorns, like that gimpy little tiefling. Maybe he’ll do a song on blood and ripping open rabbits and stuff.”

Before Lehtinan could answer, the Wolfman began to play. It started out just as he had feared, a lighthearted song about bunnies and daisies and how cool the forest was. Then the gittern took over and the music exploded into his brain. It was like fire, like sex, like licks of lightning playing an arpeggio on his mind. For a few minutes he soared high above the seamy streets of Athkatla, free of cares and worries and annoying people who wanted drinks. And then the music ended.

He came back to earth, stunned and reeling. Around him the crowd was whistling and stomping their feet. The Wolfman howled, and the cheering grew louder. Bernard hoped he would play another song, and it could even be about unicorns and stuff this time. Whatever the Wolfman wanted.

Instead, the Wolfman shrank back into himself. The silver-haired man smiled and took a bow. “Thank you! Good night!” He climbed off the stage and came over to them. “Thanks for letting me try this. It was fun! But as the swallows fly north in the springtime, so too must I return to my home. Before the wife starts to scream.”

“You mean you…hrrmmm…don’t want the job?”

“Oh, no. I already have one. But perhaps I can do this again someday, if Nature wills.” With a cheery wave, the man left.

“Where’d he keep his clothes when he turned into that wolf-thing?” Bernard mused. “They ain’t ripped or nothing.”

“Hrrrrrmmm.”

“You could just say you don’t know.”

“Hrrrrrmmm.”
***
The door eased open, and a man stepped inside the darkened room. He closed the door behind him, wincing as the hinge squeaked.

“CERND! Where have you BEEN?”

He whirled and forced a slight smile. “Uh, hello, Galia…”

“Don’t you ‘hello Galia’ ME!” She charged forward, her pretty little face absolutely livid.

“Now, Galia, love, I’ve just been out…uh…communing with nature.”

“Communing with nature, my sweet Aunt Fanny! My mother warned me about things like…EEEEEEKKKK! You smell like a brewery!!! And what were you doing with my grandfather’s gittern?”

“Nothing, dear.”

“A likely story! You know, some husbands don’t laze about in the fields all day and then sneak out to the bars at night! Now Igarol, he never…”

Cernd let the noise wash over him, heading upstairs with his best impassive face on. Someday he’d get back to the forest, where it was nice and quiet. Just him and his sweet gittern.
"Yes, I remember Avalon," he said, "a place of silver and shade and cool waters, where the stars shone like bonfires at night and the green of day was always the green of spring. Youth, love, beauty--I knew them in Avalon. Proud steeds, bright metal, soft lips, dark ale."
--Roger Zelazny