“Stop laughing at me,” grumbled the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus from under his all enclosing one-way robe as it shimmered in the purple glow of the magically lit floors towards what signs in poor penmanship precariously proclaimed was the stage of the skyrate skyacht bar slash strip club smash gambling den.
Sir Broderick the Shitface gleefully giggled, swilling some skybrewer’s sake. “I can’t help it when I know what you’ve got on under that thing.”
“You know I think it wouldn’t be as bad if I were still a woman.”
“You’ve been saying that.”
“Do you disagree?”
“I honestly don’t know. Oh, look, I think that’s the—”
“Where in the flying cluck have you been?” angry whispered a very short voice.
Sir Broderick took a step forward and almost barrelled over a gerbilesque person in all black. “Shit. My bad.”
“Your bad indeed. We’ve all been waiting for Mister Magick!”
Sir Broderick did a quadruple take looking from the person to Krumbunculus. “Mister Magick?!”
“That…that is his stage name, is it not? We had it listed on all the flyers. Mister Magick’s Marvelous Mystery Mengerie.”
Sir Broderick spat out some of his sake. “Oh I’m sure it is he just hadn’t—heh—he hadn’t told me.”
“Well that’s what it is. Mister Magick’s Marvelous Mystery Mengerie, in case you’d forgotten already. He’s Mister Magick. It’s his whole thing. I’m surprised you weren’t aware. Who were you again?”
“Me?” Sir Broderick felt a bristle of adrenaline. “Oh I just needed to talk to the captain. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“Over in the gambling pit, front row, literally right next to the pit ochestra.”
“Thanks.”
Sir Broderick sauntered off, peering back to look at Krumbunculus and laugh at him one last time.
He pushed the enchanted doors open, and as they were enchanted to an onlooker it might have appeared that Sir Broderick simply sunk into the doors and plopped out the other end as if the doors themselves were made out of gelatin. But to Sir Broderick it seemed as if he simply opened the doors. Which he did.
He was at the far left wing by the stage. He literally peered around the edge of the stage until he found the literally flaming pit where all of the musicians were sitting, magically enchanted to not burn alive yet still literally magicing like they were quite literally burning alive. Broderick could hear them talking to eachother about unimpressive sexual conquests while pretending to perform maintenance on their instruments.
Literally right next to the pit orchestra was nothing but unused stage floor real estate.
The gambling pit was actually further back to the left of the pit orchestra, and was not a pit at all. Nope. It was just a section of the bar like any other. A couple of fancy felted round table instead of fancy glass covered rectangular ones, sure. Some nice stained glass with depictions of women-men in lingerie and mood lights hanging overhead, sure. But it was further back to the left of the pit orchestra, and it was not a pit at all.
Sir Broderick the Shitfaced stumbled over his own feet as he realized the sake was much stronger than he had expected. Had he lost some of his alcohol tolerance now that he was a man again? Now that was counterintuitive.
With more laborious steps Sir Broderick sloshed himself upright and drizzled his way over to the—wait a second.
He wasn’t any more drunk than he had been as a woman! If anything he was actually less drunk, and that right there was an absolute travesty.
Was he even drunk at all?!
Yes, he was. But nowhere in the clucking hen as drunk as he wanted to be and far, far less than he’d ever deserved to be.
His tunnel vision cleared like foggy glasses that had been thoroughly wiped. His brain smog became just his brain. His magnificent, disappointingly buzzed brain.
Sir Broderick was getting diagonal from himself. Adjusting the saucepan egaining mental composure he trounced up to the table where the captain, the asshole whose dog he’d supposedly killed, and a couple other nameless featureless soulless goons sat playing poker.
“Put em all on red!” Sir Broderick spat shitfacedly, shitfacedly referring to his nickname of course, as his general body language and numerous behavioural ticks echoed that of many of his ancestors.
Everyone at the table stared at him as if he’d hopped on the table, dropped his pants, popped a squat and taken a big old shit. And cock knew he wanted to.
“What? You lot are looking at me like some sort of sinister floating mana—tree fungus scorpion!”
The captain glared with his one eye and smoked with his stupidly thin cigar and smirked with his ugly as cluck face. “We be wonderin’ who ye thinks ye arrrr that ye can come over ‘ere an’ gamble with us, talkin’ to us like we be playin’ roulette when we be cleaaarrrly playin’ pokarrrr.”
“You mean you don’t clucking remember me? You, hood sirrah—” Broderick pulled a friendly arm over Blitswald, “—Surely you remember me? Sat upon your pooch and all that whatnowforwith?”
Blitswald took a second to remember this, which was surprising. However, when he did, he bristled halffartedly. “Get yer stinkin’ arrrrm off me, scallopwagon.”
“Wow. I was expecting you to try and disembowel me or something. I will say, forgiveness becomes you. Now, where might I sit that I might not unintentionally smother another beloved animal?”
The captain spit on one of his soulless goon’s face. “There be a seat right between me and Blitsy here, which if ye an ounce of awarrreness ye would’ve already noticed ye’ve been starrrnding behind since ye walked up an’ interrupted us.”
“Oh, well very well then.” Sir Broderick had noticed. “Quite comfortable seating if I do say so myself. Is this magical mystery foam currently cushioning my buttocks?”
“Aye have no clucking idea.”
A soulless goon dealt everyone two cards, almost forgetting Sir Broderick’s second card before he had time to fuss about it.
“Five star dealer you’ve got here, chuppy,” Broderick beamed at the dealer, who beamed back with five teeth.
“Aye raise,” replied the captain, placing two red chips on the table.
Sir Broderick quickly threw three red chips in. The captain raised his hook and flicked one of the chips back to Sir Broderick’s pile of chips, the pile that had magically appeared due to an enchantment that had also emptied his pockets of chickensfeed.
“Wait yer turn.”
“So when is Mister Magick coming on?”
“Ye know,” sighed the captain, sucking on his cigar in an irritating fashion, “Aye’ve got a different question fer ye. What ’n the ‘en are ye doin’ hearrr on me ship?”
“Oh, uh, I’m a family friend of, um…uh…” Sir Broderick pointed at a stripper, “of Deepthroatia over there.”
PRMMM
The captain banged his hook on the table, knocking over some piles of chips.
“Avast ye…that there stripper ain’t be called Deepthroatia…not even ‘er stage narrrme is Deepthroatia…”
“It was uh it was just a tongue in cheek joke.”
PRMMM
“Tell me what thearrr name is, chup.”
“Well would you look at that whose turn is it this hand is really dragging isn’t it?”
PRMMM
“It’s yer turn, now answer me question so help me cock or aye’ll take out me cutlarrs ’n dice yer innards till thearrr nothin’ but mincemea—”
“All in!” Sir Broderick pushed his entire, heaving pile into the middle of the table. Some of the goons gasped. The captain sighed and folded. Everyone else followed suit.
“You know, I’m usually not quite successful at this game. I can’t imagine why that twerked so well.”
The lights blinked and dimmed.
“LOOKS LIKE I’M HERE TO SAY HELLO, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND GENTLELADIES AND LADIEMEN AND MANLADIES AND GENTLE GIANTS AND BACTERIA COLONIES!”
The large, boisterous mouth warlock was standing up on the stage lit by a spotlight. Sir Broderick rolled his eyes and chugged his drink, nagging a waitress for another.
“LOOKS LIKE WE’RE ALL HERE FOR MISTER MAGICK’S MARVELOUS MYSTERY MENAGERIE. LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE WAITING FOR ME TO ANNOUNCE MISTER MAGICK HIMSELF.”
The captive audience fell silent, a little shaken by the mouth warlock’s startling countenance.
“LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE ALL STILL WAITING FOR ME TO ANNOUNCE MISTER MAGICK HIMSELF.”
Everyone starting murmuring, wondering who the hen this was and why they were so obnoxious. A couple people booed.
“LOOKS LIKE SOME PEOPLE FIND ME OBNOXIOUS. LOOKS LIKE SOME PEOPLE BOOED ME. LOOKS LIKE EVEN THOUGH SOME PEOPLE FIND ME OBNOXIOUS AND SOME PEOPLE BOOED ME YOU’RE ALL STILL WAITING FOR ME TO ANNOUNCE MISTER MAGICK HIMSELF.”
More boos. Sir Broderick threw a couple in.
“Look, chuppy,” the captain growled, pulling Broderick aside with his hook, “I paid hood money to have that guy introduce Mister Magick. Don’t ‘boo’ him.”
Sir Broderick booed even louder.
“Yaaarg! Yer makin’ me tinnitus woarrse!”
“LOOKS LIKE THIS ASSHOLE SITTING NEXT TO THE CAPTAIN WON’T STOP BOOING ME. LOOKS LIKE THE CAPTAIN WANTS TO KICK HIS ASS. LOOKS LIKE THE CAPTAIN MAY INDEED KICK HIS ASS. LOOKS LIKE I SHOULD LET YOU ALL KNOW I CHARGE BY THE WORD, FOLKS.”
All the ass talk was making Sir Broderick bristle, but he held it in. All in hood time.
“LOOKS LIKE THE ASSHOLE HAS STOPPED BOOING ME.”
One of Sir Broderick’s eyelids twitched. He hoped no one had seen it. The spotlight dimmed as the main stage lights faded on and the curtain raised to reveal the shimmering mass of Dr. Krumbunculus’ one way robe. A stripper walked onstage, waving and smiling at the crowd and flashed some cheek before grasping the robe and tearing it off.
“Holy clucking cock!” squealed Sir Broderick. “It’s even worse than I remember!”
In a halfway translucent, sequin covered leotard with long, flowing nipple tassles and a short cape with stars and moons all over it stood the shameful old figure of Dr. Krumbunculus. His beard was accented with a large purple bow.
“LOOKS LIKE IT’S TIME FOR MISTER MAGICK TO COME BEDAZZLE OUR EXPECTATIONS AND EARN SOME ADULATION. LOOKS LIKE EVERYBODY SHOULD GO AHEAD AND GIVE HIM A HAND!”
The crowed cheered, whistling and cooing.
“LOOKS LIKE I’M ALL DONE HERE,” the mouth warlock walked over to Krumbunculus, handed him the microphone, and scurried offstage. A bright pink spotlight shined in Krumbunculus’ face, nearly blinding him and reflecting off many of his leotard’s sequins.
“Hello hello everyone. It’s me, Mister Magick.”
Sir Broderick was in tears, and nearly choaked on his disappointing drinks in many moments.
“Stop laughing at me,” grumbled the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus from under his all enclosing one-way robe as it shimmered in the purple glow of the magically lit floors towards what signs in poor penmanship precariously proclaimed was the stage of the skyrate skyacht bar slash strip club smash gambling den.
Sir Broderick the Shitface gleefully giggled, swilling some skybrewer’s sake. “I can’t help it when I know what you’ve got on under that thing.”
“You know I think it wouldn’t be as bad if I were still a woman.”
“You’ve been saying that.”
“Do you disagree?”
“I honestly don’t know. Oh, look, I think that’s the—”
“Where in the flying cluck have you been?” angry whispered a very short voice.
Sir Broderick took a step forward and almost barrelled over a gerbilesque person in all black. “Shit. My bad.”
“Your bad indeed. We’ve all been waiting for Mister Magick!”
Sir Broderick did a quadruple take looking from the person to Krumbunculus. “Mister Magick?!”
“That…that is his stage name, is it not? We had it listed on all the flyers. Mister Magick’s Marvelous Mystery Mengerie.”
Sir Broderick spat out some of his sake. “Oh I’m sure it is he just hadn’t—heh—he hadn’t told me.”
“Well that’s what it is. Mister Magick’s Marvelous Mystery Mengerie, in case you’d forgotten already. He’s Mister Magick. It’s his whole thing. I’m surprised you weren’t aware. Who were you again?”
“Me?” Sir Broderick felt a bristle of adrenaline. “Oh I just needed to talk to the captain. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“Over in the gambling pit, front row, literally right next to the pit ochestra.”
“Thanks.”
Sir Broderick sauntered off, peering back to look at Krumbunculus and laugh at him one last time.
He pushed the enchanted doors open, and as they were enchanted to an onlooker it might have appeared that Sir Broderick simply sunk into the doors and plopped out the other end as if the doors themselves were made out of gelatin. But to Sir Broderick it seemed as if he simply opened the doors. Which he did.
He was at the far left wing by the stage. He literally peered around the edge of the stage until he found the literally flaming pit where all of the musicians were sitting, magically enchanted to not burn alive yet still literally magicing like they were quite literally burning alive. Broderick could hear them talking to eachother about unimpressive sexual conquests while pretending to perform maintenance on their instruments.
Literally right next to the pit orchestra was nothing but unused stage floor real estate.
The gambling pit was actually further back to the left of the pit orchestra, and was not a pit at all. Nope. It was just a section of the bar like any other. A couple of fancy felted round table instead of fancy glass covered rectangular ones, sure. Some nice stained glass with depictions of women-men in lingerie and mood lights hanging overhead, sure. But it was further back to the left of the pit orchestra, and it was not a pit at all.
Sir Broderick the Shitfaced stumbled over his own feet as he realized the sake was much stronger than he had expected. Had he lost some of his alcohol tolerance now that he was a man again? Now that was counterintuitive.
With more laborious steps Sir Broderick sloshed himself upright and drizzled his way over to the—wait a second.
He wasn’t any more drunk than he had been as a woman! If anything he was actually less drunk, and that right there was an absolute travesty.
Was he even drunk at all?!
Yes, he was. But nowhere in the clucking hen as drunk as he wanted to be and far, far less than he’d ever deserved to be.
His tunnel vision cleared like foggy glasses that had been thoroughly wiped. His brain smog became just his brain. His magnificent, disappointingly buzzed brain.
Sir Broderick was getting diagonal from himself. Adjusting the saucepan egaining mental composure he trounced up to the table where the captain, the asshole whose dog he’d supposedly killed, and a couple other nameless featureless soulless goons sat playing poker.
“Put em all on red!” Sir Broderick spat shitfacedly, shitfacedly referring to his nickname of course, as his general body language and numerous behavioural ticks echoed that of many of his ancestors.
Everyone at the table stared at him as if he’d hopped on the table, dropped his pants, popped a squat and taken a big old shit. And cock knew he wanted to.
“What? You lot are looking at me like some sort of sinister floating mana—tree fungus scorpion!”
The captain glared with his one eye and smoked with his stupidly thin cigar and smirked with his ugly as cluck face. “We be wonderin’ who ye thinks ye arrrr that ye can come over ‘ere an’ gamble with us, talkin’ to us like we be playin’ roulette when we be cleaaarrrly playin’ pokarrrr.”
“You mean you don’t clucking remember me? You, hood sirrah—” Broderick pulled a friendly arm over Blitswald, “—Surely you remember me? Sat upon your pooch and all that whatnowforwith?”
Blitswald took a second to remember this, which was surprising. However, when he did, he bristled halffartedly. “Get yer stinkin’ arrrrm off me, scallopwagon.”
“Wow. I was expecting you to try and disembowel me or something. I will say, forgiveness becomes you. Now, where might I sit that I might not unintentionally smother another beloved animal?”
The captain spit on one of his soulless goon’s face. “There be a seat right between me and Blitsy here, which if ye an ounce of awarrreness ye would’ve already noticed ye’ve been starrrnding behind since ye walked up an’ interrupted us.”
“Oh, well very well then.” Sir Broderick had noticed. “Quite comfortable seating if I do say so myself. Is this magical mystery foam currently cushioning my buttocks?”
“Aye have no clucking idea.”
A soulless goon dealt everyone two cards, almost forgetting Sir Broderick’s second card before he had time to fuss about it.
“Five star dealer you’ve got here, chuppy,” Broderick beamed at the dealer, who beamed back with five teeth.
“Aye raise,” replied the captain, placing two red chips on the table.
Sir Broderick quickly threw three red chips in. The captain raised his hook and flicked one of the chips back to Sir Broderick’s pile of chips, the pile that had magically appeared due to an enchantment that had also emptied his pockets of chickensfeed.
“Wait yer turn.”
“So when is Mister Magick coming on?”
“Ye know,” sighed the captain, sucking on his cigar in an irritating fashion, “Aye’ve got a different question fer ye. What ’n the ‘en are ye doin’ hearrr on me ship?”
“Oh, uh, I’m a family friend of, um…uh…” Sir Broderick pointed at a stripper, “of Deepthroatia over there.”
PRMMM
The captain banged his hook on the table, knocking over some piles of chips.
“Avast ye…that there stripper ain’t be called Deepthroatia…not even ‘er stage narrrme is Deepthroatia…”
“It was uh it was just a tongue in cheek joke.”
PRMMM
“Tell me what thearrr name is, chup.”
“Well would you look at that whose turn is it this hand is really dragging isn’t it?”
PRMMM
“It’s yer turn, now answer me question so help me cock or aye’ll take out me cutlarrs ’n dice yer innards till thearrr nothin’ but mincemea—”
“All in!” Sir Broderick pushed his entire, heaving pile into the middle of the table. Some of the goons gasped. The captain sighed and folded. Everyone else followed suit.
“You know, I’m usually not quite successful at this game. I can’t imagine why that twerked so well.”
The lights blinked and dimmed.
“LOOKS LIKE I’M HERE TO SAY HELLO, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND GENTLELADIES AND LADIEMEN AND MANLADIES AND GENTLE GIANTS AND BACTERIA COLONIES!”
The large, boisterous mouth warlock was standing up on the stage lit by a spotlight. Sir Broderick rolled his eyes and chugged his drink, nagging a waitress for another.
“LOOKS LIKE WE’RE ALL HERE FOR MISTER MAGICK’S MARVELOUS MYSTERY MENAGERIE. LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE WAITING FOR ME TO ANNOUNCE MISTER MAGICK HIMSELF.”
The captive audience fell silent, a little shaken by the mouth warlock’s startling countenance.
“LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE ALL STILL WAITING FOR ME TO ANNOUNCE MISTER MAGICK HIMSELF.”
Everyone starting murmuring, wondering who the hen this was and why they were so obnoxious. A couple people booed.
“LOOKS LIKE SOME PEOPLE FIND ME OBNOXIOUS. LOOKS LIKE SOME PEOPLE BOOED ME. LOOKS LIKE EVEN THOUGH SOME PEOPLE FIND ME OBNOXIOUS AND SOME PEOPLE BOOED ME YOU’RE ALL STILL WAITING FOR ME TO ANNOUNCE MISTER MAGICK HIMSELF.”
More boos. Sir Broderick threw a couple in.
“Look, chuppy,” the captain growled, pulling Broderick aside with his hook, “I paid hood money to have that guy introduce Mister Magick. Don’t ‘boo’ him.”
Sir Broderick booed even louder.
“Yaaarg! Yer makin’ me tinnitus woarrse!”
“LOOKS LIKE THIS ASSHOLE SITTING NEXT TO THE CAPTAIN WON’T STOP BOOING ME. LOOKS LIKE THE CAPTAIN WANTS TO KICK HIS ASS. LOOKS LIKE THE CAPTAIN MAY INDEED KICK HIS ASS. LOOKS LIKE I SHOULD LET YOU ALL KNOW I CHARGE BY THE WORD, FOLKS.”
All the ass talk was making Sir Broderick bristle, but he held it in. All in hood time.
“LOOKS LIKE THE ASSHOLE HAS STOPPED BOOING ME.”
One of Sir Broderick’s eyelids twitched. He hoped no one had seen it. The spotlight dimmed as the main stage lights faded on and the curtain raised to reveal the shimmering mass of Dr. Krumbunculus’ one way robe. A stripper walked onstage, waving and smiling at the crowd and flashed some cheek before grasping the robe and tearing it off.
“Holy clucking cock!” squealed Sir Broderick. “It’s even worse than I remember!”
In a halfway translucent, sequin covered leotard with long, flowing nipple tassles and a short cape with stars and moons all over it stood the shameful old figure of Dr. Krumbunculus. His beard was accented with a large purple bow.
“LOOKS LIKE IT’S TIME FOR MISTER MAGICK TO COME BEDAZZLE OUR EXPECTATIONS AND EARN SOME ADULATION. LOOKS LIKE EVERYBODY SHOULD GO AHEAD AND GIVE HIM A HAND!”
The crowed cheered, whistling and cooing.
“LOOKS LIKE I’M ALL DONE HERE,” the mouth warlock walked over to Krumbunculus, handed him the microphone, and scurried offstage. A bright pink spotlight shined in Krumbunculus’ face, nearly blinding him and reflecting off many of his leotard’s sequins.
“Hello hello everyone. It’s me, Mister Magick.”
Sir Broderick was in tears, and nearly choaked on his disappointing drinks in many moments.
