Just Another Day at the Gobbler (Imogen)

[Franky]

Glade 19, 122

Franky was tackled to the ground by the brute force of his many opponents. Cackles and screeches filled their as he was attacked. This was it, this was the end. Franky would be no more. "Got you Grandpa!" squeaked one little voice. A little hobgoblin girl was sitting cross legged on top of Franky's chest, him on his back there just in front of his tavern. She crossed her arms, looking down at him, victorious, as he siblings and cousins worked to pin down his limbs and such.

With a serious look on her face, "I win."

Franky broke into a big grin, "Yes, you win, Gillie. I have been bested."

Franky was released by his herd of small grandchildren, and as he stood up, he picked up Gillie hefting her up onto his shoulders. She was his eldest grandchild, age six, and she had all the personality of Franky's own mother. The gaggle of hobgoblin children around him was ten strong, all around age four to six. Franky was babysitting them while their parents ran errands, or more likely, just to have time without them. Franky didn't mind. He loved his grandwarts.

Gillie pointed to the front of the Gobblered, "Who is that, Grandpa?"

There on a ladder was an Awoken man, scrubbing the windows and wooden face of the tavern. He had a bucket in one hand, and the scrubbing sponge in the other. "That's Bob. He keeps the tavern clean and tidy."

Some of the other small grandchildren were playing tag now, using Franky as something to hide behind and run around. "Is he a Waked-Up?"

Franky chuckled, "Yes, yes he is."

Gillie made a small 'o' with her mouth, having never met one before. "Does he like noodles?"

Franky pat one of her legs, "Let's go find out."

Franky stpped over to the base of the ladder, "Hello, Bob."

Bob stopped scrubbing his window, setting the sponge in the bucket, turning from his spot on the ladder, looking Franky directly in the eyes. "Hello, Mr. Franky. Hello, Ms. Gillie."

The little redheaded goblin was so surprised, whispering in Franky's ear, "He knows my name!"

"Apologies for interrupting your cleaning, but little Gillie here has some questions for you."

Gillie swat Franky on the ear, "I'm not little!"

Franky laughed, "Big Gillie has some questions for you."

The little-big girl looked up at Bob, "Do you like to eat noodles?"

The metal man looked at her directly now, "I do not eat. But I do sometimes wonder if noodles would taste good. But I don't know what taste is, so it is hard to imagine."

Gillie nodded, accepting that information purely at face value, "Mama won't let me have any of her vodka either. So I don't know if it tastes good or not either."

She seemed satisfied with her response to him, "Do you like puppies?"

Bob did not move one iota in terms of bodily expression. "Yes, I do enjoy puppies. I am caring for a litter of puppies at my home right now."

Gillie's eyes went wide with excitement, "I like puppies too!" She bent over Franky's head, her pig tails flopping about, "Grandpa, can I get a puppy?" Franky snorted, "You'll have to ask your mum."

She looked annoyed, straightening back up to look at Bob, "Do you like cleaning?"

Bob's shoulders actually raised a bit, "Yes, I do. Keeping things clean keeps them safe and whole, so they don't wear down and fall apart and rust and break and disappear. My... father, cleaned me every day. He was a good man."

Gillie squeaked out, "Thank you!"

Bob nodded, "You're welcome Ms. Gillie."

Franky pulled out his pocket watch, and with his other hand, plucked up on of the younger boys by the back of his shirt who was getting a bit hot around the collar and about to start lashing out at his siblings and cousins after losing in tag. "Looks like I've got you lot for a few more hours. Ice cream? I think Papp's opened his stall the other day."

Gillie squealed, "Ice cream!!!!!!!"

Franky snorted, "Alright you toads, let's head that way. Grendel, you calmed down yet?"

The little boy dangling from Franky's hand, "Yes, Grandpa."

Franky let him down and the procession of one large, old hobgoblin and a dozen smaller versions began walking down from the Bulge toward the Copper Cut, slowly making their way to Papp's. The line for ice cream was long, but the grandwarts were amusing themselves by running around. They had found some sticks and were fighting each other as though they were swords. But Gillie never left Franky's shoulders, her curious eyes constantly looking at everything, and she asked questions on it all.

[Imogen]

Early Glade might strike some as still a bit cool for frozen treats, but only if you happened to have ready access to them.

Imogen hadn't trekked up the Knob for ice cream, of course, but she didn't believe in putting business before pleasure when you could do both. When the nice clerk she'd met in the North Coalway shop mentioned, off-handedly, that there was ice cream for sale further on towards the bulge, she'd really had only one question- did they have the new flavor?

In fact, every word of that question was wrong. It wasn't about "the" "new" "flavor, but rather-

“Do you have.” Imogen demanded of the seller, “The kind where various ice creams are smushed together with the nuts and the fruits and so on and so forth?”

It took a minute to establish that she was talking about an ice cream spumone, which she had heard gossiped-about by the young ballet students and had caught fire in her imagination (figuratively; she wasn't intending to melt the ice cream before eating it). Figuring out the proper composition and price for such a concoction took another minute, and by the time the Orkhan janitor had acquired her treat (with cherry and pistachio), the line behind her had gotten pretty big. Sadly, Imogen had never learned that the people in traffic are the traffic, and her main thought was relief that she hadn't gotten in any later.

Now she had a toasted waffle cone in one hand and her receipt for ingots and spars of greenwood in the other (for repairs, and one other thing), and she still had plenty of time before her shift began. Imogen easily dodged a couple of hobgoblin children play-fighting with sticks- “Feet further apart, kids.”, she told them absentmindedly as she passed- and waived at the little girl staring at everyone. Waved using the hand holding the paper, not the cone; she'd paid good money for ice cream and wasn't about to lose her treat to a comic gesture like that.

Imogen wasn't the type of person to get drunk before a job, but the shift was just keeping watch; she'd finished early at the Pfenning, and the Sanctuary wasn't expecting her for a few more hours, so she had time to sober up. From here, she fancied she could just about spot the Gobbler, which wasn't a bad way to waste a couple of hours before a long, boring night-shift. With this goal in mind, she made her way towards the main road, pointed westward.

[Franky]

After holding up the line for ages as the little warts had the most intense discussion of their lives deciding on the various flavors they wanted, Franky and crew were heading back to the Gobbler. He had made sure to tip Papp very generously. Gillie was still riding upon his shoulders, Franky's handkerchief laid across his bald head for when she inevitably allowed the melting snickerdoodle cone drip upon him.

Franky was enjoying some peanut butter fudge swirl.

Franky pulled open the door of the Gobbler, seeing that the lunch rush was already starting up. Reaching up, he grabbed the back of Gillie's shirt and lowered her to the ground as she continued to bite at her ice cream like goblin children are oft to do with their razor sharp teeth. The kids all screamed and scattered around the Gobbler, setting about to their favorite spots and activities.

Franky pulled his handkerchief off of his head, giving it a good wipe down, before sighing, looking out over the room, smiling. Maybe retirement wasn't so bad, he could be happy spending his days like this. He walked over to the bar, slipping in behind it, tossing his handkerchief in the towels bin, stopping in front of an Orkhan woman who didn't appear to have a drink yet, smiling broadly at her.

"Hello there. Welcome to the Gobbler." She had a local look to her, not that of an Ecithian Ork, largely due to the lack of tattoos and smaller muscles, so he wasn't worried about her attempting to fulfill the Ecithian Oath against him. "Can I get you something to drink? We got in some Atinese scarlet lager today. I'm also trying to clear out a cask of Solunarian Kumis, I'll give you a deal on that one."

Franky smirked as he saw Gillie climb up on a stool directly next to the Orkhan woman. She was silent, but turned to face her, staring up at her with her big eyes, just watching.

[Imogen]

“Kumis... kumis... that's milk, innit?” Imogen's voice was high and lilting for an Ork, which meant contralto by more human standards. “Nah, thanks. Already at my limit for milk today- physician said I shouldn't take too much dairy at once, or I'm liable to ruin your clean floors.”

That was a lie, of sorts. Not the milk thing- she did have a very minor lactose intolerance, an ailment commonplace among her family and perhaps other members of her race. She had never visited a doctor her in her life, though, not when the witches of the Kindred would do a better job at a steep discount. But really, why should doctors get to monopolize the term, just because they'd spent years moldering in some fancy academy for a bit of paper and a handshake? No, it was fair enough to call a witch a physician.

(Beyond which, of course, many citizens of Zaichaer inquired covertly with some secreted witch in dire times, and described their encounter in general, figurative terms to avoid attention from the authorities later. Such was practically city custom.)

The floors were spotless though, which came as a great shock to Imogen. She had been an unholy terror to every other cleaner the Pfenning had ever hired, impossible to satisfy and demanding absolute perfection. Here, however, there was nothing at all to criticize. Perhaps she was tired, or coming down with something... or perhaps the staff here were simply leagues beyond what you could get over on the West end of town. Hard to say.

“That'll be the lager for me then, please and thank you.”

~~~

As she waited for the drink, Imogen thought long and hard about her day, and about her recent visit to Kalzasi, and about her future. It felt almost like a betrayal just to think about it, frankly, but she had to admit that the prospect of staying in Zaichaer for the rest of her life was... somewhat less appealing now than it was a year ago. And it had never really-

That girl was still staring at her, huh. Well, that was really disrupting her inner monologue.

Imogen glanced over at the child watching her solemnly. She'd been called on to play the baby-sitter from time to time in the Sanctuaries, when some family of witches had business at the Railrunners' market or with the 'malkin, and could make no other arrangements for their young. It was pretty easy. She gave the kid a huge, toothsome grin, expecting her to either laugh or scream, depending.

But the girl did neither- she just kept staring! Unsettling.

Fine, then. It was time for parlor tricks.

The Orkhan woman picked up a folded cloth napkin and carefully unfolded it, airing out the square of fabric. She held it as broadly as she could with her left hand, at chest height, and faced the girl with it. She wiggled the fingers of her right hand in the girl's direction, open palm forward. Then, Imogen produced a coin from her pocket, rolling it lightly between the fingers of her right hand.

Once she was sure the girl was watching, Imogen stuck her hand behind the napkin, waggling her eyebrows. After a moment of gratuitous face-jiggling, Imogen lowered the napkin slightly, revealing a scaley, inhuman appendage, which was lightly grasping the coin between the tips of two curved black claws.

“Graaaah” she whispered to Gillie, “Oh no, a dragon's got my money!”