06-23-2017, 09:48 AM
Mack rubbed his eyes, sighing deeply.
“Ahm tellin’ ye,” he explained for the sixth time, “We sold all o’it on Thunder Nigh’.”
The geezer in front of him blinked twice.
“Ah dinnae understand.”
Mack sunk his head into his palms. Kushi was nowhere to be seen, to his dismay. So he was left alone to deal with the impatient dwarves who had heard tales of this magical new “sacky” drink that this neighborhood had enjoyed on Thunder Night.
“We only got the crap misbrews,” Mack lied.
“Ah want tha’, then,” the old dwarf nodded resolutely.
“Nae!” Mack groaned. “Ahm tellin’ ye to buzz off, ol’ man. We ain’t open.”
Mack, ignoring the old dwarf’s protests, hurriedly ushered him out of the door. He slammed the door, latching the lock a little harder than he later felt comfortable with. Ignoring the pounding on his door, he waddled his way up the stairs. To a human, these steps were more of a bumpy ramp, but Mack struggled to climb the steep staircase.
When he got to the attic, his jaw dropped.
“LASS!” Mack hollered, “Wha’ are ye doin’?”
Kushi was presently seated in a stool, showing another dwarf where they kept their supply of yeast and koji. The dwarf was wearing slacks, his leather coat slung over his shoulder. He was rubbing his beard, nodding along as he listened to Kushi’s explanation.
Mack knew this dwarf. The whole town did.
“Ho, Mack!” Urist McHermanson laughed, “How ye doin’, mah boy?”
“The name,” Mack fumed, “is Mr. McMicksson. What are you doing here, McHermansson?”
“Yer lovely landlady was jus’ showin’ me how she made tha’ amazin’ brew,” Mr. McHermansson protested.
Kushi frowned, standing. “McMicksson-san, show McHermansson-san some respect, please.”
“Och! Please, lass,” Urist chuckled, “Jus’ call me Urist.”
Kushi nodded, her face not registering how much trouble their unborn bar was in. Mack screamed in frustration. Kushi recoiled. Urist did not react. Kushi should have suspected him noticing how used to this reaction McHermansson seemed.
“Git ou’, McHermansson. Ye ain’t wan’d here.”
“Surely, McMicksson-sa-”
“Jus’ trus’ me on this, lass,” Mack snarled, “Ah said BOLT!”
Urist rolled his eyes. “Ah ain’t done nothin’, Mack-”
Mack reached behind a crate, where his axe was laying. “Are ye daft or summin’, ye wee SHITE?!”
Kushi knew when a man was seconds away from swinging their blade. The same cues screamed from Mack’s arms when Urist raised both hands in defense.
“Awrigh’!” McHermansson spat, “Awrigh’. Ah git ye. Ahm leavin’.”
He gave a gentlemanly bow to Kushi. “Ahm sorry fer that racket, yer husbin is jes’ soo-”
“Ye got troll-tusk in yer ears, arsepiece?!” Mack screamed, “OUT OF MAH BAR.”
Urist quickly stumbled down the stairs. He tried to appear as if he was in no rush, but everybody involved knew he was running with his tail between his legs. Mack hissed through his teeth after Urist, then set the axe behind the crate.
“Dishonorable wanker,” he grumbled.
Kushi was frozen in place, her eyes bewildered.
“Sorry, lass,” Mack groaned, realizing what he had done in front of the poor girl, “Ah’ll explain-”
“I beg your pardon,” Kushi trembled, “I think we should speak much longer after your frenzy is over.”
Kushi stormed down the stairs. Mack rolled his eyes.
“Jus’ ask!” Mack shouted after her, “Ask anyone abou’ Urist McHermansson!”
***
When Kushi got to the Silverbeards’ Market, she did indeed ask someone about Urist McHermansson. Kushi found it was a good place to find information, now that the other female merchants had accepted her into their group. Truly, they found the new resident human to be fascinating, and they included her in all of their gossiping. Lena McThorkelsson was especially happy to answer any and all questions Kushi had, so Lena was usually a welcome presence. Usually, Kushi was reluctant to meet them, even avoiding going to Silverbeards’ sometimes. But this time, it was worth the unwelcome attention.
“Och, look at ye!” Mara McOllison called out, “Ye figh’in’ wit’ yer dwarf?”
“He’s not my dwarf,” Kushi muttered, “but something like that, yes.”
“Wha’ happened?” Lena scowled, her round face riddled with concern. The ever-familiar faces of the ladies were filled with glee as they huddled around Kushi.
“Well...” Kushi hesitated, “Who is Urist McHermansson?”
The ladies’ reaction was phenomenal. All six of the dwarves recoiled, as if the very name was a repugnant smell. One of them hissed through their teeth, an action which Kushi had seen Mack perform earlier.
“Pardon me, what does that mean?” Kushi asked Pio, the lady who did it, “The hissing, I mean. What does that mean?”
“We dwarves do tha’ whene’er we see someone dishonorable.”
Kushi blinked. “McHermansson-san is dishonorable?”
“He’s a righ’ weasel, he is,” Brissel snapped.
“Shut it, Brissel,” Lena snapped back, “Dinnae scare the girlie off.”
Brissel looked apologetically at Kushi. Kushi smiled politely and glanced at Lena. “What did he do?”
“Sabotage markets he thinks will do well,” Lena replied bitterly, “He dinnae do it fer the bobs, he does it fer fun.”
“He’s go’ some sorta vendetta against shops,” Maxine chortled.
“Or against good times at all!” laughed Mara.
“Did ye hear what he done to the Thunder Nigh’ ale by yer campfires?” Pio whispered.
Kushi recalled the poor state of the barrels that night. Barely, but she did. She nodded slightly. “That was his work?”
“We dinnae ken yet,” Lena admitted, “Bu’ Pio thinks so.”
“Ahm sure of it, Lena,” Pio whispered, “He did the same thin’ to us on mah firs’ Thunder Nigh’.”
Ideas formed in Kushi’s mind. This oddly antagonistic McHermansson character had sabotaged the Thunder Night beverages, according to Pio. Which lead to Kushi and Mack serving their reserves. It was an overall good night, Kushi vaguely recalled. If McHermansson-san truly did hate despise such...
“Yes,” Kushi whispered, though unsure why, as there were so few people who weren’t involved in the conversation, “That’s how we made our debut, so to speak.”
“Och, yer in his sights now, lass,” Lena suddenly looked very concerned. “Hold it, did tha’ rascal talk to ye?”
“I invited him in,” Kushi answered, realizing her mistake, “I showed him how we made our sake.”
The dwarven ladies gasped.
“Nae, nae, nae!” Lena snapped in her maternal fashion, “Ye dinNAE let Urist McHermansson into yer shop!”
“Specially nae THA’ shop,” Pio joked, “Ye see the missus o’ tha’ lad?”
The ladies groaned in solidarity. Kushi nodded, her steps suddenly very rushed.
“I need to go see what he did,” Kushi bowed hurriedly, running back to the Barrels of Thunder.
When she returned, she saw a different and unexpected, yet still unwelcome sight.
Mack was speaking with a human in a thick fur coat. The man carried a briefcase. That would explain the presence of the toboggan outside with the dwarves and the snowdogs. The two were sitting at one of the nearby tables of the empty tavern. Kushi stared at Mack expectantly.
“Thar’s the lass,” Mack jovially chirped, jumping to his feet and pulling Kushi over to the table, “She owns the tub, f’we’re bein’ honest.”
“It’s a pleasure,” the man greeted in a tone that made the hairs on Kushi’s arm recoil, “My name is Richard Pence. I’m here to discuss the purchase of this property.”
“No,” Kushi instinctively said. Mack’s face fell.
“Ah know, ah know,” Mack said, “Ah could nae- but just listen.”
Richard Pence used his fingertips to slide a piece of paper in Kushi’s direction. It was written in a script she did not understand.
“I represent Frozen Mugs Affiliated. We’re a Coruscant-based beer brewer. We’ve been looking for opportunities in the Frozen Fields, given how such a huge number of our clientele come from this Verse. Our people here heard word of what you did during-”
“I can’t read this,” Kushi said.
“Ah,” Richard Pence smiled unhappily, “You don’t need to worry too much about what it says. It’s just a standard contract.”
“I apologize, Pence-san, but I’m not signing this until I know what it says,” Kushi said.
“Just Pence, and please,” Richard Pence said, agitated, “Just call me Richard.”
“Very well, Richard,” Kushi replied, her voice laden with ice, “I’m not signing this until I know what it says.”
“Just that you agree to be a part of the Frozen Mugs family,” Richard smiled, his teeth’s uncanny whiteness that would push a pacifist into pulling them out, “In return for uh, well. Substantial compensation.”
Kushi raised an eyebrow. “What does it mean to be a part of the Frozen Mugs family?”
“Oh, it’s mostly benefits,” Richard Pence’s eyebrows curled in mock reassurance. “You would receive financial support, as well as some consulting from our senior brewers.”
“In return...?”
“Just allowing us to be involved in the process is valuable enough,” Richard Pence smirked.
“You mentioned the ‘purchase’ of my property.”
Richard Pence twitched and held out a pen. “Yes, it’s all in the contract.”
Kushi pursed her lips. “I have come to a decision.”
“But I haven’t given you any figures.”
“Because she accepts?” Mack hopefully asked.
“I decline your offer,” Kushi said firmly.
“Even when, let’s say, four thousand dwarven silvers are on the line?”
Mack gasped. “FOUR HUN’NED GOLD?”
Before the dwarf could swoon, Kushi stood up and gestured towards the door. “My answer remains the same.”
Mack stood up, tugging on Kushi’s shirt desperately. Kushi looked at him, eyes unblinking and cold.
“Bu’ lass, four hun’ned gold, tha’s... tha’s more than wha’s e’er passed my hands.”
“Yes, it is a good business deal,” Kushi warned him, “One that McHermansson-san would approve of.”
Mack flinched at the name, turning to Richard Pence, who was suddenly becoming very hopeful.
“Yes, indeed, ma’am,” Richard Pence nodded, “You should listen to the reasonable approach from this... McHermansson-son.”
Mack, glancing at Kushi, grit his teeth and clenched his fists. Kushi could see this was very difficult for him.
“N-nae, lad,” he managed to stutter, “E’en though the-the f-four hun’ned goooo...”
Kushi kicked his heel gently and hissed, “Stay strong, McMicksson-san.”
“...ooold is righ’ temptin’ an’ all,” Mack continued, “Nae. The Barrels of the Thunder ain’t fer sale.”
“Do you two truly think it wise to make enemies of Frozen Mugs?” Richard Pence chuckled, “We can crush the competition like flies. It’s easier to join us.”
“If I recall correctly,” Kushi smirked, “You’ll need to catch the flies first.”
Richard Pence’s face turned into a snarl, before he turned and slammed the door shut behind him. The pair could hear him muttering, “Try to do business with a bitch...”
Mack, upon hearing the words, looked ready to maul the man from the inside out. Kushi snatched his shoulder.
“Let’s not make actual enemies of Frozen Mugs, shall we?” Kushi warned.
Unsettled, Mack shook his shoulder free and somehow sagged his entire body.
“Still, lass,” he mourned, “Four hun’ned gold.”
Kushi shrugged. “McMicksson-san, would four hundred gold buy a good friend?”
Mack looked up at her. “Ah ken the point yer making, but aye. Ye probably could.”
Kushi chuckled, then sighed. “I’m sorry for not trusting you earlier.”
“Ah bet ye are,” Mack chuckled, “McHermansson done messed up half the trays.”
Kushi gasped. “But he wasn’t even here for more than five minutes!”
“Magic, he is,” Mack whimsically commented, “Evil magic, but still magic. Lucky us, ah salvaged what I could. Ye should probably take a look.”
“And while I’m at it, I think I’ll go hide your axe,” Kushi said playfully, “just in case we get any rowdy customers and you decide to attack them.”
As Kushi climbed the stairs, Mack sniffed unhappily.
“Wha’ever,” he muttered, “got a spare war-pick laying aroun’ somewhere.”
“Ahm tellin’ ye,” he explained for the sixth time, “We sold all o’it on Thunder Nigh’.”
The geezer in front of him blinked twice.
“Ah dinnae understand.”
Mack sunk his head into his palms. Kushi was nowhere to be seen, to his dismay. So he was left alone to deal with the impatient dwarves who had heard tales of this magical new “sacky” drink that this neighborhood had enjoyed on Thunder Night.
“We only got the crap misbrews,” Mack lied.
“Ah want tha’, then,” the old dwarf nodded resolutely.
“Nae!” Mack groaned. “Ahm tellin’ ye to buzz off, ol’ man. We ain’t open.”
Mack, ignoring the old dwarf’s protests, hurriedly ushered him out of the door. He slammed the door, latching the lock a little harder than he later felt comfortable with. Ignoring the pounding on his door, he waddled his way up the stairs. To a human, these steps were more of a bumpy ramp, but Mack struggled to climb the steep staircase.
When he got to the attic, his jaw dropped.
“LASS!” Mack hollered, “Wha’ are ye doin’?”
Kushi was presently seated in a stool, showing another dwarf where they kept their supply of yeast and koji. The dwarf was wearing slacks, his leather coat slung over his shoulder. He was rubbing his beard, nodding along as he listened to Kushi’s explanation.
Mack knew this dwarf. The whole town did.
“Ho, Mack!” Urist McHermanson laughed, “How ye doin’, mah boy?”
“The name,” Mack fumed, “is Mr. McMicksson. What are you doing here, McHermansson?”
“Yer lovely landlady was jus’ showin’ me how she made tha’ amazin’ brew,” Mr. McHermansson protested.
Kushi frowned, standing. “McMicksson-san, show McHermansson-san some respect, please.”
“Och! Please, lass,” Urist chuckled, “Jus’ call me Urist.”
Kushi nodded, her face not registering how much trouble their unborn bar was in. Mack screamed in frustration. Kushi recoiled. Urist did not react. Kushi should have suspected him noticing how used to this reaction McHermansson seemed.
“Git ou’, McHermansson. Ye ain’t wan’d here.”
“Surely, McMicksson-sa-”
“Jus’ trus’ me on this, lass,” Mack snarled, “Ah said BOLT!”
Urist rolled his eyes. “Ah ain’t done nothin’, Mack-”
Mack reached behind a crate, where his axe was laying. “Are ye daft or summin’, ye wee SHITE?!”
Kushi knew when a man was seconds away from swinging their blade. The same cues screamed from Mack’s arms when Urist raised both hands in defense.
“Awrigh’!” McHermansson spat, “Awrigh’. Ah git ye. Ahm leavin’.”
He gave a gentlemanly bow to Kushi. “Ahm sorry fer that racket, yer husbin is jes’ soo-”
“Ye got troll-tusk in yer ears, arsepiece?!” Mack screamed, “OUT OF MAH BAR.”
Urist quickly stumbled down the stairs. He tried to appear as if he was in no rush, but everybody involved knew he was running with his tail between his legs. Mack hissed through his teeth after Urist, then set the axe behind the crate.
“Dishonorable wanker,” he grumbled.
Kushi was frozen in place, her eyes bewildered.
“Sorry, lass,” Mack groaned, realizing what he had done in front of the poor girl, “Ah’ll explain-”
“I beg your pardon,” Kushi trembled, “I think we should speak much longer after your frenzy is over.”
Kushi stormed down the stairs. Mack rolled his eyes.
“Jus’ ask!” Mack shouted after her, “Ask anyone abou’ Urist McHermansson!”
***
When Kushi got to the Silverbeards’ Market, she did indeed ask someone about Urist McHermansson. Kushi found it was a good place to find information, now that the other female merchants had accepted her into their group. Truly, they found the new resident human to be fascinating, and they included her in all of their gossiping. Lena McThorkelsson was especially happy to answer any and all questions Kushi had, so Lena was usually a welcome presence. Usually, Kushi was reluctant to meet them, even avoiding going to Silverbeards’ sometimes. But this time, it was worth the unwelcome attention.
“Och, look at ye!” Mara McOllison called out, “Ye figh’in’ wit’ yer dwarf?”
“He’s not my dwarf,” Kushi muttered, “but something like that, yes.”
“Wha’ happened?” Lena scowled, her round face riddled with concern. The ever-familiar faces of the ladies were filled with glee as they huddled around Kushi.
“Well...” Kushi hesitated, “Who is Urist McHermansson?”
The ladies’ reaction was phenomenal. All six of the dwarves recoiled, as if the very name was a repugnant smell. One of them hissed through their teeth, an action which Kushi had seen Mack perform earlier.
“Pardon me, what does that mean?” Kushi asked Pio, the lady who did it, “The hissing, I mean. What does that mean?”
“We dwarves do tha’ whene’er we see someone dishonorable.”
Kushi blinked. “McHermansson-san is dishonorable?”
“He’s a righ’ weasel, he is,” Brissel snapped.
“Shut it, Brissel,” Lena snapped back, “Dinnae scare the girlie off.”
Brissel looked apologetically at Kushi. Kushi smiled politely and glanced at Lena. “What did he do?”
“Sabotage markets he thinks will do well,” Lena replied bitterly, “He dinnae do it fer the bobs, he does it fer fun.”
“He’s go’ some sorta vendetta against shops,” Maxine chortled.
“Or against good times at all!” laughed Mara.
“Did ye hear what he done to the Thunder Nigh’ ale by yer campfires?” Pio whispered.
Kushi recalled the poor state of the barrels that night. Barely, but she did. She nodded slightly. “That was his work?”
“We dinnae ken yet,” Lena admitted, “Bu’ Pio thinks so.”
“Ahm sure of it, Lena,” Pio whispered, “He did the same thin’ to us on mah firs’ Thunder Nigh’.”
Ideas formed in Kushi’s mind. This oddly antagonistic McHermansson character had sabotaged the Thunder Night beverages, according to Pio. Which lead to Kushi and Mack serving their reserves. It was an overall good night, Kushi vaguely recalled. If McHermansson-san truly did hate despise such...
“Yes,” Kushi whispered, though unsure why, as there were so few people who weren’t involved in the conversation, “That’s how we made our debut, so to speak.”
“Och, yer in his sights now, lass,” Lena suddenly looked very concerned. “Hold it, did tha’ rascal talk to ye?”
“I invited him in,” Kushi answered, realizing her mistake, “I showed him how we made our sake.”
The dwarven ladies gasped.
“Nae, nae, nae!” Lena snapped in her maternal fashion, “Ye dinNAE let Urist McHermansson into yer shop!”
“Specially nae THA’ shop,” Pio joked, “Ye see the missus o’ tha’ lad?”
The ladies groaned in solidarity. Kushi nodded, her steps suddenly very rushed.
“I need to go see what he did,” Kushi bowed hurriedly, running back to the Barrels of Thunder.
When she returned, she saw a different and unexpected, yet still unwelcome sight.
Mack was speaking with a human in a thick fur coat. The man carried a briefcase. That would explain the presence of the toboggan outside with the dwarves and the snowdogs. The two were sitting at one of the nearby tables of the empty tavern. Kushi stared at Mack expectantly.
“Thar’s the lass,” Mack jovially chirped, jumping to his feet and pulling Kushi over to the table, “She owns the tub, f’we’re bein’ honest.”
“It’s a pleasure,” the man greeted in a tone that made the hairs on Kushi’s arm recoil, “My name is Richard Pence. I’m here to discuss the purchase of this property.”
“No,” Kushi instinctively said. Mack’s face fell.
“Ah know, ah know,” Mack said, “Ah could nae- but just listen.”
Richard Pence used his fingertips to slide a piece of paper in Kushi’s direction. It was written in a script she did not understand.
“I represent Frozen Mugs Affiliated. We’re a Coruscant-based beer brewer. We’ve been looking for opportunities in the Frozen Fields, given how such a huge number of our clientele come from this Verse. Our people here heard word of what you did during-”
“I can’t read this,” Kushi said.
“Ah,” Richard Pence smiled unhappily, “You don’t need to worry too much about what it says. It’s just a standard contract.”
“I apologize, Pence-san, but I’m not signing this until I know what it says,” Kushi said.
“Just Pence, and please,” Richard Pence said, agitated, “Just call me Richard.”
“Very well, Richard,” Kushi replied, her voice laden with ice, “I’m not signing this until I know what it says.”
“Just that you agree to be a part of the Frozen Mugs family,” Richard smiled, his teeth’s uncanny whiteness that would push a pacifist into pulling them out, “In return for uh, well. Substantial compensation.”
Kushi raised an eyebrow. “What does it mean to be a part of the Frozen Mugs family?”
“Oh, it’s mostly benefits,” Richard Pence’s eyebrows curled in mock reassurance. “You would receive financial support, as well as some consulting from our senior brewers.”
“In return...?”
“Just allowing us to be involved in the process is valuable enough,” Richard Pence smirked.
“You mentioned the ‘purchase’ of my property.”
Richard Pence twitched and held out a pen. “Yes, it’s all in the contract.”
Kushi pursed her lips. “I have come to a decision.”
“But I haven’t given you any figures.”
“Because she accepts?” Mack hopefully asked.
“I decline your offer,” Kushi said firmly.
“Even when, let’s say, four thousand dwarven silvers are on the line?”
Mack gasped. “FOUR HUN’NED GOLD?”
Before the dwarf could swoon, Kushi stood up and gestured towards the door. “My answer remains the same.”
Mack stood up, tugging on Kushi’s shirt desperately. Kushi looked at him, eyes unblinking and cold.
“Bu’ lass, four hun’ned gold, tha’s... tha’s more than wha’s e’er passed my hands.”
“Yes, it is a good business deal,” Kushi warned him, “One that McHermansson-san would approve of.”
Mack flinched at the name, turning to Richard Pence, who was suddenly becoming very hopeful.
“Yes, indeed, ma’am,” Richard Pence nodded, “You should listen to the reasonable approach from this... McHermansson-son.”
Mack, glancing at Kushi, grit his teeth and clenched his fists. Kushi could see this was very difficult for him.
“N-nae, lad,” he managed to stutter, “E’en though the-the f-four hun’ned goooo...”
Kushi kicked his heel gently and hissed, “Stay strong, McMicksson-san.”
“...ooold is righ’ temptin’ an’ all,” Mack continued, “Nae. The Barrels of the Thunder ain’t fer sale.”
“Do you two truly think it wise to make enemies of Frozen Mugs?” Richard Pence chuckled, “We can crush the competition like flies. It’s easier to join us.”
“If I recall correctly,” Kushi smirked, “You’ll need to catch the flies first.”
Richard Pence’s face turned into a snarl, before he turned and slammed the door shut behind him. The pair could hear him muttering, “Try to do business with a bitch...”
Mack, upon hearing the words, looked ready to maul the man from the inside out. Kushi snatched his shoulder.
“Let’s not make actual enemies of Frozen Mugs, shall we?” Kushi warned.
Unsettled, Mack shook his shoulder free and somehow sagged his entire body.
“Still, lass,” he mourned, “Four hun’ned gold.”
Kushi shrugged. “McMicksson-san, would four hundred gold buy a good friend?”
Mack looked up at her. “Ah ken the point yer making, but aye. Ye probably could.”
Kushi chuckled, then sighed. “I’m sorry for not trusting you earlier.”
“Ah bet ye are,” Mack chuckled, “McHermansson done messed up half the trays.”
Kushi gasped. “But he wasn’t even here for more than five minutes!”
“Magic, he is,” Mack whimsically commented, “Evil magic, but still magic. Lucky us, ah salvaged what I could. Ye should probably take a look.”
“And while I’m at it, I think I’ll go hide your axe,” Kushi said playfully, “just in case we get any rowdy customers and you decide to attack them.”
As Kushi climbed the stairs, Mack sniffed unhappily.
“Wha’ever,” he muttered, “got a spare war-pick laying aroun’ somewhere.”
![[Image: 665000_mcninja_by_cavenglok-dch0qt5.jpg]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/3590/f/2018/193/c/8/665000_mcninja_by_cavenglok-dch0qt5.jpg)
Odd hours. Call for appointment.