seattle ; sunday ft
Douglas shuddered and wasn't sure when he'd last felt like this: relief and elation so strong that his whole body shook with it. Not since his youth, surely. He turned the key and stumbled into his bungalow, one of his many safe houses he'd purchased when the need to lie low arose.
The room was spotless, thanks to a cleaning service, but no amount of dusting and vacuuming can cover the smell a house gains when no one lives there. Musty like a decaying shell, that was what it reminded him of, that was what was left in a house without life to fill it up. And now with him staying here, he wondered if that would change. Would his half-life suffice?
Giddy, he turned the locks and rested his head against the door. It had been so easy. Too easy? No, those were just idle doubts. Sneaky things, plaguing him since he’d woken up. He’d never had them before Sam, and he didn’t want them now.
He ordered Minion to start the fire, which the wooden-faced zombie did without too many mistakes. Douglas stood by the fireplace until the flames licked the edges of the wood, biting the smaller pieces first. Once it was big enough, he slipped off his bloody jacket and tossed it in. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and did the same. After those were gone, he tossed in his pants, socks, and underwear. Blood might not be on them, but better safe than sorry. The last thing he needed was to smell like Brannoc. It was easier to burn away any chance of scent than to risk it. When everything was burned down to ash, he took a long shower. He cleaned every little bit of skin, scrubbed it until he was sure the blood was all gone. Once he was dry, he put on a fresh suit. It was like nothing had ever happened.
Once that was down, Douglas sat himself down in a musty chair and smiled. He was going to enjoy playing back this memory through his head, how he'd waited for Brannoc to walk the grounds alone. How he'd followed the werewolf into the clearing and watched Brannoc stand there, trying to figure out what was wrong and what he was missing. Brannoc had never relaxed or let his guard down but it hadn't mattered. Douglas had stepped from the shadows and slice Brannoc's throat. He'd watched the blood drain out and then he'd left just as quietly as he'd arrived.
And now, here he was. Holed up in a safe house, positively jittering with energy. That decided it, then. Douglas got up again and grabbed his keys. It was time to go out in search of some fun.
**
Sam was hungry. He wanted to eat but his stomach still wasn't all the way back so he idly chewed on an apple while he listened to Frank go over everything he'd learned from the rabble in the yard. Ramon wasn't listening and Brooke was taking her own notes. Of course, the idle chewing of the apple didn't last long since James came into the room and put more food in front of Sam: pita bread, veggies and some sort of white dip. Sam sniffed it.
"What's this?" he asked curiously.
"Tuscan white bean dip." James didn't look at Sam as he did that, too busy with getting a glass of water and ginger ale which also appeared in front of Sam. And then he added a multivitamin.
"Am I both thirsty and in need of supplements?" Sam asked.
"You've suffered a lot of stress and a major episode of...something. The ginger ale will help your stomach," James explained. "And you're still dehydrated?"
"How do you know that?" Frank asked.
James reached over and pinched my skin. "Hey!"
Continuing to ignore me, James pointed at Sam's skin. "See how the skin isn't snapping back and the color is off?"
Frank stared at my arm and nodded. Then, he took his turn at pinching Sam too. The skin tepeed up for a second and then went slowly back. Sam smacked at his hand when he reached to do it again.
James sat down and grabbed a carrot. “Basically, you have a metaphysical hangover. You need rest, which you’ve managed a bit of, and vitamins and water, and you haven’t been getting enough protein, so I made the dip.” He nudged it closer to me. “Eat.”
"Okay," Sam said and started to eat. He was wondering why James was being this nice. It was kind of scary actually but Sam wasn't going to argue. He slid the dip closer to James. "I bet the dip goes well with carrots."
James made no move to eat the dip. Sam sighed and decided it was too much trouble to wonder if James was trying to poison him or something. He just started eating the dip slowly.
"Gimme the rundown," Sam said, nodding at Frank's clipboard.
“Well, nothing they’re asking for is too crazy. Basic needs stuff. Though they asked for access to some TV time, a communal computer so they can e-mail-”
“Gnomes e-mail?” Ramon sounded both amused and skeptical.
“Yeah, but I think the computer request was mostly from the Minotaur. The gladiators just wanted to use it to check hockey scores and stuff," Frank explained.
“Anyone else think it’s funny that what Frank just said didn’t seem weird at all?” Ramon asked.
Brooke rested her chin in her hands. “Nothing seems weird to me anymore.” Ramon reached over and hugged her to him, kissing her cheek. She gave a little half smile and leaned into it.
“I was too busy trying to figure out why the gladiators wanted to check hockey scores, which just goes to show you how skewed my sense of strange has become,” Sam said.
Frank shrugged, not looking up from the clipboard. "They're Canadian."
Sam grimaced as he swallowed the vitamin. The aftertaste was heinous. “But they’re gladiators. Wouldn’t that make them Roman or Greek or something?”
“I asked them the same thing. I guess the marble they’re carved from comes from Canada. You can kind of tell if you talk to them long enough. They say ‘eh’ a lot. They don’t seem to have spent much time in their homeland, so I think they are basing most of their culture on stereotypes.”
"Maybe we should hold a little Canada party or something," Sam suggested. "A little cultural festival. And then we should hold one for the gnomes because they confuse the hell out of me."
Frank snickered. “No kidding. Did you check out their names?”
He pushed the clipboard over to me. Frank had methodically written down everyone’s name and personal info and plugged it into a neat and tidy grid. Twinkle the Destroyer wasn’t alone, it seemed. There were more gnomes than I thought. Pip the Bringer of Pain, Chauncey the Devourer of Souls, Cuddly the Inexplicable, Gnoman Polanski, Pith the Bitey, Gnome ChompSky, Gnomie Malone, Chuck the Norriser-the list went on.
“It’s like a mishmash of violent imagery, TV, and political references," Sam said, still boggling.
“I told you, they like TV. I’m not sure they understand everything they see, though, so they don’t fully grasp what they’re stealing their names from. Like, I think Gnome ChompSky just thought it sounded tough, and Chuck the Norriser came from watching too many episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger. They believe Chuck Norris is a demigod.”
"Who doesn't?" Sam asked, amused. "Are they born with those names or are they more like titles?"
“No, they start off with Twinkle and Pip and whatever, and the other stuff is added on after their first battle.” Frank scrunched up his face in thought. “It might be easier to just picture the gnomes as tiny little barbarians. From our preliminary discussions, they appear to be a warrior race. Battle glory, that’s their number one. Makes them a bit bloodthirsty, actually," Frank stated.
Sam nodded slowly. "So, they get titles bestowed on them once they prove themselves in battle. Hence the bloodthirsty names?"
Frank nodded. “Yup. They tend to do the naming ceremonies upon puberty, so if there isn’t a battle, they manufacture some sort of competition. They were a little hazy on the details there, but if the young gnome proves himself, he’s awarded a new name and a hat.”
Ramon laughed and tipped his chair back from the table. “Good thing they didn’t watch too much daytime TV. You might have ended up with a slew of bloodthirsty gnomes named after talk show hosts and characters from daytime soaps.”
Sam snickered and kept on reading. "Okay, one of them wants to be referred to as The Darkness Known as Mittens."
"Awesome," Ramon said, grinning. "We should all change our names too. From now on, I will only answer to Ramon the Invincible!"
"More like Ramon the Assjack," Sam cut in, frowning at the clipboard. "Some of them have normal names like Chad and Stacy."
Frank nodded again. "Yeah, I asked about that. Chad's new so he hasn't had a chance to get tested in combat yet."
Sam nodded. "And Stacy?"
"He said girls are scary." Frank said it like that explained everything.
Sam's head was starting to hurt. He handed the clipboard back to Frank. “Whatever. Just handle it-give them what they need. You know, within reason.”
Frank nodded but he was holding something back and Sam knew it.
"What is it, Frank?"
"It's just...they mentioned you might want to take a look at something," Frank started slowly.
"Like what? Am I going to get a jar of Ebola virus or something?" Sam asked suspiciously.
Frank shook his head. “I don’t think so, but they weren’t giving me much in the way of information. They just said you needed to check out the downstairs guest bathroom and it wasn’t their fault.”
"Well, that doesn't sound bad at all, does it?" Sam stood up with a sigh. Frank and Ramon followed behind him and Brooke skipped ahead because she didn't seem to find anything at all scary.
The guest bathroom was the one Sam had had to use when he'd first been brought into the house as a hostage so tended to always stay away from it now. It had that clean, cold feeling that all guest bathrooms seem to have. When he opened the door, he found...nothing. Empty bathroom.
Sam shuffled in and shot a look at Frank. "Okay, I checked it out. Are there any other random --" A soft scratching noise came from under the sink, where James kept the spare cleaning rags. Sam hushed everyone and leaned down to open the cabinet door. The memory of a gnome riding a skunk came to mind, and Sam moved so that he would be behind the door when it opened.
There was a loud creak as the door swung open and then a startled hissing sound as a creature the size of a ring tailed lemur sprang forth and straight at Frank. Frank hit the ground with the force of the creature hitting him but it was probably more out of horror and surprise than anything else. Without thinking, Sam reached down and grabbed the thing by the scruff of its neck.
It hung from Sam's grasp, twisting and growling, while Sam looked it over. It was a slight creature and couldn't have weighed that much at all. It was reptilian in nature and its hind legs were developed which explained the ability to hurtle itself at Frank. It had huge eyes, sharp fangs, and a rather feline face. Its arms had a flap of skin that looked like something a flying squirrel might have.
Pronounced canines jutted from its mouth, and the creature was trying to use them to take a bite out of Sam's hand. Sam shook the creature gently. "Cut that out. We're not going to hurt you."
Yellow cat eyes focused on me as the beast appeared to be thinking over what he'd just heard.
"Okay," Sam said, nodding. "Good. Now I’m going to set you on the counter, all right? And we’re going to get to know each other a little better. Sound good?”
Its head tilted in a curious manner, and its eyes darted between the three of us. Sam gently set it down on the counter and then backed away, giving it some space. Though it was feisty and obviously full of energy, now that he could get a better look at it, he could tell that it wasn't well. His coloring was dull and his underbelly looked scratched. Sam was pretty sure he could see ribs too.
"You hungry, little guy?" Sam asked. The reaction was immediate. He perked up, giant ears swiveling forward and nostrils flaring.
Sam winced. "I'm not really sure what to feed him."
Ramon shook his head but Frank looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure, but my guess is he’s related to the chupacabra family. He looks pretty close to the drawings in one of the books I’ve been reading, anyway.”
Sam blinked at Frank. "You think I have a teenage goatsucker in my bathroom?"
“That would be a good name for a band,” Ramon said. “Tonight, all the way from Wisconsin, it’s Teenage Goat Sucker!”
Brooke snickered. Frank chewed his lip and ignored them. “Maybe? I have to look it up again.”
“We have a problem, then,” Ramon said. “In that he is a hungry goat sucker and we don’t have any goats.”
Sam smiled at the creature, making sure not to bare any teeth. "We'll have to ask James where he got goats and stuff for Douglas's sacrifices. In the meantime, we can see if he'll eat something we have in the fridge."
The group managed to coax the little guy out to the table with a few bites of beef jerky. And that's where the group was when James, in cat form, walked in and the creature treed him. Sam couldn't really blame him since the creature was hungry and James looked like lunch. James quickly shifted into human form.
“What the hell is that?” James yipped, still crouched on the counter.
“According to Frank’s research, it’s a pygmy chupacabra.” Sam tossed the little guy a piece of chicken.
James watched as it snatched the chicken out of the air with its jaws, then bounced, eyes bright and fingers steepled, waiting for the next bite. “I wasn’t aware they came this far north.” He clambered down from the counter top slowly so as not to spook the chupacabra.
Sam tossed some more chicken to the chupacabra. “We don’t think they do. Either he was accidentally transported up here with some livestock or something, like how a lot of non-indigenous animals end up where they shouldn’t, or Douglas ordered him.”
James negated that idea. “I would have known. He didn’t want them around.”
“Why wouldn’t he want one?” Brooke asked. “It’s so adorable.”
He frowned. “Something about it being disruptive.” He shook his head. “All I know is that chupacabras were certainly on the banned list. They’re pretty useful, though. He’ll keep the pests down, at least.”
"He likes beef jerky," Brooke said.
Ramon shrugged. “Everyone likes beef jerky. Even Sam likes beef jerky, he just won’t admit it."
“Well, Douglas isn’t here now, which means the ban doesn’t apply anymore, so can we keep it?” Frank asked, throwing James some serious puppy-dog eyes. Brooke joined him, batting her eyelashes and balling her fists up by her chin. They both looked pretty pathetic.
Sam expected James to say no right away but he didn't.
“That might not be a bad idea, actually.” He reached to grab a piece of the chicken to toss, but the creature’s eyes narrowed as he growled at James, his ears flattening against his skull. James’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he leaned back quickly, his arms raised in surrender. “As you can see, they are fiercely loyal and highly intelligent. He could probably live off the local wildlife, but maybe we should get him some food of his own so the neighborhood cats don’t start disappearing.”
“Pygmy goats!” Brooke clapped her hands. Then her face fell. “No, pygmy goats are cute. I can’t stand it when things get all Animal Planet.”
“Guinea pigs might be more his size,” Frank said. “Or chickens.”
James gave him a flat look. “No, I’m going to get him food twice his size. I’m so glad you brought it up-otherwise, I never would have figured it out.”
"Be nice," Sam said, cutting them off before a fight could break out.
I think I will name him Precious,” Brooke said, “because he’s so freaking cute! We can call him Preshie for short.”
“Shouldn’t we call him something like Paco or Taco or Juan?” Frank asked.
“Why?” Ramon crossed his arms. “Because he’s from Mexico? Isn’t that kind of racist?”
Maybe we should just call him Sven,” James said. “I like ‘Sven.’”
“How is that racist? Besides, how do you know he’s from Mexico? Chupacabras have a bigger range than that.” Frank mimicked Ramon’s crossed arms, a smug look on his face. “Now who’s being racist?”
Ramon looked closely at the little guy as he ate. “Maybe he’s Jewish. I mean, if Sammy Davis Jr. could convert to Judaism, why not a chupacabra? We should name him Harry Mendelbaum.”
Sam held his arms up in protest, trying to shut everyone up. “You’re all racist. Now shut up. We’ll call him Taco von Precious of Svenenstein. There, everyone happy?”
Honestly, Sam didn't care if they were happy or not. He'd set the name, the name was staying and so was Taco. End of story.
[NFB, NFI. Lifted and slashed from Necromancing the Stone. Warning for: length, some blood.]
The room was spotless, thanks to a cleaning service, but no amount of dusting and vacuuming can cover the smell a house gains when no one lives there. Musty like a decaying shell, that was what it reminded him of, that was what was left in a house without life to fill it up. And now with him staying here, he wondered if that would change. Would his half-life suffice?
Giddy, he turned the locks and rested his head against the door. It had been so easy. Too easy? No, those were just idle doubts. Sneaky things, plaguing him since he’d woken up. He’d never had them before Sam, and he didn’t want them now.
He ordered Minion to start the fire, which the wooden-faced zombie did without too many mistakes. Douglas stood by the fireplace until the flames licked the edges of the wood, biting the smaller pieces first. Once it was big enough, he slipped off his bloody jacket and tossed it in. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and did the same. After those were gone, he tossed in his pants, socks, and underwear. Blood might not be on them, but better safe than sorry. The last thing he needed was to smell like Brannoc. It was easier to burn away any chance of scent than to risk it. When everything was burned down to ash, he took a long shower. He cleaned every little bit of skin, scrubbed it until he was sure the blood was all gone. Once he was dry, he put on a fresh suit. It was like nothing had ever happened.
Once that was down, Douglas sat himself down in a musty chair and smiled. He was going to enjoy playing back this memory through his head, how he'd waited for Brannoc to walk the grounds alone. How he'd followed the werewolf into the clearing and watched Brannoc stand there, trying to figure out what was wrong and what he was missing. Brannoc had never relaxed or let his guard down but it hadn't mattered. Douglas had stepped from the shadows and slice Brannoc's throat. He'd watched the blood drain out and then he'd left just as quietly as he'd arrived.
And now, here he was. Holed up in a safe house, positively jittering with energy. That decided it, then. Douglas got up again and grabbed his keys. It was time to go out in search of some fun.
**
Sam was hungry. He wanted to eat but his stomach still wasn't all the way back so he idly chewed on an apple while he listened to Frank go over everything he'd learned from the rabble in the yard. Ramon wasn't listening and Brooke was taking her own notes. Of course, the idle chewing of the apple didn't last long since James came into the room and put more food in front of Sam: pita bread, veggies and some sort of white dip. Sam sniffed it.
"What's this?" he asked curiously.
"Tuscan white bean dip." James didn't look at Sam as he did that, too busy with getting a glass of water and ginger ale which also appeared in front of Sam. And then he added a multivitamin.
"Am I both thirsty and in need of supplements?" Sam asked.
"You've suffered a lot of stress and a major episode of...something. The ginger ale will help your stomach," James explained. "And you're still dehydrated?"
"How do you know that?" Frank asked.
James reached over and pinched my skin. "Hey!"
Continuing to ignore me, James pointed at Sam's skin. "See how the skin isn't snapping back and the color is off?"
Frank stared at my arm and nodded. Then, he took his turn at pinching Sam too. The skin tepeed up for a second and then went slowly back. Sam smacked at his hand when he reached to do it again.
James sat down and grabbed a carrot. “Basically, you have a metaphysical hangover. You need rest, which you’ve managed a bit of, and vitamins and water, and you haven’t been getting enough protein, so I made the dip.” He nudged it closer to me. “Eat.”
"Okay," Sam said and started to eat. He was wondering why James was being this nice. It was kind of scary actually but Sam wasn't going to argue. He slid the dip closer to James. "I bet the dip goes well with carrots."
James made no move to eat the dip. Sam sighed and decided it was too much trouble to wonder if James was trying to poison him or something. He just started eating the dip slowly.
"Gimme the rundown," Sam said, nodding at Frank's clipboard.
“Well, nothing they’re asking for is too crazy. Basic needs stuff. Though they asked for access to some TV time, a communal computer so they can e-mail-”
“Gnomes e-mail?” Ramon sounded both amused and skeptical.
“Yeah, but I think the computer request was mostly from the Minotaur. The gladiators just wanted to use it to check hockey scores and stuff," Frank explained.
“Anyone else think it’s funny that what Frank just said didn’t seem weird at all?” Ramon asked.
Brooke rested her chin in her hands. “Nothing seems weird to me anymore.” Ramon reached over and hugged her to him, kissing her cheek. She gave a little half smile and leaned into it.
“I was too busy trying to figure out why the gladiators wanted to check hockey scores, which just goes to show you how skewed my sense of strange has become,” Sam said.
Frank shrugged, not looking up from the clipboard. "They're Canadian."
Sam grimaced as he swallowed the vitamin. The aftertaste was heinous. “But they’re gladiators. Wouldn’t that make them Roman or Greek or something?”
“I asked them the same thing. I guess the marble they’re carved from comes from Canada. You can kind of tell if you talk to them long enough. They say ‘eh’ a lot. They don’t seem to have spent much time in their homeland, so I think they are basing most of their culture on stereotypes.”
"Maybe we should hold a little Canada party or something," Sam suggested. "A little cultural festival. And then we should hold one for the gnomes because they confuse the hell out of me."
Frank snickered. “No kidding. Did you check out their names?”
He pushed the clipboard over to me. Frank had methodically written down everyone’s name and personal info and plugged it into a neat and tidy grid. Twinkle the Destroyer wasn’t alone, it seemed. There were more gnomes than I thought. Pip the Bringer of Pain, Chauncey the Devourer of Souls, Cuddly the Inexplicable, Gnoman Polanski, Pith the Bitey, Gnome ChompSky, Gnomie Malone, Chuck the Norriser-the list went on.
“It’s like a mishmash of violent imagery, TV, and political references," Sam said, still boggling.
“I told you, they like TV. I’m not sure they understand everything they see, though, so they don’t fully grasp what they’re stealing their names from. Like, I think Gnome ChompSky just thought it sounded tough, and Chuck the Norriser came from watching too many episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger. They believe Chuck Norris is a demigod.”
"Who doesn't?" Sam asked, amused. "Are they born with those names or are they more like titles?"
“No, they start off with Twinkle and Pip and whatever, and the other stuff is added on after their first battle.” Frank scrunched up his face in thought. “It might be easier to just picture the gnomes as tiny little barbarians. From our preliminary discussions, they appear to be a warrior race. Battle glory, that’s their number one. Makes them a bit bloodthirsty, actually," Frank stated.
Sam nodded slowly. "So, they get titles bestowed on them once they prove themselves in battle. Hence the bloodthirsty names?"
Frank nodded. “Yup. They tend to do the naming ceremonies upon puberty, so if there isn’t a battle, they manufacture some sort of competition. They were a little hazy on the details there, but if the young gnome proves himself, he’s awarded a new name and a hat.”
Ramon laughed and tipped his chair back from the table. “Good thing they didn’t watch too much daytime TV. You might have ended up with a slew of bloodthirsty gnomes named after talk show hosts and characters from daytime soaps.”
Sam snickered and kept on reading. "Okay, one of them wants to be referred to as The Darkness Known as Mittens."
"Awesome," Ramon said, grinning. "We should all change our names too. From now on, I will only answer to Ramon the Invincible!"
"More like Ramon the Assjack," Sam cut in, frowning at the clipboard. "Some of them have normal names like Chad and Stacy."
Frank nodded again. "Yeah, I asked about that. Chad's new so he hasn't had a chance to get tested in combat yet."
Sam nodded. "And Stacy?"
"He said girls are scary." Frank said it like that explained everything.
Sam's head was starting to hurt. He handed the clipboard back to Frank. “Whatever. Just handle it-give them what they need. You know, within reason.”
Frank nodded but he was holding something back and Sam knew it.
"What is it, Frank?"
"It's just...they mentioned you might want to take a look at something," Frank started slowly.
"Like what? Am I going to get a jar of Ebola virus or something?" Sam asked suspiciously.
Frank shook his head. “I don’t think so, but they weren’t giving me much in the way of information. They just said you needed to check out the downstairs guest bathroom and it wasn’t their fault.”
"Well, that doesn't sound bad at all, does it?" Sam stood up with a sigh. Frank and Ramon followed behind him and Brooke skipped ahead because she didn't seem to find anything at all scary.
The guest bathroom was the one Sam had had to use when he'd first been brought into the house as a hostage so tended to always stay away from it now. It had that clean, cold feeling that all guest bathrooms seem to have. When he opened the door, he found...nothing. Empty bathroom.
Sam shuffled in and shot a look at Frank. "Okay, I checked it out. Are there any other random --" A soft scratching noise came from under the sink, where James kept the spare cleaning rags. Sam hushed everyone and leaned down to open the cabinet door. The memory of a gnome riding a skunk came to mind, and Sam moved so that he would be behind the door when it opened.
There was a loud creak as the door swung open and then a startled hissing sound as a creature the size of a ring tailed lemur sprang forth and straight at Frank. Frank hit the ground with the force of the creature hitting him but it was probably more out of horror and surprise than anything else. Without thinking, Sam reached down and grabbed the thing by the scruff of its neck.
It hung from Sam's grasp, twisting and growling, while Sam looked it over. It was a slight creature and couldn't have weighed that much at all. It was reptilian in nature and its hind legs were developed which explained the ability to hurtle itself at Frank. It had huge eyes, sharp fangs, and a rather feline face. Its arms had a flap of skin that looked like something a flying squirrel might have.
Pronounced canines jutted from its mouth, and the creature was trying to use them to take a bite out of Sam's hand. Sam shook the creature gently. "Cut that out. We're not going to hurt you."
Yellow cat eyes focused on me as the beast appeared to be thinking over what he'd just heard.
"Okay," Sam said, nodding. "Good. Now I’m going to set you on the counter, all right? And we’re going to get to know each other a little better. Sound good?”
Its head tilted in a curious manner, and its eyes darted between the three of us. Sam gently set it down on the counter and then backed away, giving it some space. Though it was feisty and obviously full of energy, now that he could get a better look at it, he could tell that it wasn't well. His coloring was dull and his underbelly looked scratched. Sam was pretty sure he could see ribs too.
"You hungry, little guy?" Sam asked. The reaction was immediate. He perked up, giant ears swiveling forward and nostrils flaring.
Sam winced. "I'm not really sure what to feed him."
Ramon shook his head but Frank looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure, but my guess is he’s related to the chupacabra family. He looks pretty close to the drawings in one of the books I’ve been reading, anyway.”
Sam blinked at Frank. "You think I have a teenage goatsucker in my bathroom?"
“That would be a good name for a band,” Ramon said. “Tonight, all the way from Wisconsin, it’s Teenage Goat Sucker!”
Brooke snickered. Frank chewed his lip and ignored them. “Maybe? I have to look it up again.”
“We have a problem, then,” Ramon said. “In that he is a hungry goat sucker and we don’t have any goats.”
Sam smiled at the creature, making sure not to bare any teeth. "We'll have to ask James where he got goats and stuff for Douglas's sacrifices. In the meantime, we can see if he'll eat something we have in the fridge."
The group managed to coax the little guy out to the table with a few bites of beef jerky. And that's where the group was when James, in cat form, walked in and the creature treed him. Sam couldn't really blame him since the creature was hungry and James looked like lunch. James quickly shifted into human form.
“What the hell is that?” James yipped, still crouched on the counter.
“According to Frank’s research, it’s a pygmy chupacabra.” Sam tossed the little guy a piece of chicken.
James watched as it snatched the chicken out of the air with its jaws, then bounced, eyes bright and fingers steepled, waiting for the next bite. “I wasn’t aware they came this far north.” He clambered down from the counter top slowly so as not to spook the chupacabra.
Sam tossed some more chicken to the chupacabra. “We don’t think they do. Either he was accidentally transported up here with some livestock or something, like how a lot of non-indigenous animals end up where they shouldn’t, or Douglas ordered him.”
James negated that idea. “I would have known. He didn’t want them around.”
“Why wouldn’t he want one?” Brooke asked. “It’s so adorable.”
He frowned. “Something about it being disruptive.” He shook his head. “All I know is that chupacabras were certainly on the banned list. They’re pretty useful, though. He’ll keep the pests down, at least.”
"He likes beef jerky," Brooke said.
Ramon shrugged. “Everyone likes beef jerky. Even Sam likes beef jerky, he just won’t admit it."
“Well, Douglas isn’t here now, which means the ban doesn’t apply anymore, so can we keep it?” Frank asked, throwing James some serious puppy-dog eyes. Brooke joined him, batting her eyelashes and balling her fists up by her chin. They both looked pretty pathetic.
Sam expected James to say no right away but he didn't.
“That might not be a bad idea, actually.” He reached to grab a piece of the chicken to toss, but the creature’s eyes narrowed as he growled at James, his ears flattening against his skull. James’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he leaned back quickly, his arms raised in surrender. “As you can see, they are fiercely loyal and highly intelligent. He could probably live off the local wildlife, but maybe we should get him some food of his own so the neighborhood cats don’t start disappearing.”
“Pygmy goats!” Brooke clapped her hands. Then her face fell. “No, pygmy goats are cute. I can’t stand it when things get all Animal Planet.”
“Guinea pigs might be more his size,” Frank said. “Or chickens.”
James gave him a flat look. “No, I’m going to get him food twice his size. I’m so glad you brought it up-otherwise, I never would have figured it out.”
"Be nice," Sam said, cutting them off before a fight could break out.
I think I will name him Precious,” Brooke said, “because he’s so freaking cute! We can call him Preshie for short.”
“Shouldn’t we call him something like Paco or Taco or Juan?” Frank asked.
“Why?” Ramon crossed his arms. “Because he’s from Mexico? Isn’t that kind of racist?”
Maybe we should just call him Sven,” James said. “I like ‘Sven.’”
“How is that racist? Besides, how do you know he’s from Mexico? Chupacabras have a bigger range than that.” Frank mimicked Ramon’s crossed arms, a smug look on his face. “Now who’s being racist?”
Ramon looked closely at the little guy as he ate. “Maybe he’s Jewish. I mean, if Sammy Davis Jr. could convert to Judaism, why not a chupacabra? We should name him Harry Mendelbaum.”
Sam held his arms up in protest, trying to shut everyone up. “You’re all racist. Now shut up. We’ll call him Taco von Precious of Svenenstein. There, everyone happy?”
Honestly, Sam didn't care if they were happy or not. He'd set the name, the name was staying and so was Taco. End of story.
[NFB, NFI. Lifted and slashed from Necromancing the Stone. Warning for: length, some blood.]