Day Six-Eighty-Five: A Bad Idea

That was right hilarious, it was. I've ne'er seen a thing funnier in my life. And I've lived a looooong time.

Aye. Hello. My name is Grylock. I've not written a thing in this diary before now. I'd say today is a good day to start.

I've taken an interest in watching Mr. Mayor and King of the Shitheads box. It's one of the better sports on the docket, though I'm more a fan of jousting, and their wibbly-wobbly way of trying to smack one another about is right hilarious. Always have to hide myself in the rafters of Engineering to get in on the fun, but it's worth every bit of discomfort.

The first day was funny, watching those two get knocked about by the orc. The second day was a trifle tedious, though better than staring off over endless fucking plains. The third was fun, and it got me on my feet a wee bit. The fourth, though... today... ah, it took the cake. I'm so glad I came along on this pointless trip. Better than dying to those darky assholes back in Pubfuckton.

I've been feeling a mite patriotic of late, so, as Mr. Mayor noted yesterday, I've been humming Goblinoster's regional anthem a lot. For the record, it goes like this:

'There's ne'er a city on the roster

That's better yet than Goblinoster,

There's nay a foe who will accost 'er

Or goblin town with better posture!

Her fields flat, her warrens wide,

Her bitchy face is e'er our pride.

And when the bars are fully dried,

Our streams of piss the rain will hide.

There's ne'er a place ye could foster

That's greater than ol' Goblinoster,

And with the luck the gods have tossed 'er

Our goblin town will always prosper.

We do our duty to our king

And spit upon most everything

That won't abide our mighty wing

This in the gloom we now do sing!

There's ne'er a city on the roster

That's better yet than Goblinoster,

There's nay a foe who will accost 'er

Or goblin town with better posture!'

Questionable rhyming, but I like it. Better than the drivel Ed used to spin out, bless his dead ass.

Anyway, I've been humming that anthem a lot. It reminds me of the old country, for obvious reasons. I've hummed it so much that it has practically become the theme song for the boxing lessons, though I have to keep it down so I'm not discovered. I like to imagine a full brass band playing away in the corner of the loading bay while Dragomir and Jeffrey slap at each other like a pair of hairy girls. It was most definitely the theme song for Dragomir's 'accident'.

Ever since we came back from that fucking cloud land, the gypsy question has hovered over the Dauphine. Will they stay? Will they go? Will we have to kill 'em and bury 'em somewhere on the way from Point A to Point B? I rather like them, myself, so I'm no advocate for murder. I am, however, an advocate of the rock-slinging asshole travelling with the gypsies leaving the Dauphine. I don't like that Traveller, nor do I trust his stupidity. He's just too stupid. It has to be an act.

And I may have proof. He provided a touch of it today.

Dragomir and Jeffrey were practicing their hooks when Traveller wandered into Engineering. He's been a mess of late, poking his head aimlessly into every compartment on the Dauphine as though he's looking for something, but he seemed quite chuffed to leave the boxing ring alone 'til that moment. More surprising, his cat and his rat were nowhere to be seen, 'least so far as my nose noticed.

"Traveller?" The orc flashed a rare genuine smile. I'm sure most of them are fake. "A zuprize. Vat bringz you here?"

Jeffrey and Dragomir stopped punching the air. They seemed happy to have a break, though both tensed a little at Traveller's appearance. Dragomir hates Traveller.

"Nuthin'," Traveller replied. His frown curved into a half-convincing grin. "You... you boxing? I like boxing. Can I box?"

Dragomir grimaced and didn't even attempt to hide it. "N... no. You'll knock our damned heads off. G'way." Jeffrey's frantic nods suggested agreement.

"No, no." The orc waved his 'brother' over, handing him a pair of boxing loves. "Iz good. You go on defenze, ya? Let zem hit you? Do not hit back?"

"But that's what you do in boxing." Traveller frowned, but he laced on the gloves.

"Remember ze timez vere ve zpar, brozer. You hold back and block my zhotz. Iz zame here. Do not attack."

Traveller stared at his fists, sheathed in shoddy leather. "Do... not...? I don't remember that."

"You barely remember vrum which end you pee. But it doez not matter. Get into ze poze."

As if by instinct, Traveller assumed a serviceable boxing pose. A little smile appeared on his face, this one far more convincing than the last. He bobbed up and down, throwing a few light jabs. Dragomir and Jeffrey glanced at each other, their nerves thick.

"Iz vine," Antonio assured them. He urged Jeffrey forward. "You. King. You danze around. Try to hit him. Do not hold back. My brozer iz rezilient. He vill barely veel your blowz."

Jittery, his legs wobbling as though they wanted to go any direction but forward, Jeffrey stepped up to Traveller. He nodded; the scruffy cyclops nodded back. I practically got an erection as I imagined Traveller knocking Jeffrey's head right off his shoulders.

Sadly, that didn't happen. The moment the nods were exchanged Traveller bounded backward, fists flying upward. He slipped from side to side, surprisingly swift, hair whipping about at his back like a cape. He made no motion to engage Jeffrey, instead prancing around the nervous king and forcing the newcomer to make the first move.

Eventually, Jeffrey did. His exploratory jab went wide. Traveller laughed, sideslipped, mimed a little punch at Jeffrey's ribcage that didn't even come close to landing, and slid away again. Jeffrey lunged a second time, more confident; Traveller avoided him easily. Again, no serious retaliation.

"You are too quick to attack, king," Antonio commented from the sidelines. "You muzt be more cautiouz. Approach zlowly next time or I vill make you run fifty laps."

The next twenty minutes of sparring went well for Jeffrey. He landed perhaps half a dozen solid blows, none of which seemed to harm Traveller but all of which boosted the former monarch's confidence. By the end he was smiling and laughing as he lay on the floor, utterly wiped of energy. Traveller skipped around him in a merry circle, his fists in the air, and eventually he dragged Jeffrey off to the side of the room.

That was not the fun part. That was the disappointing part. The fun came next.

"Iz good," Antonio declared. He pointed at Dragomir. "You. Hit him."

Mr. Mayor looked calmer about the situation. He'd anxiously watched the entire mock battle, and for each minute that passed without incident his posture eased a teensy bit. By the time his turn came up he looked ready to give Traveller a try, and he crept into the invisible ring and nodded at his opponent. Traveller stopped dancing and did the same, his fists rising.

Then came the expression.

From my vantage point I couldn't see Dragomir's face, so I have no idea how he reacted, but I could see Traveller plain as day. One second he had a goofy grin stretched from ear to ear; the next, as his eye settled on Dragomir... something changed. Something developed.

"Traveller?" the orc said, voice suddenly anxious. "Iz zomezing vrong?"

Traveller didn't answered. His smile disappeared. His posture, previously so loose and calm, tightened. He crouched the tiniest bit, muscles tensing, leg sliding back. And his eye, his eye, oh, my lords, his eye shone with actual intelligence for the briefest second, just long enough for me to see a completely different person in that shaggy body.

Dragomir gulped. His hands dropped. "T... Traveller?"

The punch was so fast that I barely saw it snap into Dragomir's chest. One second Dragomir was stationary; the next he was flying across the room, propelled by a ridiculous amount of force straight into a wall. The echoing CRASH nearly shook me from my secret roost in the rafters; Dragomir's pained shout nearly made me piss myself.

No one moved.

Traveller broke the silence. He was still in his boxing position, fist outstretched, and the vapid look was back in his eye. "Huh? I was swatting a fly. Did I get 'im, Tony?"

Antonio responded with a hard smack to the back of Traveller's head as he passed. That said it all.

Dragomir is in semi-serious condition. The punch itself didn't cause lasting damage so much as the buffet he took to his head when he hit the wall. Dumb bastard's out cold, 'n nothing seems able to knock him back to life. Last I checked his crazy wife was threatening to kill each and every one of those gypsies, and to use their skins as a sail for the Dauphine.

Heh. Skin sail.

Heh heh heh.

Possible brain damage. As if he needed any more of that.

Heeeee hee hee hee.

...

Well, I found it funny.

Gods bless Goblinoster,

Grylock the Amused