Disturbing the Peace, Smile at my Balls

[-Demosthεnes]

(OoC note by Relentless: Split these posts from The.... Destination? topic for other peoples' sakes. Continuation of first Smiles post, that's in both threads as it somewhat relates to the emperor)


Post by Relentless (also in The.... Destination? thread)

Smiles was having a bad day.

A really bad day.

He had woken up, face down in his own vomit, the stink of which had caused him to abruptly puke again. He had been tempted just to pass out again after that – his entire head was already covered in the contents of last night’s half digested dinner, what difference would a little more make? Stupidly, though, he had made the mistake of pushing himself up off the forest floor to awaken to another monotonous day. Not that he hated those days, though; he was perpetually drunk and, when Balls was around, stoned as well. Unfortunately Balls wasn’t around today (where the hell did that bastard get off to?), so he didn’t have a remedy for his ever incessant hangover. Incessant because he almost never stopped drinking- why should he? This whole world had gone to rock fucking bottom, with everyone constantly wallowing in their misery. Putting up with everyone when he was blitzed out of his mind was difficult, putting up with them sober was impossible.

Standing up, he covered his mouth with a fist and yawned. Everyone else was up it seemed – in fact, Smiles doubted that it was even morning anymore. He had been drinking all night in one of Pacalon’s taverns, in a piss-poor mood because it seemed Balls had decided to take a hike. He didn’t pretend to understand the man, he was a druid after all and they were in a forest, so no doubt the man was partaking in his yearly tree fucking ritual. Not that Smiles minded this, but Balls hadn’t left any sign of where he was going, plus he had miraculously forgotten to leave Smiles some pot. Give him a taste of my munitions when he gets back, the bastard always claims he forgets to grow some, as if that isn’t all he does with his druidic talents.

Well, there was only one other way to remedy this – more alcohol. He was fast becoming the most renowned bar patron in Pacalon, if only because that’s where he spent every minute of his waking hours. He supposed, begrudgingly, that he’d have to clean himself up before heading over to the bar – his showers were limited to whenever it rained (to the sorrow of his former squad mates), but he had to admit that there was a threshold for how much a person could reek, and by waking up in his own vomit he had passed it.

Trudging through the camp, he began his search for a waterhole – he had been in Pacalon for a few days (he couldn’t remember exactly how long, to him it didn’t matter), but he had never needed to find a stream or well or any other source of water until today. As he wandered through the camp he found himself the subject of numerous stares. Whenever this happened, he’d halt his stroll and lock eyes with each of the people looking at him, until they had the good sense to look away. Fortunately, this didn’t prove problematic today; there were some days when some smart ass wouldn’t drop his gaze and Smiles would find himself standing in place for a good half hour. Most people eventually dropped their gaze, but in the past there had been a few cheeky bastards who had been reluctant to do so, in which case they had been introduced to his fist.

After ten minutes of wandering Smiles finally found a small stream; kneeling down, he plunged his head into the icy depths, holding it there for as long as his breath permitted (not very long). When the world started to go black, he thrust his head up from the water and shook his matted hair like a dog. Refreshing, to say the least.

A satisfied smirk on his face, he began wandering back through the camp, in search of his belongings. Unfortunately he had no idea where the hell he had passed out last night, and hadn’t bothered taking in his surroundings when he had awoken, so it was likely going to prove a bit problematic to find his belongings. At least there was a good pile of sick to mark his spot and ward off any intruders.

He had been wandering fifteen minutes when he heard laughter and what were no doubt supposed to be lowered voices behind him. Wheeling around in place, he observed the three perpetrators – three young men, all of them in their early twenties by the look of it, and all of them greener than summer. And they were laughing. At him.

When they saw that he was aware of them their laughter died down, but only slightly. For the briefest of moments there was an awkward silence, then the three men all began laughing again simultaneously. Frowning, he walked up to the men’s encampment and folded his arms, observing each one of them in turn.

“You got a problem, you limp dick fuckers?” He spat vulgarly.

There was another awkward silence before when of the men raised his hand and pointed at Smiles’ left arm.

“I use my other arm to jerk off, so what’s your fuckin’ point?”

The one who had spoken turned slightly red, before shaking his head and pointing again. “Not your arm, right above your heart, your rank emblem.”

Smiles simply glared.

The man licked his lips, his eyes shifting to his two companions, his hands twisting uneasily in his lap. “Well, you can, uh, still see the, erm, outline. Your, well, the leather is less faded, we can see the outline of both a sergeant and corporal’s insignia, and yet you’re…” The man didn’t finish the sentence.

“A private? You’re damn right I am. Former sergeant, demoted to corporal and subsequently demoted to private. The higher ups didn’t like my indulgence in certain substances and my attitude, so they temporarily revoked my title of sergeant and handed the command of my squad to another man. Guess they thought it would ebb my inappropriateness, but it just made it worse, so the bastards demoted me again. Not that I’m complaining, commanding a squad was the biggest headache I ever had, worse than my constant hangover. So, again, you got a fuckin’ problem?” Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke and both hands were clenched into fists. He wasn’t really angry, just slightly, but it was fun to scare these greenhorns shitless.

“Hey, you…you can’t talk to us like that! We outrank you,” intoned one of the other men.

“Well is that right? La-dee-fuckin’-da. Want to know what happened to my last sergeant? The pompous bastard thought it’d be good fun to harass Balls and myself. Had to put up with his dumb ass for almost half a year. When the Empire started falling apart, though, we slit his throat and threw him in the river. You three remind me of him. I bet the most combat experience you three have is when you place your swords into each others’ sheaths at night.”

There was a stunned silence, then the three men stood up, hands on their weapons. Smiles grinned at all three of them, reaching carelessly into one of his pockets. You’re about to eat shit, boys…

“GENTLEMEN, THAT’S ENOUGH!” Shouted someone off to his left. He turned his head slightly to see who it was, and upon catching sight of the man he cursed inwardly. The emperor, well this was just great. He released the clay ball and withdrew his hand from his pocket, biting his lower lip as the man walked over. Shit, of all the places to start a fight…guess I should be thankful he intervened when he did, just a few more seconds and those three men would have been handicapped for the rest of their lives.

“Private Smiles, sapper and veteran of the Zaleran Army at your service, my lord,” he said in his most humble voice, bowing so deeply that his nose came within inches of the ground. It was a mock bow, but even if the emperor realized this (how couldn’t he have) he said nothing to suggest he had noticed the display of disrespect. Instead, the emperor smiled slightly and continued speaking.

“Gentlemen, we need corporation, without unity we have no hope of defeating the Aesir. How can we defeat them if we’re fighting amongst ourselves at the same time?” Smiles didn’t answer the rhetorical question, and astoundingly none of the other men did either. The emperor observed the four of them for a moment, before nodding and reaching into his pocket to pull out a small bag of coins. “You four need to make amends, and I think the best way to do that would be for you to do a little task for me. I’m in need of a conference table, obviously we couldn’t haul one all the way from Nazca. Take this money and purchase a table from one of the villagers, and do it quickly, please.”

Smiles grabbed the pouch of money before the other three men could, then bowed again deeply. “Your will be done, my lord.” Twisting around in place, he faced the other three men, a wide smile on his face. “Well, let’s get moving then shall we, boys?” He said jovially, beginning to make his way through the camp towards the village. The three men mumbled something incoherently, but wisely followed.

When they were out of sight of the emperor, Smiles turned back to the three men. “You heard the emperor, he wants a table so we’re going to make him a table, homemade. It’d be a shame to deprive one of the villagers of a table, so we’ll make one ourselves. Two of you have axes, so start hacking down one of these trees and make a god damn table. Meanwhile, I’m going into the village to get drunk.”

“You can’t do that! That’s the emperor’s own coin, if he…” Smiles slapped the man in the face.

“Don’t fucking question me! And if I find out that the emperor doesn’t get a table, I’m going to personally castrate all three of you. Remember, I know where you sleep,” he roared, his voice full of all the anger he could muster (which was quite a lot).

Without bothering to wait for a reply, Smiles turned and headed off towards the village. Looking in the sack, he saw that the emperor had been more than generous – he could have bought a score of exquisite tables with this much money. Idiot. Not that Smiles was complaining – he now had enough money to keep his alcoholism afloat for another few months. In just an hour his really bad day had turned into a really good one. Balls would be jealous for weeks at Smiles’ good fortune. Whenever he came across a large sum of money the man tended to get envious. No idea why, I’ve never seen the bastard without coin for a day in his life. He supposed Balls just enjoyed making a big deal out of nothing; Smiles certainly did.

He suddenly found himself slipping and then tripping (unfortunately not on Balls’ mushrooms). Throwing out his hands, he caught his fall then pushed himself back up, glancing back to see who or what had caused him to trip. It turned out to be a large pool of vomit, more specifically his vomit. Well I’ll be damned, today is my lucky day, the thought, a smile on his face as he wiped his puke covered boots on his pant legs. His crossbow, broadsword, and satchel of toys were all where he had left him – the throw up had done a valiant job of warding off intruders. Quite a damn pity, though, as I’ll have to find this place again when I come back from the bar. That would no doubt prove quite the challenge – when he returned to the encampment it would be well past midnight and he’d be drunk out of his mind. He could bring everything along with him, but carrying around that satchel when he was drunk was something he only did around Balls – it made the bastard nervous, and rightly so.

Sighing, he did his best to implant the location of his camp in his brain (with luck he’d remember for an hour or so), then continued his trek to the village. This walk was second nature, now, something he did unconsciously.

Twenty minutes later he was in the village’s pub, taking his seat on one of the barstools.

“Back again, eh Smiles?” Bartender asked him stupidly.

“Well I’m glad your eyes are still working, but as far as I’m concerned I never left. Now, start with the usual.” The first few nights he had been here this had confused the man, whom Smiles had nicknamed Bartender - perhaps the man had told him his real name once or twice, Smiles neither remembered nor cared. The usual consisted of any brandy, rum, vodka, or whiskey. He didn’t give a damn about taste, as far as he was concerned the taste didn’t matter as long as the stuff got him shitfaced.

“Gonna have to ask you to pay in advance, I know you’re a faithful customer but last night it took me nearly three hours to even get you to pay, you were so out of it.”

“Was I? Well shame on me, then,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes and reaching into his pocket to withdraw the coin bag the emperor had given him, taking out a single piece of gold. “Here, that should cover me for the rest of the night, just keep filling up my glass even if I don’t ask for it.”

The bartender took the coin, grinning and nodding. “Of course, Smiles. Anything for you.”

“Then shut the fuck up and get my alcohol.”

---

Post by Demosthenes

Private Harry Balzer was somewhat completely fucked up. After a long night in the woods, which he would probably have very little recollection of, he looked even grimier than usual. His dreadlocks clung together in bunches from the mud and shit he had no doubt slept in, and his shirt was in even worse condition. It was his favorite shirt... well, his only shirt, and it was a shame that it was so dirty.

Not that he cared, or even noticed. But hundreds of people did as he ran about the market, thoroughly convinced he was a bird. During his long night in the forest, he had climbed trees, jumped from them (somehow surviving) and flown like the true bird he was. He was jumping off of stands, off of rooftops to the amazement of the shoppers. His eyes traced circles in the air as he ran, his arms flailing and his dreadlocks like a dark wake of stink behind him. His over-sized shirt trailed behind him in the wind as well, the bright purple and green colors on it terribly mudstained and stinky.

"YOU CAN CALL ME FUCKING EAGLE!" He was shouting at no one in particular as he did laps around the fountain in the middle of the square, occasionally jumping and flapping his arms frantically. "FUCKING EAGLE!" He was out of breath, his body ached with exhaustion but he did not realize. Those had been the best damn mushrooms he had ever grown, and he did not intend to waste them. But suddenly he was bored. He stopped dead in his path, shocking the people even more than when he started yelling about an hour before. "I'm thirsty." He looked around for a moment.

"CAWCAW!" He took off like a bullet towards the closest bar, though he did not know exactly where he was headed. He still flapped frantically, the oversized arms of his shirt truly flapping in the wind as he took off, people literally jumping out of the way of the mad man. His pupils were absolutely huge, though that was not necessarily from the drugs. He stopped before a building which he recognized, snot, spit, and whatever other bodily fluids he could contain were all over his face, some crusty and dry, others moist and fresh. He wiped it hurriedly with a sleeve and looked to the corner of the building, where some grass had been growing between the foundation and cobble street.

He concentrated intently, which was extremely difficult in his current state of mind. Eyes turned to slits and hands hung limply at his sides as the grass was extremely overgrown by a plant which he knew all too well. The buds on it were sparkly with a dust his very essence lived off of, the seven-sprouted leaves were extremely lush and green, despite their dusty, ill-fitting birthplace. A large grin suddenly broke Balls' pale face as he reached down, delicately pulling buds off of the plant and dropping them into a small leather bag he pulled from his large sweater. He shouted over his shoulder to nobody, "whoever wants the rest of this feel free!" And took off into the bar in front of him cawing and flapping his arms yet again.

He hurriedly sat down at a stool, looked to the barkeeper, nodding over at the hardest, most disgusting shit in the bar. It looked bad. Harry then made noises and sounds to himself as he pulled the weed from the leather bag, dumping it on a napkin on the varnished hardwood of the counter with the extreme delicacy and experience of a professional. He concentrated as he broke it apart with his fingers, still humming the sounds of some random, imagined winged creature. He stopped the bartender for a second before pouring his glass, and pulled out a large glass piece of his own, from seemingly out of nowhere. It stood about two feet tall, with a large, twisting stem coming from a large sphere on the bottom. A metal piece came out of the bottom section, with a bowl and steel filter on top.

"In there, in there!" He pointed into the top of the glass piece for the booze to be poured, and the bartender did it with a knowledge of the greasy man's habits, and then was quickly stopped by Balls as the perfect amount of liquor sat in the bottom of the glass piece. Still humming like an unknown creature, eyes spinning in his head as he filled up the bowl with his fresh pot. As he put the glass to his mouth he realized something. No lighter. "FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!" He stood, his bong still resting on the counter and screamed at the bar. "I NEED FUCKING FIRE! I NEED A LIGHT!" His bipolar was setting in, he hadn't smoked up in almost an hour and it was time. He was getting desperate, within moments as his smooth plan was quickly ruined.

[-Relentless]

Smiles was well on his way to drowning himself when some jackass moron bird started screaming outside. He did his best to ignore the creature (no doubt it was retarded) and continued drinking. After five minutes of the creature doing everything but what Smiles wanted it to do (shut the fuck up), he slammed his drink down onto the counter and started to stand up. He was going to personally rip that fucking bird in two, preferably by shoving the clay explosive in his pocket down its throat. Just then, however, the bar door opened to reveal the perpetrator of the noises, and it turned out it wasn't a bird.

Gods be damned, I've found my Balls!

His anger was immediately gone, replaced by calmness. Balls meant weed, and sure enough when he got to the counter he pulled out his gigantic glass bong and began loading it. The troubling thing was the man was still squawking to himself - not that this was unusual, but the man hadn't even acknowledged Smiles' presence yet. Looks like Balls is trippin' balls, now I know why he wandered off.

When Balls started shouting for a light, everyone in the bar (save for Smiles), began to stare at the man in a disapproving manner - obviously the residents off this village weren't used to psychedelic drugs. One man, no doubt thinking he was speaking in everyone's best interest, stood up and pointed at Balls and cleared his throat.

"Hey, I don't..." the man began in a raised voice, but he got no further.

"EY, FUCK YOU!" Smiles shouted, waving his fist at the idiot. The man smartly took his seat again and said no more. Satisfied with his work, he turned and walked over to Balls.

"There you are, you little bastard. You forgot to leave me weed again, and it's got me in a right shitty mood," Smiles said, his voice full of anger which he wasn't really feeling - it was fun to give Balls shit.

Reaching over, his placed his fingers just above the bowl and nodded to his companion, a smile on his face. He snapped his fingers once, and a small, constant flame erupted from them, touching the plant slightly so as to not scorch it and waste any of the weed.

"Toke away, bro."

[-Demosthεnes]

Something familiar yet totally insane approached Balls. His vision was alight with color, and every blank texture that met his eye was cast ablaze with soaring geometric shapes and figures. Things were beginning to look far more alien, yet he loved every second. The trip was really beginning to come on. The creature said something to him, he looked up at vaguely for a moment and nodded, realizing he could now smoke up. A flame appeared right by the bowl in expert placement. He played with the hot flame for a moment with a finger tip, mesmerized by the quick jig it danced above the wooden table.

Balls put the mouth of the bong over his own mouth and sucked in with the iron lung he was well known for. Well he actually wasn't well known for it, but he felt he deserved recognition. In his mind he debated the workings of a lung as he enjoyed the fabulous storytelling of the wooden countertop, as images and storylines revealed themselves to him in seconds. Suddenly he realized his chest was puffed out and almost full, the metal bowl pulled itself from the glass as if it had a mind of its own. He cleared the bong with expert smoothness and leaned back, blowing smoke rings to the ceiling.

To anyone watching it would look like quite a show, but it was just another toke, something that happened hundreds of times a day for Balls. He nodded to the flame owner, it's misshapen head still foreign to him, though it struck a note of recognition. He continued to ignore it, playing with the weed in the bowl with his pinky for a moment and passing it off to the horseface that could light flames with a snap. Light flames with a snap... "Smiles!" Balls looked up and the face finally formed itself in front of him. "Hey buddy! Toke up!" He handed him the bong with the friendliest gesture possible.

[-Relentless]

Before Balls placed his mouth around the bong, his eyes briefly met Smiles' eyes. He almost laughed aloud upon seeing them; his pupils were the size of saucers and there was no recognition in those eyes. Damn bro, what the hell are you seeing?

While Balls took his hit he downed two glasses of straight vodka, then turned back to his friend and watched him blow rings. Once all of the smoke had departed from Balls' lungs, the man looked over at Smiles - this time there was recognition in the eyes. He smiled at his friend and patted him on the back; he was making good progress, the last few times he had tripped it had taken him hours to convince the man that he wasn't a purple midget elf who had come to conquer the Land of the Shrooms.

Taking the glass piece that Balls was holding towards him, he pulled out the stem then lifted the bong to his lips and tilted it back, draining all of the alcohol within in a single gulp. It had a slightly different taste than if it had come straight from the bottle, but he wasn't complaining - alcohol was alcohol, and you were a pansy if you gave a fuck about the taste. Slamming the bong back down onto the bar like it was a beer mug, he shouted for Barkeeper.

"Ey, fill us up again, will you!" The man nodded and made his way over to Smiles and Balls, a glass of alcohol in his hand which he promptly poured into the bong. His brow was slightly furrowed and his nose was twitching - there was an obvious look of distaste in the man's eyes concerning the bong and the weed, but he wisely didn't speak up. Better not, you bastard, I gave you an entire piece of gold.

Smiling, he put the stem back and put his mouth over the bong, meanwhile snapping his fingers, which were placed above the bowl, and directing the flame that sprouted from them with an almost unfathomable expertise. After thirty seconds, when his lungs were almost filled up, he pulled the stem back out and sucked as hard as he could. The alcohol within the bong started bubbling - he loved that sound. Once he had cleared the bong, he set it back down onto the counter and smiled. His headache from his persistent hangover was already fading.

When he couldn't hold the smoke in any longer, he leaned forward and shot gunned Balls in the face, wondering briefly what the smoke was looking like on mushrooms.

"Damn bro, this is some dank shit, your talents just keep improving, eh? So how ya been?" He spoke joyfully, carefully handing the piece back to Balls.

[-Demosthεnes]

Balls watched in horror as Smiles shattered into a million pieces and came back as a horse face once again. The thing neighed at him as it poured the pussy booze of the bong down its large throat, horse teeth smiling all the while. The fear and anguish of Balls was shown on his face, but only somebody who had been around him for a long while would be able to read it beneath the dreadlocks that hung about him.

While the octopus filled the bong back up, tentacles flailing, lava erupted from the bottle, steaming and bubbly in the bottom of the bong. Balls watched closely, nose pressed right up against the glass. "WOOWEE! MY BEAK'S HURTIN!" He thrust his face back, nearly falling off of the chair as he realized the heat from the lava would burn his beak. Then he realized it was only a purple goo that sat in the bottom of the bong, not lava. That would toke none-the-less.

The purplish greenish reddish horse began to toke from the shimmering bong, the purple goo oozing and splurting as the smoke was passed through it. The horse's fat lips slobbered all along the top of the bong, but it did not matter. Even horses deserved to get high too. Balls waited all too persistently for the bong to come back to him, his nimble fingers absentmindedly breaking up more weed. He had more than enough for a day of smoking, the leather pouch was full to the very rim, despite the large bowl on the bong.

The bong was set down by the horse. It stuck its snout aggressively in its face, huge teeth and all, and it exhaled smoke into Balls' face. He sputtered for a moment, it stung his eyes and smelled like carrots, but he breathed in in all the same. Then he realized, it wasn't smoke. It was the horse's spit. "Vile beast," he accused as the beast changed form, shrinking in size as the purple on its snout took over its entire body. It was a gnome, come to take over the Land of Shrooms again. This fucking thing had come every time he eaten mushrooms, and Balls was the last defender of the mighty land.

Balls closed his eyes in intense concentration for a moment, and was astounded, for the thousandth time, by a burst of color. Rapidly, as if a rainbow was being shot towards him, the colors sped by, leading through mist into a tunnel. He followed this tunnel, it spun in circles and loops until he was dizzy. After a few moments he opened his eyes, and saw the gnome again. "What the fuck! These are my lands!" He stared the thing down, then saw the inviting glass of the bong on the counter and totally lost track of what he was talking about.

His bipolarness had shifted from emotional instability to that of an ADD sufferer, his thoughts were like feathers on the wind, shifting and changing at every possible moment. That was the best trick of the purple gnome. Balls took the piece and allowed the gnome to strike him a light, huffing back on the bong, exhaling through his nose and smoking more to pooch the bowl. Once it was all blackened and tasted like complete shit, the bowl once again removed itself, the bubbling of the purple ooze ended and he cleared it. Setting the bong down, he attempted to speak to the octopus for more ink in a cup, as he was getting thirsty. But after he realized he could barely speak while holding a toke, he let it spill from his lungs as he spoke, asking in a very faint and garbled voice for ink in a cup. The world was alight with color and everything was shifting, there was a hidden meaning somewhere, it just took somebody with a good mind to figure out the universe.

[-Relentless]

While Balls toked and rambled on like an insane person, Smiles continued his drinking, vigorously pouring large quantities of alcohol down his throat like it was water. Despite the fact that he was well on his way to having had two dozen drinks, there was nothing in his manner (at least outwardly) that suggest he was even feeling tipsy. He enjoyed getting high as fuck, but he preferred being high as fuck when he was blitzed out of his mind. Balls had already cashed the first bowl, an impressive feat to any onlooker who knew anything about smoking, especially considering how much the man had loaded.

"Nuhhneehnhuhn," Balls suddenly muttered. It was clear that his friend was trying to say something, hell he probably thought he was saying something extremely intelligent, but he came off just sounding like a pissed off retarded person. Maybe he was speaking bird talk.

Bartender's gaze had rested on his friend as well, and the man didn't look happy, though Smiles had no idea why. Lots of people came in here and got so shitfaced that they spoke incoherently, he had to be used to this kind of stuff.

"Zshmogrobbennn,” Balls muttered for a second time, his eyes locked on a place two feet left from Bartender.

"Can't understand what the hell your friend is saying, tell him to snap out of it," Bartender muttered after a few moments, his words laced with a hint of annoyance.

“Clean the shit outta your ears, he said he wants a fuckin’ drink, the hardest stuff you got.” The man shook his head, then ducked down behind the counter to fetch Balls a drink. While Bartender was doing this, Smiles turned to his friend excitedly – he’d just had an idea, and with luck it would make his friend’s trip even better. Or it could throw him into a bad trip, but that was unlikely – he could never remember Balls ever having had a bad trip in his life, though he supposed there might have been a few times. He could never remember things like that. “Hey bro, the only way to ward off the damn elves is to watch what I do next,” he said, pushing himself up off his seat.

Jumping up onto one of the unoccupied tables, Smiles withdrew a small and seemingly harmless clay ball from his pocket. A small length of what looked like green yarn extended from the top. A grin on his face, he carelessly tossed it into the air; the moment it had left his hand rings of fire appeared in the air, crossing each other in elaborate patterns. The clay ball flew up through the rings and then back down through them, miraculously not touching any of the rings – in fact, the ball seemed to have a life of its own, for it had “dodged” out of the way of one of the rings.

Instead of catching the clay ball in his hands, Smiles let it fall, catching it on his left foot at the last moment, then kicking it back up like he was playing hacky sack. More rings of fire appeared in the air, this time accompanied by cylinders of flame as well. This time the ball didn’t fall back down; it began zooming across the room, flying in-between more circles of flame which appeared in midair.

The show went on for five minutes, the flames becoming more and more elaborate by the minute but never lasting long enough to teach the floor or any of the other patrons. They clay ball was still intact and untouched by fire at the end, to Smiles’ slight relief – it was always a pain in the ass to clean up the mess made when he accidently let the clay touch the flames.

“Trippy as fuck, eh?” said smugly, hopping down off the table and walking back to his friend. The rest of the bar was dead silent except for the muffled scuffle of boots; it seemed a few of the customers had remembered important appointments or something. Shaking his head, he took his seat and gestured for another drink. As Bartender refilled his cup he noticed the man’s hands were shaking slightly, no doubt he had been positive Smiles would make a mistake and set the pub on fire. Idiot, if that clay ball had exploded a fire would have been the least of his problems.

"So, let's say we ditch this joint and go on a magical adventure."

[-Demosthεnes]

The octopus and the little purple gnome had a chat as Balls busied himself with the bong and his pot. He opened a fold in his robe-shirt and stored the bong in a seemingly random, unknown spot, where it was extremely safe and couldn't be seen. He also put his large leather pouch of pot away in an even safer spot. Once this was done, which only took a few moments the thick, black ink which he asked for appeared in front of him. He quickly snatched up the glass and poured the ink all over his head, attempting to turn black and hide like a night owl amongst the corners of the bar.

It didn't work. His eyes stung, and he quickly closed them, rubbing vigorously as closed-eye visuals assaulted his senses, the sounds of the room in which he sat sparking more and more color. But when he finally opened his eyes, a real scene oh much more magnificence was playing out. The gnome, in all his trickery was playing with some sort of orb as flames circled it. This got his balls vibrating alright. Within their storage pocket in his shirt they began to rumble, shaking as if they were excited to be in the presence of this force. But it was all too much to take in, the high was really fucking over his mind, along with the mushrooms which were really setting in, and he just sat stupidly as the gnome finished its act.

Emotionally confused, Balls didn't know whether to be excited or afraid. His face reflected this, contorting freakishly beneath his monstrous beard into every imaginable form and emotion. His heart felt as if it was ripping apart between these feelings, but he loved it. The utter confusion his substances had instilled in his mind was what he lived to pursue. But then the gnome looked at him. Was it time for a battle already? They hadn't had enough fun yet.

In the squeakiest, most annoying voice imaginable, the gnome asked him to go on an adventure. Balls was most certainly down, as fresh tokes filled his bloodstream with THC and fresh mush clouding his brain with psilocybin he could go just about anywhere he imagined. The room was alight with shifting colour and design, and his inner explorer twitched eagerly to go on this trip within a trip. He nodded in quick reply to the gnome, standing up. The eight steel balls quickly found their way between his fingers in his favorite place to put them in battle, as one should always be ready when dealing with these Shroom Kingdom invaders. Each one rested in a gap in his fingers as he stood, as if he were holding two large glumps of molten steel they seemed to ooze from between his fingers. He then looked down and realized they were still in their perfectly spherical shape.

He walked confusedly to the door of the bar, utterly confused as to where the exit was. He ended up alchemically ripping the door off of its hinges, as a complete accident, and waited for the gnome to guide him to the land of fairies and horse porn, wildly excited for the ride he would soon partake in.

[-Relentless]

It seemed that either Balls marinating himself in alcohol or ripping off the door had pissed Bartender off, put him past the point of no return. Smiles watched nonchalantly, still sitting at the bar, as the man withdrew a rusty dagger from somewhere behind the counter, his face red with fury. Instead of advancing on Balls, however, he turned to Smiles and began screaming.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, NOW, NEVER FUCKING COME BACK!"

Smiles just sat there and stared at him, a faint smile on his face as he continued drinking. When Bartender saw that he obviously wasn't going to comply any time soon, his hands began to shake and he stepped out from behind the bar.

"Ey, chill out and put the damn knife away, I'll pay for the damages," he said, waving his hand unconcernedly.

“Get…out. Now.” Bartender said again, this time his voice little more than a whisper. Smiles rolled his eyes at this – it seemed the idiot wanted to blow things out of proportion, well so be it. Unfortunately he had left his more conventional weapons back at camp, so he’d have to improvise a bit. When Bartender realized that he still wasn’t going to move, he took a step forward to advance. Sighing, Smiles slid off his barstool then quickly knelt down, picking it up by one leg then swinging it around with full force so that it caught the man in his lower jaw. The force of the blow sent him sprawling backwards, and his head hit the edge of the counter with a sickly thud.

“So, anyone else got a fuckin’ problem?” He said, a manic smile on his face as he challenged the rest of the bar. Wisely, no one voiced a complaint. Satisfied, he made his way over to the doorway and crossed the threshold to outside.

“Let’s go bud, they treat their customers like shit here. I suggest we head over to Oil Lake, there are a few materials I’d like to borrow. You can swim in the lake to keep yourself occupied, then we can go visit some of your fellow tree fuckers in Deep Forest, maybe they’ll hit the spliff with us.” Yawning, he began making his way across the courtyard, in what he hoped was the direction to Oil Lake. He didn’t really give a damn where they went, as long as it was away from the encampment. Too many men who had no idea what the fuck they were doing there. Not that he was going to desert, but sitting around and waiting for something to happen seemed pointless. Plus, if they stuck around they’d no doubt be forced to participate in drills, and it was a pain in the ass to hit the bong while marching or in the middle of a mock combat scenario.

Not that he’d never done it, of course. Pot was the only thing that had kept him going back in Yevela when they had had to do those drills constantly under the meticulous watch of their former sergeant. The man had been a true idiot, taking away whatever drugs he had found, claiming it turned good soldiers into people like him and Balls. For all his effort the man had ended up in a river with a red smile.

After a few minutes of walking, he turned back to Balls, who had been hopping behind him like a frog and croaking every few seconds. “Hey, let’s ditch this place, take a vacation. They’ve never given us a god damn vacation and we sure as hell deserve one. Let’s head east, to the mountains. The Empire can survive without us for a few weeks, hell I bet they won’t even notice we’ve gone missing. Hell, by the time we’re done sightseeing, maybe we’ll be able to kill some god damn Aesir.”