Two men met in an unused office on the far-end of the Oren City guildhall, one sat behind a desk. Looking like your typical executive, or wanna-be executive. The other man had to stand there awkwardly, like a chastised child in the principal’s office.
“I think it’s about time you sell me the device…” said the smug and smarmy face of Oren city’s resident “hero,” Tyrell Booker. His clean, good, looks and his honest, earnest, persona hid the shimmering green scales of a deceitful snake.
“What? No! For the last time, I’m never gonna sell this to ya’,” harrumphed the older, shorter, engineer.
“Tch...I’m not gonna ask again. I need that device, which means Oren needs that device. Hand it over...Or...Or perhaps that little girl of yours might end up paying the price,” said Tyrell. Eyes narrowed as his insidious mind quickly found the thing that would make the older man give in.
“You...Fuck, fine! Fine! You can bloody have the thing then. Just give me the coin and I’ll be on my way,” said the old engineer.
“No, no...The time for negotiation and bargaining is over. I think you should just make that multi-tool a donation to the greater-good,” said Tyrell. His tone was gloating. His nose was high in the air as he looked down on the old engineer.
“You…!” growled the old Engineer.
“Tut-tut, Think of little Millicent before you lose your temper. It’d be a shame if she had any accidents,” said Tyrell.
The fire briefly lit in the older man’s eyes quickly went out. The half-dwarf sighed and handed over the imperium multi-tool.
“I can’t believe they call you a hero...Fine, ya bastard! Take it then! Are we through?” said the engineer, his voice filled with anger, tiredness, and defeat.
“We’re through,” said Tyrell. Smirking.
The engineer moved to leave the office and just as he had his hand on the door knob and the door of the office was nearly opened, he heard a sneering voice,
“Hm...Maybe I should go say hi to little Milly all the same. Just for funsies.”
It was probably just words. The engineer knew this. It was probably just Tyrell kicking the dog and trying to get the old man’s goat. All the same, the idea of having that snake go after his little girl, filled the old man with an inferno of fury that neither he, nor Tyrell could have predicted. Part of why the old man and the hometown hero butt heads so often, was because the old man knew the truth of some of the rumors about the hero. The old man knew exactly what kind of man Tyrell Booker really was, which is why his joke would never just be seen as stray words.
By the end of the fight that ensued, two-thirds of Tyrell Booker’s body was covered in burns, and the old man was beaten, bloodied, and headed to prison.
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Remmington Kruger limped out of the prison. His beard was now a wild, brambly, mess. The dark hair streaked with gray. One of his eyes was clouded over, the tissue dead from the injuries it took. His skin was lined with various scars. He was dressed in a tattered coat, and whatever the prison guards were able to scrounge up from the lost and found. The ends of his hands were covered in bandages. Hiding away misshapen lumps beneath.
They took his hands. The sons of bitches took his hands. His maiming and his fear for his few friends and loved ones, were the only thought had passed through his mind for the past 773 days. 2 years, one month, and a few extra days. Not once did he ever hear word of the folks in Mesmer making any attempt to get him back, or get him out. Eventually, thoughts of the broken, battered, twisted lumps on the ends of his arms faded away. Then all that was left was the fear for his family, and a growing sense of despair as he wondered whether they’d kill him before, or after they went after his loved ones.
No one was more surprised than Remmy when one day, a guard came over, and instead of taking him to some backroom for another beating, they took him out of the holding area, they took his tattered prison uniform, they gave him some clothes and showed him the door. They let him go, and all the time that they were doing so, Remmy couldn’t help wondering why. It was only when, in a daze, he stumbled over to his ex-wife’s house to see whether she and his girl were okay, that Remmy understood why they’d let him go.
All that was left was a burnt-out hovel. Asking around, and talking with the few folks who were still willing to be seen talking with him revealed a story that was two parts revealing, one part distressing. In the end, no one went after Remmy’s family. Perhaps, because they knew that if they actually touched them, the next thing they best do was kill Remmy next, because if he found out while still in custody, the old half-dwarf still had enough fire in him to break out of that prison and make them regret it. Holding onto him now, would have been like holding onto a grenade with the fuse lit.
It was likely that the only reason they were even able to hold him was the fact that they’d broken his hands, and the fact they knew, he knew, that they had people watching his family. Or rather, even if they did kill him afterward, the hate and despair would likely turn Remmy into something wretched that could flip the city-state of Oren on its head.
That was one good thing about the blight that dwelled in everyone’s bodies, its effects on physiology and the spirit meant that ghost stories and tales of revenge from beyond the grave were less rare than one would think. This knowledge kept a number of right awful arseholes from acting as terribly as they might be inclined to act. If only to avoid literally triggering the creation of a monster that they couldn’t cope with.
That being said, being wary of directly touching Remmy’s family did not equate to them not acting against his family in other ways. The half-frozen, burned-down ruin that Remmy knelt before shortly after his release from prison, was the proof of this. They’d let the community’s ire at the man who harmed their hero do most of the heavy lifting. Turning Tessa Franklin and her daughter Millicent Franklin into pariahs. Then a tooth-fairy attack finished the job, with Tessa and Millicent’s home receiving no aid in their time of need.
“Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck!” swore Remmy. Pounding the ground with his broken hands. Doing so repeated because the pain in his twisted appendage somehow helped with the overflowing feeling within his heart.
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For a while, Remmy thought this was where he’d die. As he grieved for his ex-wife and child, he believed he’d simply sit there and let the cold stone and concrete sap away his life and warmth. He’d believed that all he’d have to do was wait his body finally became as cold as the shattered pieces of his heart. Fortunately, or unfortunately, that proved to be impossible. Even as a child Remmy had never been able to bear sitting still. Eventually, the confluence of thoughts and emotions swirling within the man’s chest forced him to stand and move.
He walked with no sense of where he was going. He walked feeling like his chest was on the verge of exploding. He walked while a million incoherent thoughts and bitter memories flowed past his mind’s eyes. Then Remmy saw a familiar shopfront and sign. The shop that had made him one of the happiest engineers in the region for a time. The shop that technically might have ruined his life. The strange and mysterious little shop with the drop-dead gorgeous owner.
After a moment’s hesitation, Remmy’s feet carried him inside the store. He was surprised to find how little it had changed. Then he realized that it had actually changed a fair bit, but the changes made him think of his workshop and office. There were homey little details like the hardware area now including a worktable-like display instead of normal shelving, and an expansion of the bar area that made it look less like a bar and more someone's home, that just happened to have a traditional bar counter installed in it.
“Oh, well if it isn't our dear Mister Kruger? Glad to see you again, good sir,” said the pink-haired, yellow-eyed, heart-throb. Whose extraordinary good looks were barely held at bay by the facade of averageness that the man seemed to wear as a disguise.
“Uh...yeah...Hi,” said Remmy. Eyes misting over, because this was the first time since he’d gotten out of prison that there’d been anyone who genuinely seemed glad to see him.
“Can we get you a drink?” said the busty blond Shopkeeper, Josephine.
“I...Um...Sure,” said Remmy. Any complaints, rants, and grievances that he’d been on the verge of voicing falling away in the face of the two shopkeepers' gentle, welcoming, smiles.
“You liked the Sunnydale Scotch last time. Would you like to start with that?” said the Pink-Haired Shopkeep, Ellis. Slowly walking out from behind the main store counter and over to the bar.
“Y-, Yeah...Yeah. It was warm, fruity, and had quite the kick,” said Remmy. Nodding. Somehow not surprised that the beautiful man had remembered.
“Then take a seat...Try out one of the lounge chairs we set up in the bar area, and I’ll get that drink for you,” said Ellis.
“Uh, sure…I’ll do that then,” said Remmy. Nodding again. Feeling oddly like a child. Unsure of what to do, and thus, taking any directions that were given.
The lounge was comfortable. Vibrating just enough that it massaged the muscles without actually causing one’s body to shake. Radiating a warmth that sank into the bones, without making the act of being seated, an uncomfortably hot experience.
Remmy hadn’t been this comfortable in years, and he hadn’t been this miserable...Ever. He had one drink, and then another. Then he suddenly realized that he was sobbing. His scotch watered down and salted. Then Remmy realized something else.
“Uh...I don’t...I don’t have any money to pay you, folks!”
“That’s fine, this was on the house. It’s been a while since we saw your face and we felt it right to celebrate,” said Jo. Smiling warmly as she brought Remmy another drink. The cup floated, easily in reach of Remmy, with a long straw extending from it, since Remmy couldn’t hold the drink himself.
“Also, to remind you, we don’t just take hard currency, barter, trade, and time are also accepted by us.
Remmy startled, stuck between wanting to argue that he’d pay them back, and feeling touched that they’d actually noticed and cared about his absence.
“I...Thanks. Thank you. I really mean that. I...I needed this. I didn’t realize it, but I did. My...My wife and my daughter...They’re gone. I don’t...Suppose you folks have anything that can help me get them back...or barring that, help me get revenge on the ones responsible,” said Remmy. Still crying, but now no longer sobbing. His dark hair glowing like the filaments of a bulb. His belly filled with the fire of a father who’d been forced to mourn their child.
“Well, we ‘do’ sell everything here...but Mz and Miss Franklin were still alive last we checked. Did something change?” said Josephine.
“Ah, but when’s the last time you checked,” sighed Remmy. Deflating. Feeling the pain of his loss all over again, as he remembered the ruined, burned-out, house in Oren.
“A couple of weeks ago, when we arranged to have a few items delivered to them at their home in the city of Regina,” said Ellis.
“Actually, it was a couple of days ago, apparently, they needed a new electric kettle and they came in while you were elsewhere, love,” said Jo. Correcting the pink-haired Shopkeeper.
“Ah, so it is...Well, there you have it. We heard from them a couple of days ago,” said Ellis. Placing another levitating bowl of snacks in front of Remmy. The floating cups and floating bowls were a necessity due to Remmy’s current lack of hands.
The room fell quiet. So quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“....What?” said Remmy.
“Your family is currently living in Regina,” said Ellis.
“Are you...Is that true?” said Remmy. Crying more tears, do a very different sort now. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest as it slowly riveted and welded itself back together.
“Yes,” said Jo.
“Your daughter is currently amongst our customers, thanks you kindly recommending our store to her,” said Ellis.
“I...Well, I guess this changes quite a bit...Um, I don’t suppose you folks have something that can fix my hands?” said Remmy. Nearly passing out from relief. His mind moved rapidly, as his fatalistic thoughts of dying for revenge were replaced with thoughts of rebuilding his life first.
“Dear customer, do we really need to repeat ourselves?” said Ellis.
“We at Holst Curio and Convenience, sell nearly anything and everything that a person might want or need. Satisfaction guaranteed….” said Jo.
“Within reason, of course,” said Ellis.
