In the center of the town of living homes, was the heart of the plant, a great stalk that spawned the labyrinth of two-storied walls—the walls of homes that built this isolated settlement. Turned out, it was also very nice inside the stalk. That place even had a hinged door.
The newfound client and guide weaved their way along the winding corridor of huts. The sun began to peek up over the town, chasing away the cast shadow. Its lighting reflected off the layer of dense mist at their feet, scattering the rays into a sea of rainbows as the fog dissipated.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
To either side, residents chipped apart their cemented door frames, ready to open their homes for a new day.
Along the way, Teddy knifed a fist-sized chunk out of the walls of a hut and mostly kept silent as he guided his new client while enjoying that chunk of breakfast. The plant had no taste, more like drinking water, but Teddy couldn’t afford true food, subsisting on the nutrients of the plant as all the destitute did.
Too hungry and shameless to abandon his breakfast, he was still nibbling it down even as they entered the heart of the town, the mayor’s home, that stalk complete with a hinged door.
Inside the mayor’s stalk, a servant eyed Teddy’s meal disapprovingly, and Teddy offered up a bite. It was easy to disapprove when other options were available. He doubted the servant had tasted anything other than the finest scraps of beast thrown to him by his boss.
Fortunately, Monteguem didn’t mind that shameless display of poor etiquette. Teddy was paid to guide, not make his employer look good; an attitude it seemed both shared.
After Monteguem flashed his identification, the servant led the finely dressed gentlemen and the bum nibbling his breakfast to a study upstairs. Though the study was furnished with only the most basic of accommodations, Teddy noted it was all built of wood. In this barren desert, possessing wooden furniture was an ostentatious display of wealth given that every bit likely needed to be shipped piece by piece across the border at great expense to the mayor and great profit to a porter.
Without waiting for permission, Teddy plopped right down on a standard chair in front of a simple desk. Monteguem hadn’t lost his shame, though; the tailored gentleman stood, waiting for the mayor to arrive.
Teddy shoved the last morsel of breakfast into his mouth and studied a paper map hung on the wall. It illustrated an outline of Beezle’s Desert, complete with little dots smattered here and there likely representing all the other plant-based settlements in this desert.
One curious feature stood out. Teddy had a rough idea where Beezle’s cliffside dwelling was located, a piece of information provided by old man Parol himself. However, there was a dot right next to where Beezle’s cave should be, not that the cave was marked on the map, mind you.
He didn’t have time to hypothesize long. A well-proportioned man walked in dressed rather smartly. Clearly he prioritized function in his clothing over form. Had it not been for his leathery skin, the man might have even appeared distinguished.
Without saying a word, he strode into the room and seated himself behind his desk, indicating for Monteguem to do the same. This man, clearly the mayor, didn’t spare a glance to Teddy, something he was grateful for. Sometimes, aristocracy got a real mean streak to them; eking out any excuse to swing their dick around, especially when it involved sleights to their ‘face’. Fortunately, Teddy must have appeared so homely that the mayor didn’t think he was even worth executing as an honorless criminal for his bad manners.
Part of him was grateful, the other part, disappointed. Looks like I got to finish the job I was hired for…
Once again, Monteguem whipped out his badge of identity and introduced himself. “I am Monteguem of the Bethhousens. Distinguished Teril, head patriarch, requests your assistance.”
The mayor smacked the desk and answered with a smirk. “Oh? You can tell that rank bastard Teril to go eat a dick. Ain’t gonna be no human experimentation going on in my town.”
Monteguem didn’t flinch at the verbal jab, though it caught Teddy’s interest. Of course, formerly being in the information business himself, Teddy heard the rumors about the Bethhousen Clan, but it was another matter to hear someone shamelessly accuse said clan right to their face.
“The ethical implications of your own settlement aside,” Monteguem slyly countered. “Distinguished Teril is interested in the viability of this marvelous plant for his own purposes.”
“So that skank bastard got bored of blending humans together, eh?”
A flicker of emotion spread across Monteguem’s face, but it was quickly replaced with his stoic demeanor. “There are simply too many new territories attaching themselves to this starting realm. He feels a settlement like this would go a long way towards teraforming those new worlds.”
The mayor cracked a bottle of presumably whiskey, took a swig and offered it to Teddy, who shook his head, no. Once again ignoring Teddy’s sleight, the mayor turned his attention back to Monteguem. He didn’t offer his other guest a drink.
“Tell ‘em to ask Endell, himself,” the mayor said.
“Ah…I’m afraid all our requests were ignored. That bogavart is quite…difficult to deal with.”
“What you mean is he hates your guts.”
Monteguem smiled in agreement. “However, I can assure you, I am simply the first of many ambassadors of the Bethhousen clan. With or without your permission, Distinguished Teril will study this settlement of plants. It would be much easier on both parties if I was the only ambassador needed. As such, all I require is a residency.”
The mayor eased back, propping his feet up on the desk. Teddy noted the mayor seemed to be paying extra care to point his boot soles toward Monteguem. That guy was bound and determined to insult his guest in every way possible, insults Monteguem handled with grace.
“Tell you what, I’ll write up a blank accord and you go around and find a little place that suits your fancy. I ain’t sending no patrol with ya. You gotta kick out whatever sorry sons of bitches who just so happen to live there,” the mayor offered.
‘Sons of bitches’…a strange turn of phrase, but I rather like it.
Teddy filed the mayor’s curse away for later use. He was always open to picking up bits of information from casual conversation, a habit hard to kick.
Without hesitation, Monteguem agreed, and the mayor quilled up an official accord, stamped it, and took extra pains to ‘accidentally’ drop the paper on the floor, forcing Monteguem to lower himself to retrieve it.
“Good luck to ya. Those streets are dangerous,” the mayor said.
“I am aware,” Monteguem said, standing to leave.
Monteguem bowed and added, “it would be unfortunate if Teril were to find out about my demise, even if it was indeed an accident. Might even lend credence to the theory of a terrorist element among these settlements.”
That time, it was the mayor’s turn to lose his composure to a flicker of emotion. “Good luck to ya, my distinguished guest.”
Then the mayor turned to Teddy. “It was an honor meeting you, Distinguished Guest.”
Seemed the mayor was determined to offend Monteguem at every chance.
