Chapter 8: And now for some toilet humor!
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Work in progress draft of A Beast Tamers Crazy Chicken by Leimrat. Originally posted on Leimrat.blogspot.com. Please do not repost.
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“D-“
I was staring at Cluckers' friendliness stat.
“D-?!”
I poured my heart out into her soft feathers and she gave me a D-?
What is this!? I feel like I’m back at school, studying all night only to get a failing grade!
That was genuine emotional bonding between lifelong enemies over a common goal—and she values it at less than a 5 out of 10!?
I gave her unlimited free breakfast, damn it!
What do I need to do for S Grade, die for her? Give her my bed? Scrub her cereal claws?
Ugh—that last one was too much for my stomach to handle.
Headed to the bathroom, I noticed the culprit in question had long since wandered off, probably plotting her revenge against Sunny.
“SKKKRRRRRRRRTT!!”
Once again, I heard the sound of screeching tires pull up to my driveway.
Knock... knock... knock.
I was in a situation—one that many a drunken friend group has discussed at length.
What do you do if you really need a poo and there’s someone at your door?
“I’ll be there in a minute!
I’m, uhh…”
Desperately looking around the room, I tried to find a less embarrassing reason than needing the toilet—I looked at the mess of food on the table—the leaky faucet—the cleaning supplies on the counter!
Got it!!
“I uhh, I had a messy leak and I uh—need to clean up real quick!!”
I regretted it as soon as it left my mouth. My face red as a rose, the only reason I didn’t cry again is that I was all out of tears.
[][][]——[][][]
Tess knocked on the door, remembering all her etiquette training growing up.
‘Three knocks. Not two, not four. Evenly spaced, no hurry. Then one step back. Hands at your sides, not behind your back—behind is for soldiers. Don't fidget. Don’t lean.’
Knock... knock... knock.
It was gentle and almost musical. She stood there, back straight, not fidgeting, waiting for the door to open.
“I’ll be there in a minute!
I’m, uhh…
…
I uhh, I had a messy leak and I uh—need to clean up real quick!!”
Her face contorted, picturing Steven with his overalls around his ankles, covered in his own muck, while he tried to clean it up from what sounded like the middle of the kitchen.
It made Tess completely break protocol—she held her nose and took another step back.
Step step step
Click
The door swung open. A short, slightly out-of-shape man with messy dark hair and sunburnt skin stood there, red-faced and with puffy eyes—obviously he’d been crying. His overalls stank and were covered in what Tess could only imagine was his own filth.
Eyes wide, she gagged.
She managed not to throw up, and then—
“BUEEEEGH!!”
She emptied the contents of her stomach on his doorstep, doubled over, trying to get as far away from this complete filth monster as possible!
Steven jumped back. “WHAT THE HELL—Hmph—”
He gagged, swallowing it down.
“This is not the kind of package I was expecting—hmph!”
He gagged again. The smell of vomit was all he could smell.
Tess fought through the tears, grunting, trying to catch her breath. “YOU? HOW? F-for the love of god, man!”
She glared at him as if it were his fault she threw up. Like an angry mother, she yelled out, “Go clean yourself up bef—before—”
She couldn’t. The smell!
“BUEEEEGH!”
Falling to her knees, she scooted herself away from the smell of cow crap exuding from Steven’s week-old overalls.
Laundry day was Sunday. Well, today’s Sunday morning… but she didn’t know that.
Steven saw the big box on the ground and the woman kneeling next to it. He looked at one, then the other before saying:
“You alright? D’you need a glass of water or something?”
Tess glared at him—a dragon’s hoard of insults and comebacks raging through her mind.
“Yes.”
She held out her hand—covered in her own sick she’d fallen into.
…
Eh, I’ve touched worse, he thought.
He grabbed her arm, helping her up and led her inside.
Marv, meanwhile, was oblivious, busy punching in words on a keyboard one letter at a time, searching the internet for “holiday destinations for retired couples.”
[][][]——[][][]
I’ve gotta be a good host, I thought. She probably wants to change out of those quickly.
“The bathroom’s down the hall if you want to get yourself cleaned up. I can get you a fresh shirt if you want—there should be one big enough around here somewhere.”
“Big enough?!”
Crap. The tall blonde woman did not seem to like that…
Oh!! D-did she think I meant she was overweight?
My face unfortunately couldn’t get any redder—and neither could hers, apparently, as she was blood red, grinding her teeth. She looked ready to absolutely kill me any second.
“Uh, I didn’t mean that!! I meant because, y’know, you’re taller than me! So…”
Dammit Steven, that was terrible…
I put out my hand. “Look, today’s a day of fresh starts for me… I’m Steven, I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry!”
I put on my best apology face. Granted, I’ve been out of practice for a while, but I think I did pretty good.
The Vomit Viking seemed to be calming down. She shook my hand, bending her waist forward a bit, then sighed and walked down the hall.
“I-I’ll get you a change of clothes.”
I ran into my dad’s old room, ignoring the fact I haven’t been in there since he passed. I went into where I thought he kept his nice fancy stuff and grabbed a dusty shirt and some smooth trousers.
I left them outside the bathroom and waited, washing my hands and getting a hot drink ready.
I heard city folk only drink tea, even in this heat. Are they heat resistant over there? I mean, they came dressed in suits just to deliver stuff. I don’t know.
How do you get yourself into these situations, Steven?
PSHHHHHH
The sound of running water came from the bathroom.
“Is she showering? Really? City folk are weird…”
After fifteen minutes of fidgeting and feeling like a total creep listening to a girl showering, the water stopped.
I heard her open the door… then shut it again.
She grabbed the clothes. I hope they’re not full of bugs—I forgot to check.
Soon enough, she came out into the kitchen, clean as a whistle.
“See, the clothes fit you perfectly!”
She raised her eyebrows at me. What does that mean—is that good?
“I made tea! I hear city folk love it!” I pushed a cup toward her.
She didn’t take it. “Isn’t it a bit hot for that?”
“But Dale said city folk only drink tea!”
Tess thought back to yesterday, where the old man offered them a range of hot drinks… and a few cold ones.
She chuckled and sat down. “I think he must’ve heard about iced tea. It’s tea, but it’s cold. It’s gotten very popular lately—a lot of people swear by it.”
“Steven, was it? I’m Tess. I’m here representing Task Dungeon, but we also represent a few other organizations.”
She picked up her tea and blew on it. “I’ve seen through our app that you’ve become invested in beast taming. Have you considered taking it any further than a hobby?”
She took a very refined gulp—like she’s some kind of machine that practices it in her spare time.
She was from the city, so I figured it might be worth telling her to see what she knows.
“Uh, sort of. I’m interested in that ad the ERC put out recently—the one about high coin prizes for competing.”
She gave a warm smile and put down the cup, folding her arms. “Well, that’s great news! I happen to represent a few beast taming clubs. Would you be looking to audition? Or are you planning on being independent for now?”
“Clubs? Already? I thought that was a pro thing—I’ve just started!”
“Oh, I’m sure many clubs’ amateur programs would be interested in taking a look at you. I can help introduce you if you’d like, but I’d need a piece of the action.”
“Uh, a piece of what? I’m sorry, I don’t have any cake or pie.”
“I—” She almost went back to Vomit Viking mode, I saw it for a second. “For introducing you and acting as a go-between, I’d request a portion of the sign-up bonus. It’s very normal.”
She’s scamming me.
I may not be a city guy, but as a cheapskate, I can smell a scam.
But is this a real problem? If I need a club to compete, then my journey to the ERC Amateur League might end before it even started.
But if she is scamming me, I might regret talking to her…
Okay. I know just how to handle this!
“CLUCKEEEEEERS!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.
Vomit Viking—I mean Tess—jumped out of her skin.
“B’kauk!” Her head popped up from behind the window. She must’ve been spying on me the whole time.
She flapped and glided into the kitchen, landing in Tess’s drink.
She stared at the woman… with both eyes! I’ve never seen her do that. Guess it means she’s serious.
“Tell Cluckers what you told me—she can decide whether to trust you or not.”
One of Cluckers’ eyes looked at me, then she nodded.
Tess cleared her throat and, looking deadly serious at my mind-reading minion (she’s psychic, right?), said:
“I hear you’re interested in being a big strong bird—not that you aren’t already—but one capable of destroying entire cities, dominating humans, and ruling countries with an iron claw! I can help. You just have to tell Steven to give me some money whenever I help him. Deal?” Tess revealed a sly grin.
“B’kauk?”
…
“Oh, right.
“She says, ‘How much money?’”
Tess gave me a weird look.
“I want a meager 10 percent.”
“B’kauk?” She looked at me, confused.
“Oh, a percent is… say I have 100 boxes of cereal. She wants 10 of them. That’s 10 percent, I think. So if she helps get us a bunch of coin, she wants 10 percent of it.”
Cluckers’ eyes went wide at the thought of 100 boxes of cereal. Her head slowly turned to Tess, her eyes squinting.
“B’kauk, Buk B’kauk!” She stood up, spilling the tea she was sitting in.
“Uh, she says don’t touch her cereal, she hates you, and wants you to go away and die…”
Tess gave me a questioning look as if to say: You’re seriously going to let your bird do the talking?
“She’s the one fighting, so she gets to make the decisions!”
It’s definitely not because I have no idea how to make deals or haggle.
Tess’s face sank. Her eyes went distant. Then suddenly, she smiled like crazy.
“What if I get you a sponsorship from Smiley Cat Cereal? I can organize a deal for a lifetime supply of free cereal—but you’d better make yourself appealing. I can guarantee they’ll want you to get high in the Amateur League this year for the deal to even go through.”
“WHAT—B’KAUK?!”
I looked at Cluckers, pleading for her to say yes… but I caught a glimpse of something sparkling in her eye.
Oh no.
She flew over to a nearby cereal box, pounded the mascot with her wing, then patted herself on the chest.
“B’kauk!” she declared, head held high.
Tess looked at me, waiting for me to translate.
“She… she wants her own brand of cereal…”
Tess smiled widely. “Well, that could be arranged. But I’d have to negotiate back and forth on your behalf, and that would be difficult if I have no official ties to you. So how about this: I become your manager! You pay me a percentage of all your winnings and I help get you a cereal brand and as many opportunities as I can!”
She stuck out her hand and gave me a deeply untrustworthy glare.
“B’kauk!” Cluckers flew over and put her wing in Tess’s hand, looking at me pleadingly.
“But the money, Cluckers…”
“B’kauk!” She confidently extended her wings and raised her head.
She was saying: Don’t worry! I’ve got this covered!
sigh Alright, I’ll trust you on this.
“I want to look at the contract first before I shake anything, but it’s a soft yes for now… Miss Vomit Viking!”
“W-what did you just call me?!”
Her face went red—I think she finally snapped.
“Vomit Viking. Oh good one! That’s so funny—Chicken Choker! Bird Boy! Poultry Pipsqueak! Turkey Toss—"
“OK OK I GET IT!”
“Oh, I’m sure you get more than enough from your girlfriend here—Beak B**ch! Talon Taster! Feather Freak!”
“No contract! Handshake deal right now! I’ve got a recorder—I’ll record a verbal agreement that can be used in court! Take it or leave it!”
Click
Vomit Viking stood red-faced, towering over me, hand outstretched with a recording device in the other.
Well you’ve done it now, Feather Freak…
“I, Steven Stankle—”
“Pft—HAHAHA! Ha ha—HAAH! Stankle?! That’s your name? Stinky Stankle! Ha Ha HAA!”
Tess was doubled over, laughing so hard she dropped the recorder.
She’s dead to me…
I no longer care about her well-being or even wish her harm. She simply does not exist anymore.
“Hahahahaha!”
She’s not stopping…
“It fits you so well! You absolutely reek of crap! Ha ha haaa!”
That’s it. “Okay, go ahead. What’s your surname, then?!”
She stopped laughing and stood up, looked to be considering something, then smirked.
“Heh. My name is Ziegerbolt.
Tessa Ziegerbolt, fourth daughter of the head of the Ziegerbolt clan. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Stinkle.”
Okay, that’s a way cooler sounding name…
Bolt, bolt… butt? No… belt? Not funny… Ziggy? Nah, that’s cute not funny…
“Uh, o-of course your name would start with a Z—you’re so boring you’re sending me to sleep! Zzzzzz!”
…
…
“Ha ha, that was just terrible! I’ve actually heard better from literal children.” She was shaking her head.
We’ll see who gets the last laugh!! You’ll see! One day I’ll make you pay with embarrassment, Miss Ziegerbolt!
Is what I wanted to say.
“Can we get this over with already, V.V.?”
“V.V.?”
I smiled. “Stands for Vomit Viking. It’s what I’m calling you from now on. No one will know—just you and me!”
“So V.V., ready to make the deal?”
And just like that, I had a manager! I don’t know why or what they’re for b-but I have one! Which is more than most farmers can say!
…
I got scammed, didn’t I?
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