"You know, Deon? I think this is destiny. I mean, what are the odds?"
"Miserable," Deon replied, his tone laced with the same misery as his words.
"Ah, is it my turn now?" said the pitiful little goblin, who had been sitting quietly this whole while, hiding his presence as best he could.
*Ting.*
The bell rang for the second time. This time, the entrant was big... and bald. A disproportionate man, with his upper body slightly bulkier than his lower. A grim look sat on his face, unmoving and unflinching, like an expression carved into stone.
With Luke looking prim and proper, his turn over in the tub and fresh clothes on, he had begun to look the part of a dashing young master born with a silver spoon. He had left his throne only for it to be occupied by another almost immediately.
"A little off the top... take at least an hour," said the brute.
Now, was that fair to the little goblin? Mostly not. But there were more pressing matters to handle.
This man had brazenly occupied someone else's spot. This man was bald... and asking for a haircut. Now that was a real hunter — the first Deon had come across in days.
"Okey dokey," replied Max as he began moving his scissors over the man's head, snipping at the thin air.
"Wait, this is not fair! I was here first. That's my turn!" the goblin protested. Pleas and appeals fell on deaf ears. Deon now found himself caught in an awkward situation. Luke had successfully retreated into the hell-chamber, relaxing in the chemical bath to shed his salamander-like glossy skin, and Deon was stranded alone in the middle of this weird-ass conflict.
"You're bald. You don't even need a haircut."
"Oh, he should not have said that," Deon muttered, just loudly enough for himself to hear.
And indeed, he should not have.
The big man raised his hand, signaling Max to stop. Max humbly excused himself and stepped back. Giving the man some space, the brute recollected himself, then walked up to the miniature creature in front of him, towering over him like an immovable mountain.
"What did you say I was, you little halfling mutt?" the man growled, his bald head showing signs of a miraculous veiny regrowth. The vessels bulging as if his skull itself had come back to life.
"Alright, now—no conflict inside the shop," Max said, voice tight, trying and failing to sound casual.
"I think we can all diffuse—" Deon began, trying to interject having had enough discomforting awkward.
"Please take this outside," Max repeated, a little more urgently.
"The hell, Max? You're the owner, take a stance," Deon snapped.
"Oh, no. I am extremely conflict-averse," Max replied immediately, taking a careful step back. A few beads of sweat slid down his temple, shivering just so slightly, just how serious he was about that statement.
"Halfling mutt?" the little man echoed straightening his hunched back, vertebrae seeming to stack into place one by one. And after still continuing to spring upward as if even his legs needed uncurling. His tone shifted from a weak, whimpering screech into something sharper and arrogant.
"My name is Romulus Romaldi," he declared, "a freshman at the regarded Hunter's Academy, you shaven cunt. And you shall yield the throne you have so unjustly usurped from me, this instant!"
No longer could one call the man a goblin. He had practically doubled his height and begun speaking with confidence — issuing commands.
What was he like...crouching under all that Cinderella hair of his this entire time? And what kind of weird-inspired, cringy, edgy name is that? As Deon struggled with his circumstance-induced migraine, his faith was once again reaffirmed.
He rejoiced. For he was indeed at last amidst hunters. This is how hunters are like! And Deon was, in part, ecstatic to finally be among them — for even this freshman was a true hunter in the making.
"Pfff— haha, shaven cunt, haha..." Luke burst into laughter, the sound bouncing off the cracked mirrors. His echoes did nothing but excite the bald man's already boiling blood.
"My name is Boulder Bob, and I will kill you," said Boulder Bob, voice flat, deadly, and rushed before before launching his fist straight at the freshman's face.
"Whoa there, buddy!" Deon intervened, shoving the punch off course at the last second. Just so that it landed over the freshman's shoulder instead of his face. No damage done.
"My name is Boulder Bob, and I will kill you also," Bob growled, retrieving his fist and turning his glare on Deon as he cocked his arm back for another blow. This time the target Deon.
"The bigger they are, the harder they fall," Romulus said, eyes narrowing. He slipped low moving in for a sweep kick in an attempt to knock Boulder Bob over by targeting an identified weak spot. "Take this, chicken leg!"
A hit. A success.
With his right foot no longer on stable ground, Bob faltered. Deon, quick on the uptake, rushed in, arms wide, aiming to crash into Bob's chest and send him toppling backwards.
The follow-up, however, ended in miserable failure.
Deon, who charged in for a tackle with arms wide, was halted by Bob's thick, muscular, almost tumorous oversized forearms locked around Deon's skull. With a tight grip the man lifted him up — effortlessly.
And he did so with such humiliating ease, that he managed to use the same leg that had been off the ground to deliver a simple counter kick straight into Romulus's face, sending the freshman flying toward the wall, where he ended up once again half his size and seated. And all this the very same time as he dealt with Deon.
"C'mon, man, be reasonable," Deon pleaded, his words came out muffled in bob's palms as he flailed his legs pitifully, suspended in the air by his skull.
"Haha, guys, Brok here is a fourth year. You guys stood no chance as freshmen," Max called out from the corner of the room.
"Enough, Bob. Let them go," Luke commanded, emerging from the other room suit fitted, tie straight, loafers shining, every inch the elegant gentleman.
"Tch. Wolfgrimm brat," Bob spat, dropping Deon. "I'll come back tomorrow, same time," he said before leaving.
The door creaking shut behind him, leaving the shop suddenly quieter and heavier.
"Welcome anytime, Brok," Max waved him off, breathing a sigh of relief.
"I won't be accompanying you home," said Luke, helping Deon to his feet. "I'll see you at the academy. Great to make your acquaintance," he added, before marching off giving Deon a half-smirk. The polished shoes tapping against the floor.
"Oh man… day zero, and I'm in trouble already," Deon sighed, rubbing his skull and waving Max goodbye.
To Be Continued==>