Originally this was supposed to be for one of Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenges but life got in the way and I didn’t finish it in time. Oh well, here it is in all it’s glory anyway. My first try at comedy.
“Ahhh! Thats the ticket right there!” Lady Spidermail slammed her now empty white wine spritzer on the formica bar. “Another, good waiter!” She called out. Almost immediately one scantily clad waiter dropped off a sixth white wine spritzer, earning him a hearty slap on his leather thong clad ass.
“Now that you’ve had your spritzers Lady Chainmail, can we return to my problem?” Asked the dark clad necromancer. He sighed and waited while his companion eyed the waiters retreating buttocks, a hand print glowing bright red on his right cheek.
“What was that Nancy?” she asked once the thrice mentioned butt retreated from view. The necromancer sighed again.
“Can we please return to my problem now? The one I’m paying you for?” He took a sip of his own spritzer. At least the bar, while dirtier than he would like, made excellent spritzers.
“Ah, getting your goat back from your ex right?” The warrior said with a laugh.
“Yes!” He slammed hand down on the Formica “She is a very special goat! No other necromancer has been ale to raise a goat so completely that it can make milk! If I can commercialize the technique I can make millions!” The necromancer’s eyes grew bright and his cheeks flushed as he spoke about his goat. But that might have also been the spritzer. Navy was a bit of a lightweight.
“On undead goat milk.” Lady Spidermail gave a shudder. She hated goat milk.
“Yes! But I can’t continue my research without Nelly!”
“Ah, right. Nelly.”
“Yes! The sooner we find her the sooner I can continue my research!”
“Well then!” She shouted before slamming back her seventh white wine spritzer and stood up, her chair squeaking on the dirty floor. “Let’s get going! We’re losing daylight!” Lo’Quesh the fire owl hooted in agreement and flew down from where he had been perched in the rafters.
Several patrons of the bar squealed in protest and slammed at the sparks that drifted from the fire owls’ feathers.
“Yes!” Nancy exclaimed gleefully. He left up from his chair in excitement on ly to crash backwards on the floor.
Lady Spidermail leaned over and inspected her companion.
“It’s okay guys! He’s just passed out!” she called back to the other people in the bar who proceeded to ignore the spidermail clad woman and her odd companion. Hoping beyond hope that they would leave soon.
“Well Lo’Questh,” she said to her fire own, oblivious to the mood of the bar. “I knew the guy was a light weight but I didn’t know he was that weak.”
With a gentle heave of her prodigious muscles, she dragged the drunk necromancer out of the bar and onto his horse.
He awoke sometime later as he started to slide to one side of his horse.
“Whaaa???” He grumbled, and he blinking sleepy eyes. His head was killing him. Too much white wine spritzer. He tired to right himself but found himself tired rather tightly to his saddle.
“Lady Spidermail! Help!” He yellowed as he slipped even father to the side. His head was getting dangerously close to the ground.
“Ah, good! You’re awake!” Lady Spidermail rode her horse back towards the necromancer, her fire owl perched on the saddle-horn. She gripped the necromancers dark cloak and heaved him upright. “There you go.”
“Can you untie me now?” He pleased. His hands were starting to get that uncomfortable tingly feeling in them. And he desperately needed to get to his wet wipes. He could just feel the dried sweat beginning to clog his pores. As he was pleading he swore he saw that damn fire owl laughing at him. That bird never respected him.
“Oh yeah, that might be good.” The warrior woman snapped her fingers twice and, to the necromancers shock, the rope began untying itself. Coiling into a neat circle in Lady Spidermail’s hand.
“Angorian Self-Untying Rope,” she said smugly. “Never leave home without it. Now then, since you were passed out I didn’t actually get to ask you where it this ex of yours?” I’ve just been riding in circles waiting for you to wake up.”
“It was in the letter I sent you!” Nancy screeched as he rubbed his tingly fingers. He reached into his cloak and pulled out his hand packet of wet wipes. He furiously began scrubbing the sweat and dirt from his hands and face. He would have to pay for a bath at the next town they came to.
“Oh, that. I didn’t read it.” She said with a shrug.
Nancy huffed and straightened his robes. “Well, if you had,” He shot her a glare. “You would know Cynthia’s lab in Acitip.”
“Isn’t Acitip that weird scholar town?” Lady Spidermail scrunched her nose. She didn’t like the scholarly types. They used too many big words like, ‘Antidisestablishmentarianism’ and cholesterol.” She only put up with Nancy because he was able to get the ice mice Lo’Quesh liked.
“Yes! Acitip!” Nancy’s eyes began to glaze over. “The great seat of learning. Scholars from all over Nauro gather there, it’s a beautiful place.”
“So why don’t you live there?”
The necromancer grew scarlet. “The rent is high there,” he choked. “But once I patent Nelly, I will have finally show those losers— I mean, I will be able to afford rent. Necromancy only pays so much these days.” He coughed, ” Taxes, you know?”
“Right, taxes.” There he goes again with one of his big words.
Nancy’s failed to notice that Lady Spidermail was no longer paying attention. “Her lab is towards the edge of the city. It should be a fairly simple matter to break in and steal back Nelly.”
“Whatever you say Nancy, it’s take us at least two days on the road to get there.” Two days of listening to the necromancer babble on about undead this, undead that. Not her idea of a good time. But he was paying her at least this time.
“Excellent. Hopefully Cynthia won’t have changed Nelly too much.”
The necromancer continued to babble on about his goat when the fire owl gave out a loud screech and rose high into the air.
“By Zanadu! Bandits!” Lady Spidermail let out a whoops when she spotted the unkempt looking men charging towards them. She unsheathed her battleaxe and let out a loud war cry before charging forward.
TO BE CONTINUED