"JF! My man!" He turns to the party, a grin as big as Frosty's plastered on his face, "Y'all, this is Jack Frosty, my roomie and my homie! We been talkin' bout a show together, yaknow. I spit fire, he spits ice!"
After laughing at his own joke a little too hard he says to Jack, "So the Brotha J wanted to hit up the Showboat Saloon. We gon' celebrate our second gig and forget to messed up business we saw in that Toys R Us."
Franklin was enjoying the light back and forth at the table, enjoying the not-so-spicy food when Docta G's friend came in. The young man looked at the flamboyant man skeptically as he approached, but relaxed a bit when he thought about it. Their gnomish companion was rather outgoing, as well, so the partnership made sense.
The accountant's eyes widened as JF made a not-so-subtle hit on Faith, wondering what mind-frame would allow a man to just go for it like that. She was cute, for sure, but that wasn't how it was supposed to go. He recoiled a bit when Jack turned his attention to him and Joe, but chuckled when the newcomer guessed the cleric's identity. Probably not too difficult, he imagined.
Apparently it was time to head to the Saloon, so Franklin rose from the table, making ready to pay his bill. "I've got room, if anyone wants to ride with me." Chances are not many would be in any condition to drive home, anyway.
"I'll meet you guys there", Brother Joe said as, he too ,rose from the table. "I shall accompany you into your automobile, padawan." The caydenite followed the monk out of the restaurant.
"I left my bike at Joe's bar, so I'll ride with Frosty." She hadn't spent much time the Docta, yet, and his friend seemed like he might have some fun stories. "There was never a chance I was driving back anyway. If you wanna have fun, Franklin, and have a couple of drinks we can share an Uber later." Finding all the cars the next day was one of the fun things about drinking on the spur of a moment. In theory.
Docta G hops into Jack Frosty's car and plugs his phone into the aux cord. It doesn't take Faith long to realize that he's playing his own music.
He practically yells over the music, "So, Frostizzle, let's get rollin!"
”Short squad rollin’ in the Ice DREAM Truck, ha-HAAAAA!!” declares Jack Frosty as his car gives a BEEP BEEP.
As Faith approaches, he rushes forward to open the door to his icy blue Eclipse with the (definitely illegal) underglow. With a quick kick, a red carpeted step drops to bridge the distance between the vehicle and the asphalt.
”Your chariot awaits!”
"Well, at least me and the chariot match," Faith laughs as she climbs up and into the vehicle's backseat. She figured the two boys would wanna ride up front together.
Franklin chuckled as Joe again called him his padawan. It would be kind of funny to have the little braided length of hair like the Star Wars figures, though he didn't say so out loud. He felt that encouraging the cleric's pet name would only increase the frequency of use.
The accountant cocked his head at Faith's suggestion for later, not really sure what kind of fun she might be referring to. Maybe he should have more than a couple drinks and find out. Or maybe she was thinking of assailing him with wasps. He wasn't too sure about Calistrians. Probably best not to think about it too much.
Franklin gave the other trio a short wave and then ducked into his car and started it up. It dutifully turned over quickly, the engine humming to life. While it wouldn't have the style or smooth beats of the Frosty Wagon, it would get him and Joe to the bar. "So why here, Joe? I figured a Caydenite would be more interested in a bigger city, or a country more into craft beers and such, like Germany."
Brother Joe smiled inwardly as Franklin began to ask questions about his faith. He was pleased the accountant monk was showing interest. The caydenite scratches his hairy chin before answering.
"Oh sure. I could be like those other clerics who come from richer families and decide to serve the communities of Cancun, San Lucas, or Honolulu. But I choose to serve Wisconsin for a few reasons" Brother Joe began. "One, it close to home on the other side of Lake Michigan, so I can still serve and be there is I had a family emergency. Two, I studied here at University of Wisconsin and fell in love with the area. And Three, I still get to be around Lake Michigan, the greatest lake in the world. I grew up going to the beach every summer as a kid and it instilled a great love for the lake and how fortunate we are living next to one of the largest sources of drinkable water in the world!"
"And sure, traveling to Germany would be mind-blowing!! To visit the centuries old feasting halls alone would be worth the trip. But with the recent visitation by The Main Man, Cayden; any misgivings about serving elsewhere was evaporated like an ice cube in a bar urinal. Cayden PUT ME HERE", the cleric emphasized by jabbing his index finger into his palm, "to serve all who surround me!"
Docta G briefly raps along to his song before turning back to Faith and saying, "So, never asked, how'd you end up doin' this business?"
"But ultimately", Joe continued, "it doesn't matter where I serve, it's that I serve. It's all about The Endgame."
Brother Joe pulls out a small wooden placard from inside his shirt. "My boy, THIS is what it's all about. Ask a Iomeadan what they must do to get to Heaven, and they'll list a lithany of commandments, with subcommandmnets, revisions, and high virtues to embody. Everything I need to get into Paradise is one this small 6" x 5" placard. No big rules, just a load of common sense (let's face it, is getting less common by the year), some small suggestions on how to live and when Pharasma takes be after an orgy with female dwarven bodybuilders, I will be at ease because I know I'm going home to Elysium, home of Cayden Cailean's Domain, where I'll drink and fight and drink and fu<k and drink and eat and drink and fu<k for all eternity! Endgame, my padawan. Endgame". Brother Joe puts the placard back underneath his shirt.
Franklin drove his reliable vehicle behind the spectacular creation of Jack Frosty, listening to the Caydenite. While the accountant couldn't relate to the idyllic scenes of Joe's childhood, he could definitely sense the man's sincerity in talking about it. It must have been great, to actually have had fun as a family. Franklin had barely been on Lake Michigan...it was just something he took for granted, he supposed.
Thinking about it as Joe continued, Franklin's brow furrowed as the man talked about the difference between Cayden and the other deities, particularly Iomedae. While the young man understood the desire for a simple set of rules for one's followers, simple didn't always mean better. Still, Joe seemed a good enough sort, so Cayden couldn't be all that bad. He chuckled then grinned at Joe. "Sounds like paradise. Is it much different than your life right now, though?"
Thinking about it as Joe continued, Franklin's brow furrowed as the man talked about the difference between Cayden and the other deities, particularly Iomedae. While the young man understood the desire for a simple set of rules for one's followers, simple didn't always mean better. Still, Joe seemed a good enough sort, so Cayden couldn't be all that bad. He chuckled then grinned at Joe. "Sounds like paradise. Is it much different than your life right now, though?"
"Franklin, please!" Brother Joe said incredulously. "I understand the need for moderation, especially because I'm mortal and have mortal responsibilities."
"Besides I always have my Dad as a example of overdoing the caydenite lifestyle. My Old Man was a a worshiper of Cayden. A layman, not a cleric. He was the one who encouraged my faith when I was young. I buried him nearly a year. Year and a half ago, due to overindulging alcohol, fatty food, drugs, and smoking." The car got silent for a few moments. "Now he's partying harder than ever in Cayden Cailean's Domain. And I'm eager to see him again, but not that eager to walk the most destructive way down Cayden's Path my father did."
"That's the idea. Hopefully we get big, ya feel? Once we do, I'm hopin' I can get some more gigs and all that buisness."
He laughs and nudges Jack, "Maybe see if I can't bring this foo along wit me."
"And yeah, we might as use getting our names out to do what we want to do. I like adventuring, it's fun, but I like the art that goes into tattooing people."
Franklin glanced over at Joe for a moment, somewhat surprised at the suddenly somber mood in the vehicle. Processing the info, he nodded quickly and then looked back in the road in time to see someone sneak in front of him. With practiced ease, the accountant calmly feathered the brake to accommodate the a%#&&@@, sighing.
"Nice to know you have some restraint, at least. Not too sure about our other friends. They've got plenty of pluck, though, I'll give them that. We work pretty well together." The stress in Franklin's life seemed to be lessened, not heightened, as he began to see this line of work as being lucrative enough to disengage from his current lifestyle. He was actually eager to go to this 'job' now, even if the job so far had consisted of busting people in the grill and saving a friend from goblin torture.
"That's legit. Adventurin's better than workin' a day job, but rappin' is my dig long term."
Franklin glanced over at Joe for a moment, somewhat surprised at the suddenly somber mood in the vehicle. Processing the info, he nodded quickly and then looked back in the road in time to see someone sneak in front of him. With practiced ease, the accountant calmly feathered the brake to accommodate the a#+!!+~, sighing.
"Nice to know you have some restraint, at least. Not too sure about our other friends. They've got plenty of pluck, though, I'll give them that. We work pretty well together."
Joe smiled. "That we do, Franklin. That we do."
Both vehicles make it to the Showboat Saloon. As Cayden would have it, a nice large table opened up so the whole team could sit together. Brother Joe start the new adventure by buying a round of tequila shots for the whole table.
The Showboat Saloon is an interesting place; it has something of a western-themed bar aesthetic, but with some modern elements that would be out of place if they weren't so cool.
An ifrit man has a teppanyaki-style grill-- one of those Japanese ones, where the chef cooks in front of you-- that he is occasionally tossing flames at, although the fare is decidedly more "country steakhouse" than anything Eastern. A flirty half-elf tips her hat as the crew enters, and soon enough a dwarven lass has come, gone, and come again with a tray of shots that she quickly distributes to the party-- plus Jack, of course.
"This place is already off the chain!!" announces Frosty, who's seated right underneath a mounted minotaur head.
"This place is already off the chain!!" announces Frosty, who's seated right underneath a mounted minotaur head.
Brother Joe looks flummoxed by the appearance of the stuffed minotaur head. "Man..no way is that real..!"
Franklin walked in with the others, feeling decidedly out of place in both the western-style theme and the cool 'extra' touches that have been added. Still, he had to admit that it kind of worked together, smiling shyly at the half-elven woman as they entered before joining the others at the table.
When they were waiting for their drinks, he joined in the conversation about the minotaur head, "Surely it's just a bull's head that they've dressed up, if it's real at all. I mean, minotaurs are sentient, right? Wouldn't it be a crime to mount it like that?" His questioning tone surely indicated that he wasn't certain at all.
When the shots came, the accountant picked his up, though he was a half-second behind everyone else when they tossed theirs back. He grimaced as the alcohol burned its way down, though the tingle as it hit his belly was rather pleasant. Maybe tonight could get even better, after all.
When they were waiting for their drinks, he joined in the conversation about the minotaur head, "Surely it's just a bull's head that they've dressed up, if it's real at all. I mean, minotaurs are sentient, right? Wouldn't it be a crime to mount it like that?" His questioning tone surely indicated that he wasn't certain at all.
"I KNOW, RIGHT!!" The cleric exclaims. "Minotaur's are dense as fu<k, but they can hire lawyers and sh|t!"
After finishing his shot with the rest of Last Call, Brother Joe waves down the dwarven waitress.
Having taken the shot, and listened to the debate about the minotaur with some bemusement, Faith watched as Joe spoke something she didn't know - Dwarf, she assumed, given the audience - and wondered if the holy symbol got you discounts. Hers did at certain select retailers, but they were a lot less common than bars.
"Might be one of those 'grandfather laws'," Faith suggested as she glanced at the head again. "It would be totally illegal to do it today, but having one from 200 years ago is just moderately bad taste. Like ivory." Although people rarely got ivory from the sentient races who could fight back.
"Man, does this place ever live up to the name!"
Docta G takes his shot, burping a few sparks after it goes down. He tracks down a waiter to order himself the biggest, flashiest, and preferably most on-fire cocktail they have.
Jack, bewildered, looks up at the mounted minotaur head.
"Yo dawgs so like........................ I might be cray, but how can you tell that's not just a regular bull's head?" he asks.
Docta G's cocktail arrives in short order. It comes in a glass approximately the size of the rhymesmith's head, and looks... decidedly ordinary-- a somewhat disappointing amber, given the alleged fanciness.
That is, until the waitress makes way for a man dressed in ostentatious wizard cowboy clothes (whatever it is you imagine a wizard cowboy looks like: he's that, but flashier). He instructs Doc and whoever he's sitting beside to scootch out of the way. "Wouldn' want no accidents, pardners," he says in a thick Southern drawl.
Once some room has been made, he takes a dueling stance. Someone makes a familiar whistle to set the tone, and the music goes quiet.
Silence. Stillness. Anticipation.
"HYA!"
In a flash, the wand is in his hand and pointed at Docta's enormous drink. A light bursts from it, hitting the drink straight in the center.
It shatters... and the pieces hang there, for a moment, shards of glass revolving like a dangling chandelier as the liquid floats not dissimilarly to a lava lamp.
"HYA!"
The shards burst into an array of colors, like stained glass.
"HYA!"
The liquid bursts into flame.
"HYA! HYA! HYA!"
The liquid and the shards swirl above the table, bathing the entire bar in light; occasionally, something flies off of them, fizzing like a firework before exploding into a shower that lands and tops up any drinks below it, not spilling a drop.
Finally, it all coalesces back into a single mass, a glittering, shimmering, radiant goblet of fire big, fancy burning cup whose flames nearly touch one of the minotaur's horns.
The spellslinger twirls his wand, blows some smoke off the tip, and bows before moseying back to wherever he came from.
Docta G's jaw hits the table. Maybe not exactly, but if there was ever an apt example for the metaphor, it'd be him. A slow smile creeps onto his face as he says quietly, "That was awesome..."
He shakes his head as if trying to completely believe what he's seeing before yelling, "G++%@*n that was "
The wizard cowboy stops on the spot, back turned to the table. He tilts his head ever so slightly, but not enough to actually look backward, before tipping the brim of his hat.
”Pardner.”
He walks on.
Franklin stared at the 'minotaur' head again, squinting his eyes to try to determine if there was some clue as to what exactly the head had been removed from. He finally shrugged, having no idea of either the anatomy of a minotaur or a bull besides that they both had rather bullish heads. The place was still operating, so apparently it was not legit. Right?
When the flamboyant wizard cowboy came sauntering out and instructed the good Docta and whoever was close by to clear out, Franklin was more than happy to oblige, getting up and stepping several paces away, almost bumping into a drunken halfling before skillfully weaving around the tipsy little man.
The accountant watched in fascination as the wizard made the glass more or less explode, the young man's arms going up to protect his face before he realized the pieces were held in place. Lowering them, he watched the rest of the show silently, a grin on his face at both the spectacular display and the sound effects of the arcane drink artist. When the man bowed at the end of the display, Franklin clapped, though he did so quietly until others might join in.
Joining the table once again, he said (decidedly more quiet than Docta G), "That was really neat. Ummm, how are you supposed to drink it? Will it burn? I mean, like burn burn, not good burn?"
Docta G shrugs before he picks up the massive cup. It's surprisingly light given that it's almost as big as his torso, but he starts to drink anyway.
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"We could always find a..." Faith paused as she hunted for a straw. One of the new metal ones, not one of the small crappy cardboard paper things. It annoyed the hell out of her that as a PR stunt a bunch of companies that made more waste in a month than plastic straws could in a decade had turned something so useful for the disabled into a green crusade, while quietly laughing and dumping more crap into the enviroment than ever before, but at at least the metal ones didn't melt. Or burn, in this case.
But then Docta G took a gulp and Faith nodded, finishing, "A gnome whose up to the job. Yo."
The drink is good. The burn is smooth; the flavor is hard-to-place, but sweet and a little sour and it clings to the sides of the tongue. If the Doc had to guess, he'll be quite thoroughly plastered if he finishes the drink by himself-- which, admittedly, might be the goal.
Jack Frosty stares at the goblet with wide eyes.
"That is so sick, yo."
The dwarven lass soon returns with a glass and a bottle of Sutter Home Chardonnay for Joe; she isn't sure whether or not to pour it, with Joe's stated intention of blessing it, so she shrugs and says something brief and chipper in Dwarven.
"Alright, Last Call", the cleric barked at the table. "Cup's toward the center!" When all the cups and glasses are pushed together in the center of the table, Brother Joe uncorks the chardonnay and pouirs the entire bottle contents into the gathered glasses. Then the caydenite redistributes them back to their owners. Hands raised, Brother Joe prays aloud, "Cayden Cailean. Great spiritual patron of this party. We pray for your continued support and may the wine we drink tonight further bind us together in brotherhood and friendship! Amen! Drink up, ya bastards!"
Franklin pushed his glass towards the center of the table, the atmosphere of the place (and the drink) getting him into a more relaxed, copacetic mood. Retracting his hand, the accountant watched as Joe poured the wine and then blessed the spirits, his small smile slipping into a wide grin at the tail end of the priest's speech. Franklin held up his glass in a quick toast before putting it to his lips and drinking down the liquid, gulping it down until only a few drops remained in the glass. "Oh s~&+...I think I'm gonna feel that soon."
After the toast, Brother Joe ordered a large plate of cheddar fries for everyone to share.
"Still hungry, Joe?" Faith asked as she sipped her drink. The meal before had been tasty, but she was never sure about portion size for larger people.
"Not by much", Brother Joe explained. "Just enough to fill in the cracks. And whatever isn't eaten, take it home for part of a hangover cure."
"So, Faith? Should we take the day off tomorrow and recover, or shall we do another quest, in your opinion?"
"Depends on if there's a job available," Faith hedged. "I have a few appointments tomorrow, but nothing that'll take all day. I'd say 'chill for a day, unless it sounds important,' but we'll have to see." This job hadn't sounded that important, after all.
Franklin thought about it as Joe ordered the cheddar fries, deciding that eating a greasy, cheesy dish and drinking alcohol when he was unpracticed with such merry-making was a recipe for disaster. When Faithe and the cleric started talking about their next job, the accountant added, "I'm ok with resting for a day, too. Joe did a great job patching me up, but I'm feeling some ghost pains where that guy was shanking me. I think I need a day to convince myself I'm ok."
With that, he motioned for the waitress to refill his drink, the adrenaline starting to wear off as he slowly realized that he had literally been on top of a man punching him as the dude had been stabbing Franklin. This was for real, now. Not just an exciting alter-ego.
"Oh shiz-nizzle, dude, you got shanked? Like for-real-real stabbed?" chimes J-Frosty, looking for all the world like... well, like the boring accountant-looking dude had just informed him that he'd been stabbed. The waitress takes his cup and returns shortly... though she doesn't depart again without a wink at Joe.
It isn't long before the cheese fries make their way to the table; they're exactly as greasy as one would hope and expect, yet fried nice and crispy to fend off sogginess... for at least a little longer than otherwise, anyway. There was no fending it off forever.
Not without at least a Level 1 spell, anyway, and that's outside the budget.
"We had a job earlier," Faith said slowly. "Filmed it, but I don't think it's ever going to go online. Wouldn't be...respectful." She didn't want the families to see those women like that, ever. She took a fry and munched on it mindlessly.
"Yeah, those foos were messed up. Zombies and necromancer and goblins ridin' giraffes."
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"Yeah! Sure as Hell don't wanna pull a 'Logan Paul'! Especially on our first quest!" Brother Joe exclaimed.
Franklin nodded sagely. "Like for real real stabbed. A couple of times. Thankfully my pal Joe here was able to patch me up." He smiled over at Joe, then quickly looked away again just so there wouldn't be a vibe of 'that' sort. But was looking away quickly a vibe of 'that' sort? Oh dear.
Hearing the other three chime in, the accountant nodded. "Yeah...I don't think that would be very cool with regards to the families. Maybe we could edit it and only put on the fighting stuff with the giraffe, goblin, and necro-dude."
"Franklin, you bring up a good point. Should we hand over the coverage to the police? To help identify the bodies. Or do you think that might bite us in the a$$?" Brother Joe posed the question.
"It shouldn't be needed, given what the police saw, but I'd like to do it anyway. Maybe nail his ass to a prison bench for a handful more years." She couldn't imagine the church wouldn't have some special allies within the criminal system, and she would love to have this guy in there and in there grasp as long as possible.
"If you want, Faith", the cleric offered, "when you get the footage ready, I'll walk it down to the precinct tomorrow." Brother Joe takes a couple cheesy-covered fires from the communal dish.
Franklin nodded. "I agree. A*++%@* could just say that we jumped him in the parking lot and then it's just his word against ours." Reaching forward, he grabbed a couple of the fries, opting for the ones furthest from the conglomeration of cheese. He enjoyed fried foods, but they made such a mess. Perhaps he could get through the impromptu meal without having to use a mountain of napkins.