I like the joke with this one, but I think this one was actually hurt by my insistence on getting every one of these scenes to 500 words. It felt a lot funnier when it was pithier.
If this every ends up included in a full Realmgard story, I’m going to trim off most of the fat so it works better as a smaller gag in a larger work and doesn’t have to stand on its one.
Pela is feeling quite pleased with herself. Business hasn’t been great for the Lyte Brigade lately.
Or, well, ever for that matter…
But Pela is doing her part.
She’s been pounding the cobblestones of Porthaven, trying to find potential clients to bring back to the rest of the Guild. And, by the Powers, she managed to find one.
Which is particularly impressed, she feels, because the much-taller burghers of Porthaven don’t even notice that she’s down there.
And, well, Pela didn’t really find a client, so much as she found a guy sobbing inelegantly on a public bench and asked him what was wrong…
But, hey, work is work. It shouldn’t matter where it came from, where by direct writ from the Prince of Porthaven, or an official request from the University of Porthaven, or a sad man with the courage to cry openly in public.
“Just leave this to us,” Pela says leads the Lyte Brigade’s potential new client into the Lyte Public House. “We’re a new guild, but we’re good. We’re just, um, a little, well broke right now. Which is why our office is in our Captain’s parents’ pub. But, hey, that just means you can buy some fish-on-a-stick while you’re talking to the rest of the Lyte Brigade.”
The door opens and Pela ushers him towards the Lyte Brigade’s table in the corner.
“Hey, guys,” Pela says. “I think I found us a client. He really needs help and I think we could be the ones to help him.”
“Good work, Miss Pela!” Tancred exclaims.
“Hello,” the client says, with a wave and a tip of his hat. “I will, of course, be willing to pay you for your assistance.
The rest of the Lyte Brigade leans forward expectantly in their seats.
“Everybody, this is Mr. Johnson,” Pela announces. “And —”
“Actually,” the man says, “it’s pronounced Johnston.”
“Oh, sorry,” Pela says. “Everybody, this is Mr. Johnston. And—”
“Actually,” the man interrupts. “It’s Johnston Johnson.”
The rest of the Lyte Brigade stares blankly.
Matilda breaks the silence.
“Seriously?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” says Johnston Johnson. “Johnston Johnson, Junior.”
“Wow,” Matilda says. “And, uh, what’s your middle name?”
“Why, it’s Quintilis,” he anwers. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Matilda mutters.
“Well, what can we do for you, Mr. Johns…” Nolan asks, his voice trailing off as he noncommittally mumbles the end of the name.
“Well, as it happens,” Johnston Johnson. “My friend has, horror of horrors, been kidnapped by pirates! I’m told they stuffed him into a burlap sack, hauled him aboard their ship and sailed away! I would like to hire a guild to, well, return him. His wife is quite distraught about the whole sordid business.”
“Pirates?” Tancred asks.
“A burlap sack?” Amara asks.
“Your friend?” Falcata asks.
“Yes, my good personal friend,” Johnston Johnson says. “Dude Manguy? Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
The rest of the Lyte Brigade stares blankly.
Matilda breaks the silence.
“Dude Man…guy?” she says. “Seriously?”
“Oh. So you have heard of him!”
Wow. That Dude Manguy really gets around…
As, for example, we see here, here, and here.
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