Nighttime.
He opens his eyes and it's dark. He's disoriented, likely a bit of hangover, but he's still too tired to be certain. Maybe a knock on the head… did he let his gambling debts go too far again? The only thing he's certain of is that he has to piss. He pushes himself to a sitting position. All limbs appear to be operating; a good sign. Nothing feels like it is missing or busted. Man, it is dark. There's sky above and trees around but he hasn't a clue where he is. His head is killing him. He's outdoors; that much he can tell. He reaches up to feel his skull for any lumps or worse. Did he get knocked out?
Something is hooked around his wrist and it slaps him in the head as he brings his hand up to his face. His eyes are dry as hell, he's realized, which is part of the reason he can hardly see. Hairless brows are raised in amusement and relief, lips stretching wide between curved tusks into a toothy grin. Awakened by the scent that greets him, pouring over him like honey but much sweeter, he doesn't have to see to know what he's wearing as a bracelet. Regardless of the necessity or lack thereof, he yanks the thing off his wrist, stretches it in both hands and buries his face in it, sniffing like a hound.
Panties. Sweetly feminine, tasty-delectable, raptor-horny panties. It's a good thing, too, because he was starting to wonder why he was naked. Given Larizu's propensity for gambling and the occasional mild swindling, waking up naked with a headache isn't generally a sign of good fortune. "Fortune," he chuckles, shaking his head, the grin never leaving his face.
Marching off blindly in search of a tree or a wall or at least distance from whatever belongings he might have scattered around in the dark, he keeps his face buried in the panties. He wants to poke his tusks through them and wear them like a bandit mask, but the girl, whoever the hell she is, might want them back. He chuckles again, and it's punctuated by a mischievous growl. The smile under the panties has adopted a sneaky sneer. If she wants her panties back, she's gonna have to dance for them. Well, maybe she won't dance for panties, but if he has her panties on his face, she'll certainly dance for gold. Larizu has plenty of gold, thanks to that stupid "mathemagician" tauren. "Bless his big stupid heart, mon." His tongue snakes out to lick his smiling teeth and he tastes female musk, which is just fine by him.
Daylight.
Larizu stretches, snorts, rolls from his right side to his left, pauses… He sniffs again. He grins tiredly and lets out a contented sigh. So he did decide to make those panties into a mask after all. He shrugs slightly, fighting the childish urge to kick his legs and giggle as he lies on his side. Well, he can buy her a new pair, after she dances. He rolls onto his back, knees bent and apart, arms folded behind his head. He vaguely remembers a half-asleep trek through the dark, a very unsatisfying piss that took far too long on account of a raging pussy-smell-induced hard on. He remembers shuffling back toward the general direction of where he guessed his clothes were and he fills in the blanks, assuming he crashed back asleep. That's good. He feels quite refreshed and ready for more debauchery. He stretches, farts, jumps a bit at the sound of the unexpected poot and snorts laughter through his panty-mask.
"Nice dress!" Larizu's eyes snap open, dark pupils giving way to bright red irises as they shrink at the sudden light. He sits bolt upright, squinting as he quickly takes in his surroundings. The scene has quite a story to tell. He wishes he could remember it. The fact that he can't probably has something to do with the empty bottles strewn about and the sight of his trusty hookah lying half-buried in the tall grass.
Crimson eyes flicker back and forth rapidly, taking it all in. There are panties; dozens of them, strewn about haphazardly on the dewy grass. His glasses lie nearby, crushed. "Dammit, mon." He'd liked those glasses. His cloak is spread out on the ground like a blanket in the center of the clearing and from his view he is at least partially surrounded by woods. There is a little brook winding off to his right and he wonders vaguely how he didn't end up inadvertently taking a bath during his midnight wanderings. He leans forward and lets his head hang between his knees as he tries to fully awaken
"How much you want for it, friend?" the high-pitched voice comes again. Larizu looks up sharply as something fast, green, and short enters his field of vision, circling around from his right and stopping several yards in front of him. It's a goblin. She has pigtails and grotesquely giant lips painted fuck-my-eyes pink. Sharp needle teeth shine between thick lips as she smiles chummily. She's holding up his sarong.
"What?" Larizu croaks. He's still on the ground, leaning back on his hands tiredly. The goblin tilts her head, which is kitten-gigantic on her spindly neck.
"No speaky orcy?" she shakes her yellow pigtails, overly made-up eyes wide as she continues to smile and waves the sarong at the troll. He notices that her claws are painted too. She looks like a clown. No. She looks like a freaking circus. "Me… want… DRESS!" she speaks slowly and loudly, screams more than speaks really. "You… SELL… dress!" Her eyes wander down and then back up to his face, "Mister!"
Larizu shakes his head and tilts it, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he tries to figure out what the hell this big-headed little goblin bitch is doing with his dress – his SARONG, and why she's even out in the middle of the woods anyway. He brings up his right hand, draws it down over his face, stretching it in exasperation as she continues in her shrill tone, "MISTER… TROLL… SELL… DITZY… DRESS!"
Desperate to stop the banshee-shriek of the green-skinned, pigtailed menace, Larizu finally discovers his voice. "I be no-speaky-orcy, not deaf, sistah!" His voice is a bit muffled. Ditzy drapes the sarong over one arm, the "dress" being at least twice her length and so dragging on the ground as she bumps out one hip and places a bracelet-bedecked hand on it.
"Nice mask," she snorts, "El Bandito Trollo."
Larizu growls as he tears the panties off his tusks and balls them up, dropping them on the ground between his legs. "It ain't a mas- … What da hell is a El bandito trollo?"
Ditzy shrugs, "I dunno. I just made it up. I'm creative like that. That's what my name means. It's like ancients-speak for really smart and imaginative. I got like an artistic flair. Say, ya gotta name? Ya sound like ya speak orcish. Mine's Ditzy. Oh, yeah, I already told ya that. So how much for the dress? " The goblin draws the sarong up her arm like a curtain, revealing a row of panties that hangs from her arm, "… and these, too. Do I get a discount if I buy all of em? Baker's dozen? Whaddaya say, Pal?" she fluffs up one pigtail with the arm that isn't holding his sarong and Loa-knows-whose panties. Gods, does she ever shut up?
"Do ya evah shut up?" he growls. Ditzy pauses, scratches the side of her nose, brings her lower jaw to the side and clenches it there, momentarily giving her face a very crooked look that Larizu would find quite endearing if she weren't a buzzing, shrieking toad mosquito sent from the deepest Nether to punish him for something worse that even HE could conceivably have done in this lifetime. She appears unfazed as she bumps out the opposite hip, bringing that foot forward. She's wearing high-heeled monstrosities that appear to have 3-inch-thick rubber soles and dirty grey laces going down the front. They are, unsurprisingly, pink.
"That ain't no way to treat a customer, Mister troll." She keeps putting an accent on Mister, like she's reminding him that he isn't a Miss.
"Ya ain't my customah!" They both pause, he panting angrily, she glancing about with the disinterested air of royalty.
She snorts, "Well, if this ain't your yard sale, then where the heck is the proprietor?" She arches one high brow, "and does that mean you're for sale, long, blue and angry?"
Larizu's eyes widen as they follow her gaze. "HEY! My eyes be up here!" He tucks in his thumb and points all two of the digits on his left hand at his eyes to demonstrate the point. The goblin doesn't even pretend to look away, opting instead to wiggle her eyebrows and lick her lips salaciously. He can feel her eyes on his manhood. They feel like fat, crawly spiders and bad juju. Fighting the urge to cover himself like a shy sissy girl, Larizu shoves out his right hand, palm up, "Gimme back da damn sarong."
Ditzy tosses her pigtails absently as she continues to unabashedly ogle the troll, "Doesn't seem sarong ta me! … Well, the curtains don't match the pubes but I ain't complainin'. The blue is nice, though, I mean if ya, like, decided to go natural… But, I mean, the red matches your eyes and all. It's like them things on a rooster's head, right? The cock-thing," she snorts and doubles over, cackling at her own lewd quip.
"Now ya just bein' immature," Larizu gets to his feet, slapping the grass off his naked legs and back angrily as he struggles with his sudden prudishness and dwindling dignity.
Ditzy straightens up, big eyes staring back at his eyes this time, "What's sarong?" This time her eyes actually fill up with tears. They don't just water, they well up and spill over, gushing from the lids as she squeezes them shut, bending and then falling to the ground as she guffaws herself breathless. Her mouth is open so wide that Larizu is certain he gets a look at her uvula, pink and bouncing. He's repulsed to see that she has nearly as much pink makeup on her teeth as she does on her lips.
Man, what a deal! I mean, first she finds this great yard sale, out in the middle of nowhere and it looks like nobody's even taken the good stuff yet, then there's this butt-naked troll. A man troll, of course. And what a man! Now Ditzy ain't easy but she ain't hard, either… "HARD! AHAHHAHA!" That just gets her laughing all over again. She gasps for air, smashing the dress against her face as she tries to quiet herself. She wants to stop laughing so she can get another eyeful…
"Dress. Give it. Now," Larizu towers over the crazy green bitch who currently has her painted face buried in his sarong.
Ditzy stares up at him, slowly lowering the arm that is covering her mouth. She's still smiling broadly. "Ya gonna wrap it for me?" Larizu tries to snatch it away but she has her claws wrapped tightly in the fabric, "Heeey!" she shrieks as he tugs the dress, making her spin around and flip so that she is dragging on her belly. "Hey what GIVES?"
Larizu shakes the dress and she lets go, rather than get flung into a tree. "I ain't gonna wrap it. I'm gonna WEAR it," Larizu growls, turning away as he wraps himself in the "so-wrong", tucking it under so that it hangs low at his slim hips.
"Gosh, what a prude… Hey, not bad," Ditzy muses loudly.
Larizu turns on her, angrily, his brow rising briefly and then furrowing again as he lowers his gaze to make up for the fact that she is lying on her belly. She cranes her neck to stare up at him, her elbows splayed, chin resting on her hands as if she'd planned to be on her belly all along. Her two ugly pink shoes kick idly and she tilts her head to the side to peer up at him, "I mean, like not bad for a skirt on a guy. I think I could get used to that look. I thought you said it was a dress, Mister. You also said you didn't speak orcish. Are you one of them people that like lies compulsively? There's a name for that, you know. It's compulsive liar. You some kinda compulsive liar? I never got to meet one before. You GOTTA tell me what that's like, but NO LYING! So, how much for the underwear? Or you planning on modeling those too, hmmmmm?" She tilts her head the other way. Her legs are still marching in the air.
Sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose, Larizu shakes his head. "Da panties are used, mon."
Ditzy shrugs, "Yeah that explains the smell. Kinda tangy, heh. So, half-price, right?"
Are all goblins this disgusting? Well, he was the one lying in the woods with his tusks through a pair. He'd better make a tincture for the fire-piss, as a preventative measure. He scans the area, taking in the panties, some of them shredded. He'll make that tincture double-strength. Where the hell are all the women who'd worn them? And what the hell is this goblin doing here? And is he really in Eversong? "Are we really in Evasong?"
Ditzy blows her lips out in exasperation. "Yes, RUDE, we are." Larizu turns his gaze back to her. "Whatcha doin' out here?" Ditzy blinks up at him, "um, shopping?"
Larizu blinks back. "Oh." The kicking of her legs slowly ceases. She leaves them folded over her back like a scorpion's tail, if scorpions wore really ugly pink shoes on their stingers. Even the thick rubber soles are pink.
"And putting up posters," she finally adds.
Larizu releases the bridge of his nose, glances around. Sure enough, there are posters nailed to every tree. Some of them appear to be backward. All of them are at odd angles. It looks like they were loaded into a bomb and blown all over the woods. Given the fact that it was a goblin that posted them, a bomb very well may have been involved. He looks back down at her. She's staring up at him expectantly. "Just take da damn panties!" he waves her off.
She doesn't flinch, only bats her eyelashes. "You're cute."
Larizu stands there, arms hanging limp at his sides, lips drawn back in a bewildered snarl, eyes still dry with sleep. "I'm gonna piss." Ditzy shrugs and resumes kicking her legs in the air as he lumbers past her and into the woods.
So he's in Eversong. Blood Elf territory. Well, that's no big shock, given his predilection for the exotic and his particular fondness of elf women. That also explains the myriad panties. Blood elf women love their undergarments, and Larizu loves their undergarments too. He has a bit of a fetish. But what on earth is a goblin doing creeping around the Eversong woods, nailing up posters? The troll walks further into the woods than he would deem necessary, were he alone, or in better company. After glancing over his shoulder, he parts the front of his sarong (Dammit! She got lipstick on his damn sarong!), and empties his bladder as he tries to figure remember what kind of party he had last night. He hopes it was memorable.
Ditzy stands up, brushes herself off, looks at her new underpants. "Cool!" He gave them to her for free! Being hot sure has its perks. She continues to browse the assortment on the ground. "Hope its buy one, get one." Her bracelets jingle as she flicks through the piles of lacy and silky little underthings. She snatches up a black satin bra and eyes it with amusement. Whoever wore this didn't need it. The thing is tiny!
G.A.S.I.
Grimegear Associates and Services Incorporated is NOW HIRING!
Larizu stares at the flyer in his hand, his mouth moving slightly as he reads…
Positions currently available: Dredge and –Coffee-Getter-
Coffee-getter has been crossed out. He rubs his hand over his chin and continues…
NEED A JOB DONE? LOOK NO FURTHER!
G.A.S.I. has round-the-clock experts ready to take care of all your needs:
crafting, mercenary work, extortion, blackmail, gambling, prostitution, drug running, gun for hire, demolition, construction, arms dealing, various repairs, transportation, weddings, catering, CHILD'S BIRTHDAY PARTY!, entertainment services, advertisement, mail orders, delivery, messaging, conflict mediation, chemical de-lousing, re-lousing, monkey stud service (only for hot female monkeys. NO exceptions), spiritual guidance, executions, resurrections, bounty hunting, pool cleaning, maid service, contracting, home-schooling, typist, deforestation, oiling, sailing, pirateering, bottling, milk sales, firebombing, fundraising, paving, acquisitions, moonshine, elf rentals, food services, taxidermist, charnel house… AND MORE!
Act now for *FREE pony!
Frowning, his hand slapped over his mouth, Larizu squints at the following, which is written in a scrawling hand and therefore more difficult to read than the blocky print…
Hi. I'm Gazril Blastwright, Owner, Chairman, Founder, Co-Founder, Master, and Ruler of G.A.S.I. If you need a job done; look no further, friend. There's no more honestly- priced, trustworthy or better-prepared man for the job, no matter what job you need done. Why is that, you ask? Because all those other guys died. So when you need a job done, think G.A.S.I., because the competition is dead.
Signed,
Gazril Blastright, Owner, Chairman, Founder, Co-Founder, Master, and Ruler
Larizu's hand has dropped to his side now. His mouth hangs open as he squints and moves the page away from his face, trying to read the fine print.
*Pony offer not valid in Azeroth or Outlands. Other restrictions may apply.
It's like trying to find a flea's dick, so he gives up. Walking back into the clearing, he is not entirely surprised and not at all pleased to see that his 'visitor' hasn't left. "I told ya just take da damn tings and go!"
Her back is to him and now she turns to face him. She has a bra pulled over her head, tied tight in the back, one cup tucked under and knotted in the back. The other covers her eye. The other eye stares at him, wide as ever. "What? It's an eye patch." Larizu folds his arms across his chest. She grins at him sheepishly.
Unfolding his arms, he holds up the poster. "What da hell is dis?"
"Oh, yeah I made those! Ya like it, Mister?" He doesn't like the way she says Mister. Somehow she has turned the meaning of 'Mister' into 'I saw your dick' only something more gross.
"It's Larizu," he says, trying to keep his voice cool and even. He really hates how uncomfortable this made-up toad is making him. He feels… scrutinized. Her little girl thing doesn't entirely feel like an act, but there's bizarre underlying cunning… No, not cunning… mischief; that he doesn't think it wise to ignore. Not to mention she embarrassed him, earlier. He feels defensive. It doesn't help matters any when she starts laughing at him.
Her eye goes wide and then close as she lets out a string of ear-piercing, shrieking cackles. She drops several dainties on the ground as she slaps her knee with one long, slender green hand. "What da hell be so funny bout dat?" he growls.
"N-nothing. Heeheeheeeheee… It… haha HA! .. It's just thatcha got a sk-skirt on and your name s-sounds like.. like.. L- Laurie-SUE! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Larizu leans his head back and rolls his eyes skyward. First that idiot tauren and his bizarre accusations and his "Larry-Sue" and now this little bugger. When he lowers his head again, his annoyance is quite evident. "Dat ain't what I said," he manages, through clenched teeth.
Ditzy manages to get herself under control. She wipes a tear from beneath her eye with one long finger. Larizu is pissed. He looks pissed. He KNOWS he looks pissed. Despite himself, he feels a little impressed at the little goblin's brass as she marches right up to him, tilts her giant head to stare him dead in the eye. "Aw, don't get all upset, sugar! Your name's Larizu, see? I heard ya!" she tilts her head in a manner which she undoubtedly thinks is endearing. He curls his lip in disdain. "Hey, ya know what?" she continues. Larizu just continues to stare daggers at her. "Your ears twitch whenever I talk. That's really cute!"
He's getting really sick of the word 'cute'. "Dat's because ya be so damn shrill dey tryin' ta 'scape." He growls.
She reaches up and flips her bra-eye-gear onto her forehead and grins at him. "You're cute when your mad."
Larizu lowers himself, placing his hands on his knees until his face is within a few feet of hers. Gods, she's smaller than a whelp. "If ya say 'cute' one more time, I'm gonna go back on a promise I made wit myself."
Her smile never falters, "No interspecies relationships?"
He shakes his head slightly, "Cannibalism." And this time it's he who grins toothily.
He wants her to take all the dirty under things she can carry and get the hell out of his sight, and he opens his mouth to tell her so, but his jaw slams shut, trapping his tongue painfully as a very green and very well-aimed hand reaches out and grabs him by his 'Mister'. His eyes bug out, roll up, close. He hears himself whimper and damns himself for it before catching himself, shoving the hand away. "What da hell ya tinkin'?"
Ditzy gives him a look of transparently feigned innocence. "You're the one with the boner," she blinks up at him.
His expression is incredulous, as is his tone, "I ain't got no damn boner, woman!"
She smirks, "Now ya do!" Larizu freezes, mentally checks himself. He doesn't have to look down to know she's right. He can see in his mind's eye what his tented sarong must look like, practically at eye-level with the smug little green wench. He imagines his hands around her neck and wonders if she'd turn blue or just darker green, maybe gray. He realizes his hands are curled into claws as he fantasizes that he's choking the shit out of her and he does nothing to correct it.
Instead, he lifts one-claw hand and shakes the poster at her. He jabs a finger at it. It's a really weak way of changing the subject, but frankly it's all he's got at the moment.
"Huh? Oh, that," thank the gods she has the attention span of a fly. "Yeah, I made those. Pretty good forgery, right?" She lifts both hands and his hips react quickly as his feet stay planted in the grass, doubling him over to keep his 'Mister' out of reach so that he bends over toward her. "Thanks," she snatches the poster.
She has the now-crumpled sheet in one hand; the other hand is twirling in one thick yellow pigtail. She's wearing the remaining panties like a purse as she looks over the poster again. Larizu's stomach turns as he watches her lips pout out and she scoops a lock of hair into her mouth. She starts chewing on it, large eyes never leaving the page as she gets lipstick all over her hair. Maybe she'd turn black if he choked her.
"Yeaaaah…." She muses, "I think I got the penmanship down. Woulda been better if I coulda gotten a sample of his handwriting. Or seen him write." She shrugs and looks up at the still-bent-over troll, "Didja like the pony part?" She smiles sweetly. Well, she smiles in what he's sure she assumes is a sweet manner. He considers telling her she looks like a big-headed frog with steel-jaw trap for a mouth, but she might think it's a come-on and he doesn't want her harassing his 'Mister' again.
He thinks he should go to a spiritual guide, because he feels violated. Then he remembers that he is one, sort of.
G.A.S.I. is not my guild, though I hope my Ditzy gets to be Coffee Getter! ::crosses fingers:: COMMENT ON MY STORY! VOTE DITZY FOR COFFEE GETTER!
Thanks to Ornak-The-Super-Awesome-Guy aka Gazril Blastwright for being one of the most lully and creative motherfuckers I know.
G.A.S.I will be open-for-business on Moon Guard realm when Cataclysm comes out. Reserve your goblin names, people!
A note on flagrant abuse of b and CAPSLOCK: DITZY SOUNDS LIKE THIS!
Edit in: Special thanks to Meruda for her very constructive and VERY thorough comments regarding the layout of my dialogue in this chapter. It's really refreshing when someone can sort of walk me through when I'm having trouble understanding a writing concept. To anyone who sees any room for improvement in my stories, be it even spelling errors or tenses (I frequently fuck up tenses and I edit my stories three or more times before I publish and almost always read them aloud) PLEASE don't be shy about telling me. I took your advice Meruda, and I agree it makes it more readable, and I hope I did it right! hehe.
~I'wilo