[Open] Hail to da King

[staybizzy]

have it your way, Pumpkin Hollow!

Hail to da king

There is a Burger King in Pumpkin Hollow.

Why? That is a fantastic question. Considering the fact that this is a Victorian-esque village in a fantasy world that has never even heard of Burger King, one can only assume it was created by a modern individual with a mischievous sense of humor. This is only further implied by the interesting set of rules on the wall...

At some point during February of 16:55, the role of "The Burger King" is bestowed upon one Capochin Bastone, Grillmaster Extraordinare, by the Daedric Prince Sheogorath. Since then, he's hired a few of the locals (mostly younger folks) to work the shop and checks in on it daily, but largely lets the thing run itself. Still, he could really use a general manager...

Well, anyway. Feel free to grab a seat, get yourself a Whopper, check out the Help Wanted sign, or just hang out! If you're lucky with your timing, you may just see a little blue man in a fuzzy red robe far too long for him and a paper crown hop up onto the enormous throne to hold court. He sure does look pleased with himself.

Comments

The Coronation

[staybizzy]

[ For Sheogorath ]

[blindwatchersees]

Before the coronation, even, there is the invitation.

The spirits of the Aurbis have many faces, each of them ascribed to them by the peoples who know them as one thing or another.

So when the Madgod decides to show up to the smell of great godly grilling, it’s in a form of incoherent glory- a stooped treant-like figure, draped in a mantle of fungus and lichen, topped with a stone head of three faces from which hangs a beard of moss.

The voice it speaks with is not so incoherent as the Worm, but it’s still an inhuman sound- like rapid staccato notes played on the cello, occasionally getting excited enough to take on a viola’s tendencies instead.

“I think you may be exactly what the people need.”

[staybizzy]

Capochin turns from his grill, looking up, then back to his food, then double-taking before finally realizing he ought to be startled.

"AH!"

He leaps directly up on impulse, hurling himself at the brick siding of the house he shares with Hector. His claws dig into the mortar as he beholds the source of the voice. "Wh-- what--- Tree?????"

Some kind of nature god??

[blindwatchersees]

"A tree. A song. A bad idea. Something out of the corner of your eye that was never there." Its voice drips with whimsy, then menace, deepening and spiraling into dark, uncomfortable places. The suddenly, it rises up again, like an excited choir of crickets.

"I suppose you could say I'm an oracle of sorts, but not the sort you should always trust. I think you ought to trust me now, though. Of course, that might not be something you should take my word for!"

The tree-thing shifts at its edges, as the gathered swarm of butterflies rearranges itself, expanding into a cloud of ever-shifting hues, and then compressing itself into the shape of an old man who looks the very definition of a trickster. He's grinning such a smile that it threatens to escape his face.

"I must say, that smells delightful!"

[staybizzy]

These odd quirks, the changes in tone and talking foliage and shapeshifting, they might terrify nearly anyone or anything else. But Capochin's been in the presence of gods most of his life now, and very little phases him now.

If anything, the guy just reminds him of Cobigail.

"Well, if you're a liar sometimes, I at least know you're tellin' da truth about da food. I know for a fact my food smells as good as it tastes!" Today, it's shish kebabs. Gotta find a way to get more vegetables in Hector's diet so he doesn't die again. He holds one up by the skewer for his visitor, offering it.

[blindwatchersees]

The visitor accepts the kebab, raising it to his mouth… and not quite getting there, as his beard reaches out to taste it first, the hairs testing it like tiny fungal fibers before he actually puts it in his mouth, biting down with two layers of teeth.

“Hmm, delicious, and arguably nutritious! Let’s see… I taste a strong work ethic, unrivaled devotion, and just a hint of fermented self-loathing in the aftertaste. Gives it some real character!”

[staybizzy]

Okay the beard thing is weird, and it takes every ounce of Capochin's self-control not to look deeply perturbed. He manages to get out of it with just a nose wrinkle. He has less success hiding his displeasure at the remark, opening his mouth as if to protest and then quickly closing it again.

Okay, true, but hey.

"Man, what's da big idea? What're you gettin' at?"

Help Wanted

[staybizzy]

The poster on the door reads:

- HELP WANTED -

Seekin a general manager 2 run da place durin Bizzyboy hours of operation (9am-6pm M-F and occasionally a coupla hours on Saturdays) and shift leads to assist wit minor managerial duties. Schedules for shift leads flexible. Inquire via Sending Stone - contact Owner Capochin Bastone - or attend court on Thoisday nights at 7pm. Experience helpful but not required. Tanks.

What's A Résumé...?

[thelobbyboydies]

He stands at the threshold, looking in. Thinking. Wringing the gold-trimmed sleeves of a uniform indiscernible from his last.

If he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can pretend nothing's changed. This door is like every other. He'll open it and usher a guest inside. He'll close it and leave them to die. And if there is no guest, he knows his job isn't quite finished. There are horrors to machinate.

He'll reach for the knob, the button, the handle, and four sallow walls will yawn in response.

Rooms never really welcome him. Just concede to him. Ignore him, to the best of its ability.

But if this door is like all the others, why is he so afraid?

Well, probably because he's never applied for a job before.

The Bizzyboys are different. He hadn't really applied, so much that Olivia heckled its leader to let him join.

The Lobby Boy gnaws on a dry lower lip, adjusts his collar and opens the door. He's ignored by the empty restaurant.

"Ah. H...Hello?" Then, louder. "Hello?"

[staybizzy]

At the sound, Capochin sticks his head out from the back of the building, where he's prepping veggies for the day. Piles of lettuce and tomato slices sit atop a clean counter. He cranes his neck, then makes eye contact, looking surprised.

"Hugo! Whatcha doin' here, kiddo?"

Court

[staybizzy]

[ Don't reply here yet, I'll edit it with text later! ]

WHO WANTS TO BE A WILLIAMAIRE!

[nowsyourchance]

[ THE JACKPOT HAS BEEN WON. THE NUMBER ON THE CARD BECKONS ITS WINNER TO CALL NOW! OR, JUST WHENEVER, REALLY. IT'S NOT LIKE IT'S GOING ANYWHERE. ]

[staybizzy]

Every time Capochin sees this stupid thing, it makes him laugh. He's had it pinned to his cork board for about a month now, after buying it from Calloway for a frankly obscene amount of Brass. Hector chided him for doing so, but he can't help it, it's just so funny!

He considers calling the number. Maybe it does something. Some kind of charming new joke on the other end, maybe? But he forgets repeatedly, always too busy to pull the thing down and dial the bizarre number.

Until one day, work wraps up early, and screw it. Capochin decides he needs a laugh, especially after that godsforsaken opera. So he sits at his desk, ticket in hand, and he dials.

[nowsyourchance]

The line gives a click! as it's picked up, and instantly, music begins.

Or... it tries to begin, it seems. Compressed-yet-cheerful horns begin a fanfare that never seems to proceed past what sounds to be the start of the song. However, they're quickly spoken over by a voice, the sound of it just as compressed as the audio; the speaker makes up for it that with volume and gusto.

"CONNNNNNNGRAT-U-LATIONS!" The voice on the other end of the line cheers, making the phone's speaker squeak with the volume, before he quiets down to something more manageable. He loses none of his cheer, however. "You've gotten the SLICK DIGITS of Spamton G. Spamton, which must mean you're either a DEBT COLLECTOR, or a GRAND PRIZE WINNER! Press one if you're a GRAND PRIZE WINNER! Go to the AFTERLIFE YOU DESERVE if you're a DEBT COLLECTOR!"

And then, abruptly, save for that ever-looping fanfare, silence, awaiting a response.

[staybizzy]

Woah okay! At first Capochin has to hold the phone away from his face a few inches, it's so loud and crunchy. Admittedly, the line about debt collectors gives him another good laugh. So far this seems to be mostly just as funny as he expected it to be.

Deciding to humor the canned voice, he dials 1 on his rotary phone.

[nowsyourchance]

"Thank you! You have selected... a NUMBER!"

Brimming with enthusiasm despite clearly not knowing what number he'd dialed, the fanfare changes for one triumphant moment! Then it's right back to its loop.

"You're our GRAND-SLAM WINNER of ONE! WILLIAM! KROMER!" The voice on the phone announces, jubilant. "You can collect your winnings via mail, check, or TORRENT DOWNLOAD! This transfer will take two to EIGHTY-THREE days!"

A pause, before that joy suddenly lowers to something almost conspiratory.

"...Unless," the voice starts, as if letting a friend in on a secret. "You'd like a ONCE-IN-A-TIMELINE offer. Want to hear your options? Money with the HONEYS, or something a little special with the---" He cuts off, sounding suddenly more distant, as though he's been pulled away, wailing with agony. "OH, GOD, NOT THE BEES! ANYTHING BUT THE BEES! THEY'RE KILLING ME! THEY'RE KILLING M---"

And, just as quickly, he's back to speaking perfectly normally, as if nothing had happened at all. "What do ya say, Big Winner?"

[staybizzy]

For a beat or two, Capochin is silent in stunned confusion.

"Wait, this ain't a recording? You're actually there?"

[nowsyourchance]

"No sir! You're there! I'm STANDING RIGHT HERE!"

Is that canned laughter in the background?

[montyhall]

It's really, really hard to be inconspicuous when you're over seven feet tall and have a CRT for a head.

Nevertheless, after the dust has settled from all the abnormal weather and associated bizarre events of the past month, Tenna takes the first opportunity he gets to...skulk? Sure, skulk is a good word for it. His wardrobe has gotten a bit of an upgrade, but as far as he's concerned, he's still in no shape for a proper confrontation with...him. No, no, not just yet; the only reason he's here, and on his own, is to get the lay of the land, to understand exactly what and where it is that he's dealing with, and...

Well. It's a fast food joint. Plenty incongruous with the rest of this town, but other than that, he's not sure what he expected. Tenna lurks outside for a bit, leaves and comes back and lurks some more, and not once in all of that not-so-very-inconspicuous lurking does he espy a single sign of the nefarious mailman.

He's not sure what he was expecting at all. Should he be happy about that? Disappointed? Has he somehow obtained the knowledge he came here looking for, and what knowledge was that in the first place? He has no idea. But it would probably be a waste of his entire day if he went to all of this trouble without going to the further trouble of at least taking a look inside, right?

Right. Take it easy, Tenna. He pushes open the door with a deep breath (that he's not actually holding, given that he doesn't actually have any lungs), and ducks his head to step inside...

[staybizzy]

(Un)luckily(?) for Tenna, he came by during Spamton's day off.

This particular Burger King isn't too much of an eyesore on the town, looking more like an attempt to recreate a Burger King in layout using Victorian sensibilities than a one-to-one interdimensional transplant of a modern restaurant, but it's still a little ridiculous. People in cotton button-ups and aprons embroidered with a red "BK" bustle about behind the counter, producing modern looking food wrapped in parchment paper. In lieu of a soda fountain, patrons can get glasses of water, iced tea, juice, or even beer. For some reason, at the back of the dining room, there is an actual throne. How ostentatious.

With Tenna's high vantage point, he may be able to see an apron hanging from a hook in the back, bearing a metal nametag with "SPAMTON, GENERAL MANAGER". In his place for the day, there's a short, blue-furred man with round eyes and a long, prehensile, bandaged tail. His own apron's tag reads "CAPOCHIN, OWNER". He bounces back and forth between the grill, the dining room, and the counter, helping out everywhere.

When he spots Tenna's awkward lurking, Capochin moves toward a register. In a cartoonishly thick New York accent, he asks, "Need anything, there, bud?" Though Capochin is pretty sure a cigarette would do this guy more good than anything on the menu, frankly.

[montyhall]

Naturally, perhaps predictably, Tenna's gaze zeroes in on the first thing in his periphery that reads SPAMTON, and immediately his face scrunches into a deep scowl. 'General Manager'? As if that weaselly little mailman could be relied upon to manage ANYTHING, let alone a place like THIS...

Which, to be frank, doesn't fall very far outside his expectations as to what a burger joint should look like. He's never actually been to one, of course, at least not one made for Lightners, and the only frame of reference he has is the odd commercial here and there from years past. If he was in charge of decorating a place like this, it would probably end up looking much the same, just with a few more gold statues of himself and his face on the walls...

Oh— That blue guy is talking to him, isn't he? Tenna realizes he's still scowling, and quickly smooths back his antennae with one hand as he makes a conscious effort to replace that scowl with a bright smile.

"Howdy there!!" His audio peaks for a moment; trying a little too hard to act normal, perhaps. Ahem. "I, ah, can't say I need anything at the moment, thanks, haha!! Just thought I would come by and, you know...check the place out!" Wait, that's weird, isn't it? Quick, how does he make this less weird— "See, ah— Kris!! Kris, that little nipper, they're, ah, family of mine!! So, you know, I just, uh... Just wanted to, ha, have a look around, you see!!"

Nailed it. He is SO normal right now.

[staybizzy]

One of Capochin's brows is arched as high as physically possible by the end of this, but he relaxes a little bit at the mention of Kris Dreemurr. "Oh yeah, Kris. Our part-timer, Hector's apprentice. Good kid. Decent baker. Keeps blackmailing my manager for free pie."

Notably, Capochin doesn't seem to question Tenna's general TV-ness, though whether it's because his own homeworld was odd enough or because he's seen basically everyone in this place is hard to say.

"They mentioned they ain't at the dorm house no more 'cause family showed up. Good to meetcha." Capochin offers up a small teal paw-like hand to shake, nubby dark blue claws at the end of each finger. "Capochin Bastone. Nice to meetcha."

[montyhall]

Oh, Kris. Tenna has never been more proud. (Of the blackmail, to be clear.)

"Pleasure to meet you, Mister Bastone!! And I'm Ant Tenna!" His grip might be a teensy bit on the too-firm side as he shakes Capochin's proffered hand. "Or just Tenna, if you like!! Like everyone else, that is!! Haha!!"

Likewise, Tenna doesn't question the man's smallness, or his blueness, or his...anything else-ness, really. This town might be populated almost entirely by humans, but he's already met at least one monster not from Hometown (an "Uma Musume" kind of monster, but a monster nevertheless, to be sure!), so it only follows that he would run into another one sooner or later, right? That just makes sense. It makes complete sense, don't worry about it.

"Anyway...!" What was he — oh, right, Kris. "That's right, aha. They're, ah, living with me and some of their friends up at the Leeds Estate now..." Something occurs to him, then. "Oh— That, uh, won't be a problem, will it? For them working here, I mean..."

[staybizzy]

"Eh? No, no, Kris don't work here, this is my side hustle! Dey work for me n' my fiancé, Hector, as a Bizzyboy! You musta seen our flyers, right?" Capochin puffs up proudly. The Bizzyboys, after all, are his life's work. The Burger King was a gift from a strange mad god who liked his cooking. And Capochin, sue him, liked the validation.

[montyhall]

"Ah-"

It would seem there was been a critical misunderstanding. As Tenna fully parses this realization, his screen cuts to color bars for all of one second, sine tone and all — and then his face snaps right back into view, with a quick shake of his head and a laugh that is definitely not unnerved at all.

"Right!! Right, of course, you're right!! They, uh. Did tell me that, aha. My mistake!!"

(Flyers? Has he seen flyers? He's only been here for all of a month, but a month is an awfully long time to miss some flyers up around town, isn't it... No, no, more importantly than that — there goes his excuse to be here at all, right up in smoke. Think of something, Tenna, think...)

"So... Um." His fingers drum on the counter (think, Tenna, think). "Side...hustle, huh? Wouldn't think it, what with, uh, how busy this place must be!! Ahaha." (Is it working? God, please, tell him it's working.)