#Cornchips and his stupid disguises

[undignifiend]

Idiots in a Tiny Kitchen

A scene I wrote forever ago about an ogre character inspired by the World of Darkness setting. Under the cut for the sake of the Dashboard.

+++++

Someone was in his apartment. Brock bit back the urge to growl, and focused on keeping his breath even. Let them think he was still asleep. Whoever it was, they were in the kitchen, opening cabinets and making no effort to keep quiet. Did they even know he was there? Granted, he probably just looked like an abnormally large pile of discarded sheets on the bare mattress in the corner of his tiny 'living room', but shouldn't a burglar be more thorough in scoping out an area before getting to business? Maybe it was an amateur? Carefully twisting out of the sheets, Brock slunk across the carpet, hiding under the kitchen bar. Every footstep and rustle of cloth seemed deafening to him - stealth wasn't his area of expertise, after all. But the intruder didn't seem to notice, obliviously waking the dead as they shuffled through pots, cans, and boxes of pasta. Brock entertained the idea of turning off his Mask. That would be fun. Stupid, but fun. He'd have to kill whoever saw him before rumors could spread, of course. Most humans didn't pay attention to urban legends and lunatics, but hunters did... Hiding the body, or rather the bones, would be a chore. In a pinch, human flesh was a treat, and money was tight enough to pinch pretty hard lately. Waste not, and all that... Serves 'em right for wandering into an ogre's lair. But he rolled his eyes as his more rational side spoke up. He'd already eaten two overconfident hunters since his return from Arcadia. If he ate this burglar, that would make three in three years. Not the best habit to form in a human-dominant territory. Someone would notice a pattern sooner or later. The Courts probably wouldn't care much, but it was something of a faux pas, and the Spring Court might hound him for it. Their whole point was to find ways to adjust to human life and to appreciate the finer things. It was a difficult philosophy to reconcile when one considered human flesh to be one of the finer things... Spring also put a lot of emphasis on aesthetics, and for Brock, that was dangerous. Like most ogres, Brock was a sucker for pretty people. But people were also delicious. He hoped this burglar wasn't attractive. That would be weird. He could just picture the unlucky individual partially tied to a chair while they both awkwardly shared a pot of coffee and sorted out this little mishap. Brock would be up all morning arguing with himself over whether to eat them or try to get their number. Decisions, decisions... Spring had a strong point, though. Most changelings he'd met were human once, including himself. This burglar wasn't doing him any real harm, and Brock was more sentimental than he cared to admit. He decided to let this one off with a warning. That's when he heard the telltale crinkle of a bag of chips, and the crinkling continued as the intruder began to rummage in earnest. They found his stash and most likely understood what it really was. His apartment was otherwise stark and unappealing to any enterprising thief. They knew what they found. Time for a big breakfast. Wisps of Brock's human visage peeled away in dark, airy tendrils and faded into nothing. His clothes, baggy even on his large frame, tightened to conform to his real size as he gained an extra couple feet in height. To anyone who could normally see through his Mask to what he really was, the change in size was all they'd notice. To anyone who couldn't, it was far more dramatic. Tendrils of illusion floated off him, revealing red hide and gold eyes; one in his left socket, and one in the center of his forehead. In his right socket was nothing but a shadow. A pair of horns flanked either side of the third eye, and rows of sharp white fangs peeked from behind his lips. Brock resisted the temptation to sigh and stretch. Taking the Mask off always felt like being freed from shackles, climbing out of a small box, and taking the first breath of fresh air he'd had in ages. He lunged into the kitchen, dominating what little space there was, and seized the intruder from behind, intending to crush the back of their neck in his jaws. But several things occurred to him at once, and he paused as he processed what he was seeing. This person was tiny. Granted, most people were tiny compared to him, but this one couldn't have been over four feet in height. They had been standing on the counter, and now their feet dangled in the air as his huge hands wrapped around their arms and torso. They were completely covered in clothes that were too big for them, save for a sparkling pink Hello Kitty jacket that seemed too tight. Their hood was up, and their sneakers were so comically massive it was a wonder they didn't slip off. Cold horror stabbed Brock in the gut. Was this a kid? Had he almost killed a kid? It was kind of awful, the look of his monstrous, claw-tipped hands juxtaposed with the innocent jacket. Brock never suffered any anxiety or shame over being an ogre, but realizing what he almost did made him queasy. "Close your eyes. Don't move unless I tell you to," Brock warned, his tone authoritative, belying the panic he felt. His Mask took hours to recharge, and now that he turned it off, how was he going to get the kid out of his apartment without being seen for what he really was? Someone might even try to check on him if the kid screamed at the sight of his face. "Ah, shove it," replied a nasally voice. A goblin glared at him from under the little pink hood, his gigantic ears folded within it, and his bushy mustache quivering with nervous outrage. "This is yer own damn fault," he scolded, waving a bag of chips as much as he could with one of his restrained arms. "Hoardin' like this. It's cheatin'." Brock dropped Cornchips the Whiner and staggered back, sagging against the fridge with a mix of irritation and profound relief. "Dammit, Chips! One of these days, I'm gonna eat you! You keep pulling stunts like this, and I can't guarantee it won't be an accident." The goblin dusted himself off and pushed back the hood, his gigantic, pointed ears regaining their natural shape once they had room. "Great. Perfect!" He folded his arms and eyed Brock reproachfully. "On top a' everythin' else, my big, dumbass chump partner tries t' kill me. I should've expected it. Everythin' looks breakable or edible t' yeh ogre types. I coulda kicked yeh awake, but I decided to be thoughtful and let yeh sleep while I cleaned up yer mess! And here's the thanks I get! Now what's the meanin' a' this?" He pointed a little claw up at the cabinet full of chip bags. Brock rolled his eyes. "Kinda hard to get a hold of you in an emergency, Chips. Sometimes that vending machine ritual takes too damn long. So I figure, why not have it prepped? All I gotta do now is this..." Brock snatched the bag of chips out of the goblin's hand, recited the sacred phrase "Shut up and help me, sir," and popped the bag open. Cornchips vanished with a fart, leaving nothing, and in the next instant, furious grumbling could be heard from inside the bag. "Speed-dial summoning," Brock explained smugly, looking into the bag. "Genius, eh?" "Yeh can't do that, yeh butt-wart!" Cornchips jumped out of the bag, defying physics by not ripping it open despite his size, and landing lightly on his huge feet. "That spell's not a damn toy! Every time you delay it, I get this itch! And you got bleedin' near seventeen a' them spells in that cabinet ready to go at any second! Everyone thinks I have fleas now! Yeh can't get a date when yeh got fleas! No one understands how hard my life is!" Brock's claw-tipped hands were too big, so he held the bag up and shook a few chips into his mouth, crunching on them as he listened. "So it didn't work out with that spider-girl, huh?" Cornchips groaned. "Esther's good wit' her hands, up until she slaps yeh. Wit' all of 'em. I never did anythin' to deserve it. She thought I was chattin' up some pixie, but I swear I was jus' askin' for directions." Brock grimaced. "You can't patronize me, either. It's your job to know your way around." "An' it's your job to make my job easier!" Cornchips pointed at the cabinet he couldn't reach. "Now get rid a' them things before I burn the place down, an' listen up! I didn' jus' come here t' set yeh straight. Yeh got a big job ahead. Orders from Naomi herself." The silence that followed weighed on Brock. He was grateful he didn't do something embarrassing like choke, but he still had trouble deciding how to take this news. "Herself? She didn't send no one?" "Did I stucking futter?" Cornchips demanded, fists on his hips. "Yeah! I'm important enough t' talk to!" Brock frowned. "What does she want us to do? Steal the Queen's purse?" "Naw..." How Cornchips managed to look so smug with that mustache, Brock could only guess. "Babysittin', more like." When he didn't elaborate, Brock's chest rumbled in an uncomfortable growl. "Out with it." "Let me savor this. I like watchin' yeh suffer." Brock dropped the bag and grabbed Chips by the front of his pink jacket, pulling him face to murderous face. "Okay, okay!" the goblin flailed. "Naomi rescued another one from Arcadia, alright? She can't trust the Courts wit' this - she's got too many enemies, even there. You gotta play mentor and bodyguard for this kid - jus' fer a while." "What makes her think they'll be safe with me?" Brock asked, gesturing with his free hand to the whole apartment. "You broke in without me noticing." "I'm the only other one who knows about this," Cornchips swore. "An' yer a lowly grunt, Brock. No one'll think t' connect you with someone as important as Naomi's own kid." Brock released Cornchips with nerveless fingers as a new, uncomfortable facet of the Universe fell into place in his mind. Landing on his feet seemed to help Cornchips recollect his composure, and his posture exuded a kind of sadistic delight. "Don't worry, buddy," the goblin grinned. "Naomi's one a' Winter's top assassins, after all. If yeh fuck this up, yeh won't have t' regret it fer long."

#ogre #goblin #changeling #smuggling partners irritating each other in the wee hours of the morning #modern setting #summoning rituals involving vending machines #Cornchips and his stupid disguises #Brock sweating over whether he's more hungry or lonely #defective Mask #mentions of eating people