Beers and Beards

Book 2: Chapter 3: Making the Cut

I held out my hand, “See?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “I know for a fact that you can’t speak goat.”

“I understand tha gist of it.” I told a little [White Lie].

“Uh, huh. To answer your question, feast your eyes on this!” Annie pulled another resume out of the pile with aplomb and placed it down on the table.

The paper was in a style commonly used for notices on the local news and job boards. The adventuring guild board was the biggest and best example, and I often went down there myself to keep up with local gossip.

It read:

Porter for Hire!

Local adventurer Kirk Manly seeks to try his hand at beverage service!

A lover of all things alcohol and a master of conveyance!

A Titled Porter with experience in multiple dungeons!

Allow a power-house with four milestones to serve at your convenience!

He’ll carry your beers, guard your doors, and capture your heart!

Who is this mysterious and dashing tavern hero?

Kirk Manly - Action Adventurer!

See reverse.

I turned the page over and - lo and behold - there was more. A series of lines and dots that I immediately recognized as sheet music was carefully drawn on the back. I read it over in disbelief.

“Is that - Is that a theme song? With lyrics!?”

“It is! I can’t read it, but isn’t it amazing!”

“Can anyone in the brewery read music? I need to hear this.”

Annie shook her head, “None of us can, I was hoping you might.”

“Ugh, I wish we had one of my hired advertisement musicians. Tiara’s Teats, I wish we had Sam.”

“Who \'s Sam? Was he someone from the mine?”

“Aye, a bushy bearded fellow with an odd accent. He’s a Titled [Maestro], and a damn good one. He said ‘eh’ a lot.”

Annie’s brows furrowed in thought. “He must be from out east. That vocal tik is Eastern Crackian in origin. You actually had a bit of an Eastern Crackian accent before - well, you know. You do still say ‘eh’ though.”

“Ehhhh….” I shuffled a bit uncomfortably. It was a bit disconcerting to be reminded that this body belonged to someone else before I took it over; I was kind of wearing a corpse. Generally speaking, dwarves weren’t overly concerned with death, and even had a nearly religious respect for their ancestors. That made a lot of sense, come to think of it. With reincarnation, your ancestors were technically you, and the decisions you made back then were the decisions you would make now since it was you making them at the time. Death wasn’t the end, it was just moving into a future you that respected the past you.

Confusing.

Annie took the page and read it over again, “Oh well. I figured with all the songs you knew that you might have some musical training from before.”

“Nope, that’s all from listening to other people sing.”

“Truly? You have such a wide variety of songs though.”

“Oh sure. It’s because of pop-music, good old rock and roll, and the rise of radio.”

“I understood none of those words.” Annie raised an eyebrow.

I tented my hands on the table, how to explain? “You know Raspberrysyrup’s music, and how everyone’s listening to it now?”

“Maybe not eee-veryone.” Annie hedged.

“I heard you singing it earlier, and if you’re doing it, it’s everywhere.”

“Fine, her music is a little catchy, but only because Aqua sings it all the damn time!”

“Okay, I’ll try and give you a picture. Is there a way you could listen to Raspberrysyrup anywhere?”

Annie shrugged. “Sure. An object enchanted with music, or a commstone.”

“Commstones are like solstones, right? Except where solstones are infused with Solen’s Fundamental of Chaos/Light, commstones are infused with Midna’s Pillar of Communication?”

“That’s right.”

“And they allow people to send communications over long distances?”

Annie nodded, “Yes, but only for a short time until the infusion runs out.”

“And then it’s really expensive to get the infusion replaced? So you need to keep gettin’ a new charge?”

“It’s… not as expensive, but yes.”

“Sounds almost exactly like back home.” I grinned.

“Really?”

“Sure, except there are thousands of Raspberrysyrups and they’re all pumping out music at the same time and they each have millions of fans who will all fight over who’s the best. Then your music box of choice would be blasting it at you at full volume all day long.”

“By the Gods!” Annie almost fell out of her chair in shock, “That sounds horrific!”

“It was glorious

. I actually got to see the Barenaked Ladies live in concert once.” I sighed in joyful reminiscence. Ahh, if I only had a million dollars. Come to think of it, I actually did have a million dollars right now. I should buy a house, an ottoman, and some fancy dijon ketchup.

“A band of naked ladies?” Annie frowned, “Does the nudity help the acoustics?”

“It was an all male band actually. They just used that name because it helped with sales.”

She rolled her eyes, “Your people were so strange.”

“All aboard the Crazy Train! Where were we?” I glanced back at the table and the small lake of paperwork.

“Deciding to give Kirk Manly an interview, I suspect.” Annie tossed his page back on the pile, “If only to make him sing us the song.”

“Agreed. You said there were four, so who’s last?”

Annie held up a crisp piece of white paper. Most of the sheets so far had been a rather dark beige, and made with coarse material; it was tough and strong and held ink well. This new page was thin, bright white, and of a much higher quality. I took an edge and rubbed it between two fingers, marveling at how much it felt like printer paper. It even had the faintest scent of lilacs.

“Well, this catches attention almost as well as the theme song and the shit-stains.”

“Yes. I saved the best for last.” Annie said with a wide smile. “I think this will be our most likely future member.”

“Oh really? Superior to a goatboy and an action-adventurer?”

“Just read it.” Annie’s smile grew mysterious.

“Fine, fine, Bimbleberry, eh? Must be a gnome. Let’s see - Dear Sir or Madam, please accept my most sincere - ” I raised an eyebrow as I began reading aloud then skimmed ahead. “ - ugh this is boring. Most pleased to - yadda yadda, forthwith - blah blah. How could you possibly like this tripe Annie? Denied!” I slammed the paper back on the table.

Annie tutted and picked it back up. “That’s a traditional dwarven resume. Nothing fancy except for the perfection dripping from every aspect of it. The paper is expensive, the ink hasn’t bled, the writing uses the correct words in the correct order, and the calligraphy is exact without being ostentatious.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, “Hrm, I can accept that. Does it hold any particular meaning?”

“It’s a way of showing competence.” Annie said, pointing to a point on the page. “Look where he used to work.”

I glanced over the paragraph in question, “A Titled [Butler]! To Lord Samuel!? Why is that name familiar?”

“I think he was one of the competitors in the Barck Beer Brawl? He hit you over the head a lot, which may be why you don’t remember.”

“Oh right, the old military guy. Raspberrysyrup burst his eardrums or somethin’.” I pulled at my beard in reminiscence. Ah those had been the good old days. They were only last year, but they were still good, and old.

“Well, apparently you made enough of an impression on his butler that the gnome in question has decided to jump ship.”

“That or it’s all an elaborate ruse to trick us into letting down our guard until the sudden but inevitable betrayal! Those seem to be a recurring theme.”

“I strongly doubt that. Regardless, he is by far the most experienced of all the applicants when it comes to a service position. He has over two hundred years of experience as a Lord’s personal [Butler], and can probably wait the entire restaurant by himself without breaking a sweat. A Titled [Butler] serving drinks in a bar? People will come out for the experience alone! Most people never even meet a [Butler], let alone get served by one. They’re all snapped up by nobles!”

“So why does he want to come work for us??”

“Pete! Read!”

“Ugh, but it’s so bo-ring.”

“READ IT!”

“Fine!” I skimmed through the paper as quickly as I could, flexing my high perception. I tossed it back onto the table when I was done, “So, Lord Samuel’s leavin’ early for the octa-millenial in Kinshasha, eh? More like fleeing in disgrace after his loss. And Bimbleberry doesn’t want to skip town right now, so he’s lookin’ for work. And he’s decided to work at the ‘most popular new establishment in the City of Minnova.’”

“Right!” Annie’s eyes sparkled. “What an opportunity for us!”

“Yep, he’s pretty perfect.” I nodded, “So he’s DENIED!” I slammed the page back on the table.

“What!? WHY!?” Annie grabbed the page back up and held it tightly to her chest. “He is perfect!”

“Perfectly boring. I suspect Aqua will be brainstorming plans to get rid of him within half a day.”

“You don’t know that!”

“You do! She’d be bringing out Bran’s knives by day two and I’d be helping!”

Annie had the good grace to look unsure. Every person in this building was a bit of an oddball - except maybe John - and I was pretty sure that having a dyed in the wool Mr. Perfect around would eventually drive us all up the wall.

“Maybe Aqua will like him. At least… let’s at least let him do the interview.” Annie said with a hint of desperate hope, “Maybe you’ll like him, and if he’s so much better than everyone else it could still be worth it.”

“Fine, but only if I still get to bring goatboy.”

“Deal. I’ll send an invitation to Jack Thornsson, Bimbleberry, and Kirk Manly, and a rejection to Pazmin. Now help me clear this table, it’s time to prepare for the dinner rush.”

Ugh. I hated running front of house. “Is it too late to just pick them all and hire them to do it for us?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. When are the interviews planned?” I walked over to the kitchen and grabbed my waitering apron off a hook. It had an image of Penelope silk screened on the front of it, and extra deep pockets.

“Balin should be back from the dungeon in four days, and I want everything squared up when he returns. Interviews will be the day after tomorrow, and we should be able to get Bimbleberry fully trained and working by the day after that.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Looks like someone is counting her gnomes before they’ve hatched.”

Annie’s eyes grew concerned, and her mouth pinched at the edges. “Pete, gnomes aren’t hatched from eggs. They\'re born live, from their mothers.“

“What?”

“Do you need to learn about the Elves and the Trees? I’m not your parent, but I do have some responsibility for your education. Maybe I should ask Balin to do it…”

“What!?”

“Sex. And babies. Has anyone explained gnomish and dwarvish biology on Erd to you? That seems to be something that could have easily been missed.”

“WHAT!?”

“You see, dwarven men and women have different body parts. Women have breasts and men have - “

“BY ALL THE BITS OF THA GODS!”

“Yes, exactly!”