A Trouble With Names
(Chapter 1: Fork-Knives and Backward Bells)
By A.J. Smith
The
shop, was littered with trash and trinkets, floor was sparse (Really, really
trashy. Imagine a teenager on a lazy streak with two feet of clothing
piled up on every part of the floor and replace that with random junk...
Although, nowadays it seems that so many teenagers are actually...). Vin
stepped over what she thought might have been a spoon, except the part that was
meant to scoop was broken into three prongs. She could hear the clatter
of swearing and raucous crashes long before entering the little shop. But
her head was throbbing now. Vin saw, behind what might have been the
front counter buried in trash, a heap of gizmos that stirred with each given
swear. She saw a bell placed conveniently next to a sign half-buried in
garbage.
She struck at the bell, lightly, and it gave off a quiet, sonorous ring that
seemed to itch at her brain for some reason or another. The living junk
pile gave up swearing for a moment or so, as if to listen, but quickly took
back up its malicious rhetoric. Vin struck the bell once more, fiercely
this time, and her head lurched with its deafening, shrill cry. The pile
ceased its swears this time, but still continued its constant heave. She
raised her hand impatiently to ring the bell again, ready to give it all her
might despite the current state of her pained skull. A hand; decorated
with red scrapes, at least seven strange bracelets (each one of them labeled
Folex for some reason), and many other trinkets; shot from the living pile to
grasp Vin's hand firmly about the wrist before she could once more ring the
bell.
This was how Vin met Jack. He arose from the pile, much like a zombie
from a grave (like from those old cheesy horror films), as odds and ends poured
from his body like the dead earth from dead skin. Black hair was frayed
about, clothes ripped and patched (and ripped again), and his entire body and
manner seemed wholly disheveled and confused. But his eyes were cold
green daggers against Vin's.
All too humbly, all too softly, and with terrifying chill he said, "Don't
ring it again, I never got that bell to work quite right. Now, how can I
help... Ah! My invention!" His voice quickly went to joy as he
leapt nimbly over the counter, and collapsed over the broken spoon in pure
joy. He than lifted the spoon above his head, brandishing it as though it
were a holy artifact of the great god of cheese nibbles. He uttered a
sigh of profound ecstasy. Than, quite suddenly, he once more dove into
another pile of junk, nattering wildly about finding the cereal.
"Excuse me," Vin called out to the pile, calmly. "Excuse
me, sir... sir?"
"Wmrrf?" The living pile of junk replied.
"Um... I was told I could find some help here, sir? They said I
could find anything I needed here. Sir? Sir?" Well, she
thought, I've tried to be nice.
"Mmf Jrk, plff tmee foo."
Fine, no more nice girl, this time, Vin let loose her wrath.
"HEY! Mister, get the hell out of the trash and talk to me
already!!!" Now Vin, had a voice that could knock down walls, and it
had just left Jack with a very large hole in one of his. The remaining
walls, and all the smaller trinkets and windows rattled with Vin's booming
voice. To say the least, she was loud. To say the truth, she was
damned loud. The man popped up, once more sending various items
skittering. One hand was white knuckled on the broken spoon, and the
other grasped a bag of cereal, his eyes were darting about the room.
"Thank you. Now, I came here looking for a Mister Jack, tradesman of
all kinds. They said you knew of... HEY!" And she was yelling
again. "SIR!!! Are you even listening to me!?"
The eyes jumped back to her. Ok, she thought, he might be a bit
insane. "Oh hell. I'm Jack, pleased to meet you," his
voice sounded whimsical. "Drat, have you seen a bowl lying about by
any chance? No? Ah, well, be with you in a moment... than his
eyes lit up and "GLORY TO THE SEMI-TRANSPARENT GOD OF THE UNHOLY AND
UNKEMPT GHOST OF MY LONG DEAD TWICE REMOVED UNCLE, THE BOWL!!!" And
he lunged for the object in question. Which lay somewhat broken atop a
particularly large pile of knick-knacks. The second he had it, he rushed
off through a door behind the counter, and returned just as quickly with
milk. The bowl, which was now perfectly whole and steaming for some odd
reason (it was quite funny to see actually, Jack, all mad, leaning over a
steaming white bowl with his little trinket and milk).
"Sorry about the wait," he said, hunching over the now filled
bowl. "But my stomach wanted food and one just can't live on carpet
moss for more than three weeks, four days, seven hours, and..." he checked
the funny bracelets "forty seven minutes."
"Yes yes. Now, I need help with... carpet moss?" Jack
gestured at an open floor space, and than lifted the broken spoon above the
bowl. Vin glanced down at the floor (or at least a piece of floor she
could see), and suddenly realized with great disgust, that it wasn't originally
a green floor. A thick moss was creeping its way across the carpet and
was visible on open patches of ground. "Ugh, you mean to tell me you
have actually been eating that!?!" If he did hear her, he ignored
it. His eyes were intently centered upon the bowl. Jack lowered the
spoon to the bowl, ready to eat. Insane, she thought again, definitely
and completely insane.
A new voice joined into the already strange situation, "Hey, Jack!
What in the name of the eight and a half hells do you think your doing!
I'm not going in there!" It was like a pinched voice trying to yell,
a munchkin maybe.
Jack replied angrily, "Yes, you are." Vin cast about for the
voice's owner, and settled on it coming from one of the piles, and belonging to
an assistant she thought was hiding in the piles. That or lunacy was
actually some type of municipal disease.
"No! I'm not! Why don't you stick your head into a bowl of
cereal, see how you like it!" Whoever he was, he could hide really
well, Vin could spot no movement (which only strengthened the insanity idea).
"I don't think you have any say in the matter, you were made to eat
with!"
"Yeah well I..." It cut off and rose into an even shriller cry as
Jack plunged the broken spoon towards the bowl. "OPPRESSION!
OPPRESSION!!! OPPRESS... And it finally cut off, to Vin's personal
horror, when the broken spoon was submerged in the bowl of cereal. A
second later, Jack was munching away happily on his soggied oats, and the voice
was back. "Yick! Jack, that's disgusting! And close your
mouth when you eat, its just plain..."
"Mff, grff wff!"
"Eww, Jack! Don't talk with your mouth full, especially not in front
of the creepy customer in the funny white mask. Geez lady, you really
should try a veil that mask is so... And once more, broken spoon met
cereal.
Vin's face felt like it was boiling. What about her mask! She had
to wear it! And it was very stylish, made of dyed white leather, with
perfect contouring to her face and... "What about my
mask!?!" Her voice was murderous (and more so because she was trying
to keep it from squeaking).
"Uh, err. Forgive my creation, he didn't come out... um... just
right, no offense?" He glanced about wildly. "And, its...
um... well... a lovely mask, err... um, a bit strange but... no, no!
Lovely, perfect, normal, totally normal."
Lucky for Jack, he had sparked her curiosity and not put a kindle to her
rage. "Creation? What is that thing!"
He suddenly brightened up, and straightened out his back to full extent, and
made grand gestures with the broken spoon and flinging milk about the
room. "THIS, IS MY GREATEST CREATION YET! MY GENETICALLY
SPLICED SUPER DELUXE, 3RD EDITION FORK-KNIFE!"
"Yik! I hate cereal! Well, as I was saying, about her
mask... Jack shoved the fork-knife nervously into the bowl. Apart
from the blinding rage, and urge to kill that rose with each heartbeat, Vin was
actually somewhat intrigued by the current oddity.
"Err... Well, I made a mistake somewhere. I wanted something that
could always be used to eat any kind of food, wet or dry, something to always
feed one's mouth, but, well... It um... it kinds of never stops talking... he
never stops talking except when you drown him, or when he is sleeping..."
"Cute. Really cute. Now, can I get some help?" Jack
nodded mindlessly. "Finally! I'm looking for a
Godfinder..."
"Godfinder?"
"Someone who can track down gods. I would like to find the gods who
made naming into a joke."
"Is Godfinder a trade?"
"Yes, why?"
"I can do it than but, well, I wont be the best, and, I won't be the worst
either." Naming had become a joke when some gods decided it would be
funny to make it so names held more than just their titling. Words became
law, phrases reality, stereotypes the honest to god truth, and names made
people what they were (and whenever things contradicted, the gods just flipped
a coin and made a quick decision). Mr. Know It All, for instance, is a
guy who lives down south, who knows all of it. "You see, I'm one of
the named. Jack, as in Jack-of-All-Trades, Master of None. I can do
anything that's considered a trade but, no matter how damned hard I try, I
can't master anything!!!" His shoulders slumped. The gods had
applied names to phrases, and phrases to names, and than both to life. So
in Jack's case, he quite literally knew something about everything, but never
everything about anything, which was more than enough to make any man twitch a
little (and than a lot). "You need a... um... err... what
trade was that again? I'm not the greatest person at remembering
things..."
"Godfinder," she wanted so badly just to strangle something, maybe a
goat. "And I will pay you three hundred gold for the
service." Jack's eyes bulged at the amount that could very easily
purchase a large house. "Fifty now, one hundred on arrival, and one
fifty when we get back."
"Um, Well, Godfinder was it? Right, than, Jack the Godfinder at your
service! And its a great pleasure to meet you miss?"
"Vin."
"Vin? That's it, what an inventive idea for..."
"It's short for Vinegar, I'm one of the Named as well. When can we
leave Mr. Jack?"
"Oh," he looked a bit taken aback and as though he was considering to
ask her what her name really meant. But he thought the better of it and
decided not to. "Well, is three minutes alright?" Vin's
eyes widened behind the mask. She had expected three days, especially
with the mess in the shop. Jack merely smiled at her surprise and snapped
his fingers. A backpack slithered out of the junk of its own free
will (yes, it has free will, they named it Marty), and propped itself
open. Than, one by one, travel equipment and other knick-knacks marched
out of random piles and climbed into the sack. During this strange procession
of possessed items, Jack lifted the spoon, which was miraculously quiet all of
the sudden, and it grew to the size of a walking staff. He than waited
for the bag to fill, which took more things than any bag twice it's size could
carry, and than picked it up as though it weighed nothing at all. Vin's
eyes were close to leaping from their sockets, and doing a little jig on the
floor while they were at it. "Magic," Jack said happily,
"is also a trade. Ready to go?" She nodded.
"Than shall we start? Ok! Let's head out back where Cat
is."
"Cat?"
"My horse. She is a very agile horse." They went through
a back door, and Vin nearly fainted when she saw a spotted black horse, way up
at the top of a thick oak tree. "Cat!" Jack
hollered. "Get down from there! NOW!!!
Alright, alright. Does kitty want some milk?" The horse
meowed. "Thought so. Well Cat, if you come down, I will give
you some milk, Ok?" It meowed again, but made no move to leave the
tree. "Don't make me get the hose you rotten cat!!!" This
time it hissed. Jack was shaking in rage, ready to let loose a second
barrage of swears, but was interrupted by a high-pitched ring that drained the
color from his face. "Oh nearly great god of the semi-transparent floating
ghost of my twice removed dead uncle! The bell!!!" He ran for
the door and was in such a rush he tripped over his own two feet. Vin
followed, of course, to see what new lunacy had just developed. Inside,
there was a man on the floor, hands at his head, and unconscious. On his
chest was a badge that seemed to signify a high rank. Jack was raking a
nervous hand through his hair as the other one scooped up the bell, and dropped
it into one of his pouches. His voice was broken when he spoke.
"Uh, Miss Vinegar, let's leave now, please?"
She barely heard him, her eyes were glued to the pouch containing the
bell. "What is that thing? I mean, really, what is it?"
"A bell, kind of... well, Y'see, I made it because I could never hear the old
bell, this one was supposed to reverberate better, only problem is, it didn't
quite work... The bell itself doesn't actually ring," Vin thought about
how loud it had actually been, and decided that Jack was a certain
madman. "It gives people very bad headaches mostly..." he
sucked in a quivering breath. "The bell does vibrate more area, but,
it sends those vibrations into the person ringing it, or, more specifically,
into the cranium, this applies to a, 'Ringing Headache' I think..."
"You mean?"
"Yes, its the persons head that rings, not the bell, and it's so
damned quiet!!!"
Thank you for reading this selection. A Trouble With Names will continue at later times with other chapters in which the characters find many a new strange companions. Talking elephants, flying toasters, and Death on strike! Please send comments to Nikatu346@Hotmail.com
Chicken Scratch Home ~ A
Trouble With Names Part 2
5/19/2003