Rune of Oldfyre

Chapter Twenty-Two: There's a Fucking Umlaut

The palace hall was packed. The last time I was here I had to deal with the stupid stupidity of the stupid regent and his stupid mustache.

I was wearing a slightly more formal set of the clothing I normally wear, it had a few extra useless buttons. May was wearing a gun metal gray dress that was practically painted on. Her hair was tied back, leaving her ears visible. The bright light of the hall made her amethyst eyes shine.

“Ardy, you’re here?” Anya’s voice said from behind me.

I turned around and we hugged. She was wearing a bright pink dress, she hated pink. The last time we saw each other was about three months prior; when she told me she landed a pretty sweet job.

“Yeah, I got the goat head yesterday.” I said.

“You got a goat? I just got a stupid herring.” We both laughed and then I remembered to do something important.

“Oh Anya, this is May.” I said, gesturing to her.

“You’re Anya I’ve heard a lot about you.” May shook her hand.

“I have someone you guys should meet. Phil!” She called. A moment later a tall thin man stumbled up to us clumsily. We shook his hand and he told us he was a wealthy banker up in the Financial District.

Well La De Da. I can fire lightning out of my dick. I thought, but avoided saying. I had a pet peeve of people who say they worked as a “wealthy…”. I wondered why Anya was with him. She had hardly any interest in money.

The mass of people began to shuffle towards the theatre entrance.

“Ooh, they’re seating people, come along Phil.” She said, pulling him with her as he cleaned out his ear with his finger.

Oh, I get it now. Phil was whipped.

I snorted with laughter.

“What?” May asked.

“I don’t know why, but Anya has him good and whipped.” I explained.

“Gods, I know. By the way, did you notice the ears on him? Massive.”

“Oh, I know. When I saw them I thought he might pick signals up from space.” I said. We chatted and laughed like this while we walked into the theatre.

Our seats were near the front. With the special invite I received, I could have had us sitting practically on the stage; but I decided to just avoid the warning of a “splash zone” and sit up a bit higher. Besides, I always prefered the higher seating in theatres anyway.

When the overhead lights dimmed, a man walked out on stage. It was that stupid regent guy. I could tell because of his stupidly placed mustache on his stupid face. I rolled my eyes.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” He stupidly said.

Good evening Mr. pubic stache McStupid face.

“I am very excited to present the premiere of Raapinzeanüs. I worked really closely with the writer of this masterpiece, to deliver the best show for you tonight.”

I’m sure you did you stupid head.

“But before the show I’d like to thank the minstrel group, Frenzy! in the Dancehall, for providing this nights musical accompaniment. So, without further adieu, I present Raapinzeanüs: The Dance of the Geese.”

Swans asshole. It’s Swans, learn the fucking language. Stupid dickhead.

The show began with a series of, what I can only describe as, interpretive dances involving livestock, farmers and, on one occasion, a large anthropomorphized phallus. I had no idea what this play was. It was made worse by the fact that it lasted twelve hours. I’m not speaking with hyperbole, it literally took twelve hours to present. It contained three intermissions. They served the first few rows breakfast and lunch. The script itself was difficult to decipher. They spoke in a bastardized version of Valeic; I say bastardized but it was the equivalent of saying you’re speaking german, but you’re actually speaking Swahili with an accent that sounded vaguely like the Kaiser. The play ended with a final, two hour musical number entitled “There’s a Fucking Umlaut”. It had the entire cast maintain a 30 minute high note.

The actors in the play seemed very distraught. Then I remembered that the invite said “captive homeless”. These people were held against their will and forced to act here. They were probably round up this morning.

When the curtains dropped, the stupid regent walked back on stage.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Good morning.” He stupidly wave to the crowd as we were filled out into the main hall.

“I’m glad that’s over.” I said, rubbing the bags beneath my eyes.

“Yeah, love Al to death, but damn.” Anya agree, resting her head on Phil’s shoulder.

I could see Allister heading towards us. “Here he comes.”

He stopped next to me. He had hardly changed in appearance at all, other than the minor fact that he was missing several fingers. “So guys, whatcha think?”

“It was… good.” We all said, with minimal discrepancy in timing.

“You guys hated it didn’t you?” He said pityfully.

“I wouldn’t say hate.” Anya said.

“I’d say we were confused.” I said. The others nodded in agreement.

“It’s okay,” he said, pulling out a flask and taking a swig, “so do I.”

“What?” We said.

“Why would you hate it, didn’t you write it?” I asked.

“No, I hardly wrote anything of it.” He shockingly informed us.

‘What do you mean you hardly wrote it?” Anya asked.

“Here follow me.”  He led us into a tiny office piled with paper. “This is my office.” he said.

I looked at one of the pages. It was covered with a strange, black ink spot. “What is this?”

“It’s the script.” He cried out. He grabbed his hair. “There’s not a single word in the play’s script.”