B2: Chapter 6 - Vaarg
Vaarg quietly sipped his Q’uatzolian tea while eyeing the store through the scrying portal etched into his clipboard.
The tea was revolting, but did its job well and kept the pain at bay.
A sip.
A wince.
Watching Beeg orchestrate more chaos on his small store was par for the course, at this point.
Vaarg sighed. There was a reason Stupid’s birthday was overlooked.
He would probably have to magic away the painful memories that would resurface due to Beeg’s “good will.”
Or, maybe not.
He adjusted his clipboard, flicking to another scene.
He had never thought to see Itzemus stand tall again, and yet he was watching him slide back into society like he had never left.
A direct consequence of the chaotic disaster named “Beeg.”
He’d had high hopes for the orphan. Higher than he could admit.
While his incompatibility with Sigil was…
Disappointing.
The revelation of his intrinsic understanding of Ordo was…
Intriguing.
Another sip.
Another suppressed wince.
He waved away Ugly, letting him know he was fine.
Always hidden, that one.
Always watching.
Still, there may yet be hope.
Hope.
The word tasted strange on his tongue.
Alien.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have to hide in the safety of the store forever.
What a compelling —
Stupid screeched, flash banged a portal and flung herself into Beeg’s arms — tears, snot and wailing in copious amounts.
Stupid’s language of love.
Vaarg closed the portal with a thought. Best not to let the wrong things through.
He sipped his tea and peeked over the clipboard, wanting to observe this moment not through another’s eyes.
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Elara—the very definition of innocence, forged through fire, pain and trauma.
He hired Beeg for the potential he thought he saw.
He assigned him to Aisle 3 for Elara.
The little goblin survivor that stole his heart.
A heart he never knew he had.
A sip.
A wince.
… A sigh.
His rescue of Beeg had been…
Impulsive. Reckless.
He never should have left the safety of the store.
But seeing the anguish on the face of Elara, the frozen mask on Itzemus?
He hadn’t had any other course.
He was no fool.
There would be consequences.
They just hadn’t caught up yet.
He groaned, eyeing his already empty mug.
The tea lasted shorter and shorter these days.
Still, there was no point in dwelling.
A short conjuration and his relief was back.
Steaming and unpleasant.
“BOOSSS!!!” Elara screeched, “BEEG REMEMBERED STUPIDZ BIRFDAYZZ!”
She sobbed happily.
But Vaarg saw it.
Saw the flicker in her eye at the end of the sentence.
Teeth, Fire and Sorrow.
He waved the memory back into her mind and her smile brightened.
Which of course had him smiling behind the safety of his clipboard.
Ah, I am too old to have a heart that still aches.
Today… he would let the memory through.
It was time.
But not until after the cake.
She and Beeg at least deserved that.
Vaarg adjusted his monocle as Henrietta and Sibil resumed their gossip — as bad as they were before he cursed them into cloaks.
Little good it did.
At least it had kept the other tax collectors away. For a time.
Vaarg snorted. Tax Collectors.
If they were tax collectors, he was a benevolent store owner.
He set his mug down tiredly.
Beeg had handled the resurfacing splendidly.
Vaarg grinned, leaning back. He doubted he would see another until the season after next.
Of real tax collectors, that is.
Magnificent.
As it stood, he couldn’t get too upset with the sisters. They were more right than they knew.
Anything short of perfect resonance with Ordo would be swallowed alive by the store, were they so foolish as to do what Beeg so nonchalantly accomplished.
A creature so ancient and powerful did not lightly allow change to be enacted upon themselves.
And the boy didn’t even realize it.
It was almost comical, watching the young half-elf mope and moan about Sigils.
When he had quite possibly inherited something better.
Another sip…
And a wince.
Vaarg smacked his lips. He still wasn’t going to volunteer any information — or help for that matter, until the boy grew some —
Ahem.
Yes, until he matured.
It would have been proud to see him catch his language.
The crotchety old coot, Vaarg grumbled into his mug.
Anyway, he would volunteer nothing until the boy matured enough to seek him out.
Surprisingly, losing an eye and a leg had helped him not-insignificantly in said regard.
The first thing the boy had done to elicit Vaarg’s pride.
He hadn’t broken.
He came back stronger.
That was how he knew the boy would stay.
That he would fit in.
That Beeg belonged.
He picked the mug up once more, his constant and unwanted companion.
Another sip.
Another wince.
He glanced up as the doorbell wheezed.
____
As if by magic — which very well might have been the case — the Night Manager, Matilda, waltzed through the door.
Followed by the entire AP team and Bob.
“Stupid!” she gushed, “I didn’t realize it was your Birthday! Let’s get you all prettied up, shall we?”
Matilda strolled past, patting me on the elbow in greeting as she went. I smiled back.
Marlo, Molly, Jeff, Jim and Joe all strolled past, single file, after her.
Each nodded and greeted me “Beeg.”
I nodded back to each.
When did this become a thing? I wondered.
Finally Bob stopped.
“Beeg,” he smiled and nodded. “You should work with me your next night shift, ye?”
I nodded back with an easy smile. “I’d like that, Bob.”
I don’t think I had seen him since my anniversary party.
“You look good,” he acknowledged.
I snorted.
“I mean it, legs come and go,” at that he lifted a pant leg to reveal a wooden leg himself — which I never knew — and smiled.
“That self confidence though, it does you good.”
With that he continued after the rest of the night crew, leaving me to stare after them.
