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Sklonda pushed open the door to Basrar’s, setting off a small jingling bell. There were signs posted on both sides of the door, printed in comic sans and strewn with unnecessary ellipses and quotation marks. It read:
“Closed… for a Private ‘Lunch’ … 7:30-9pm”
The soda shop was balmy after the brisk Winter evening—probably a good business ploy to keep the thermostat cranked while customers devoured icy treats. Sklonda unbuttoned her knee-length wool coat with one hand, nodding at Daisy who was knitting at the greeter’s table.
“Heya Daisy, how’s it going?”
“Lovely, we’ve got great ‘vibes’ tonight, like the kids say!” Daisy winked and did a complicated twist of her hands. “Turnout’s not too bad either, considering the season.”
“What’s that you’re knitting?”
“Oh just some fingerless gloves for Bud, for the land defense protest so he can still untangle wires and such. And purple is his favourite colour, so.” Daisy glanced at her husband across the room, her eyes crinkling fondly.
Sklonda just hummed in response, making a mental note about the environmental vandalism. She had a feeling she’d be advising Bud Cubby soon.
Daisy pushed a clipboard towards her. “Are you interested in joining the OSHA mailing list? There aren’t any goblin members at the moment, but we’re very open to discussing how to make our events more inclusive.”
The clipboard had a couple new signatures for the “Open-minded Swinger Halfling Association”. They regularly hosted play parties and educational kink workshops; they even did orders of custom-made toys and gear for small-size-category people. Sklonda appreciated the good work they did; she psychically could not withstand the amount of emails they sent out.
“Ah no thanks. It’s nothing personal, just too busy with the new job.” Sklonda picked up a name tag, scrawling her name in yellow and adding her pronouns in black underneath. “I’ll keep it in mind though.”
“Wonderful, well enjoy your evening!” Daisy beamed up at her.
Sklonda scanned the room and quickly spotted Sandra Lynn and Jawbone, sitting at their usual table. Before she could join them, a tall spindly man appeared beside her.
“Good evening, Mrs. Gukgak. I hope you are well.”
Sklonda cut right to the chase. “Gorthalax isn’t coming tonight.”
Sylvester’s face fell, his skinny mustache quivering over his lip in a tiny sigh before he pulled himself together. “Ah. Malaise opens its dripping maw. Pity.” He ambled off.
Sklonda sighed and wove between the diner tables, giving a once over at the new faces and nodding at the regulars. She wasn’t super active in the scene, but she tried to stay in the loop with the community happenings. It was nice to have one place she could let loose a little.
Sklonda slid into the bench next to Jawbone, the old leather upholstery squeaking softly under her. She threw her coat into a pile in the corner and snatched a plastic menu from its makeshift stand between the chocolate fudge bottle and the cinnamon shaker. “Gods, I need some ice creamed, stat.”
Sandra Lynn snorted, milkshake straw still at her lips. She was wearing tight, high waisted black jeans and a chunky sapphire blue sweater. Sklonda recognized the sweater from their Moonar Yulenear gift exchange.
“Hey Sklonda.” Jawbone said with a smile, shifting to make more space for her. He was proudly wearing his Protect Trans Kids shirt under a bubblegum pink cardigan. He tilted his head and twitched his ears, looking at her closely. “Sylvester still gunning for the big guy?”
“Yep.” Sklonda rolled her eyes. “Gorthalax isn’t into it. Maiming people reminds him too much of his old job.”
Jawbone huffed, furrowing his hairy eyebrows. “Honestly you shouldn’t have to deal with that. This ain’t a meat market. I could talk to him, clarify the boundaries—”
“No it’s fine, it’s annoying but hey I get it… seems like a lonely guy.” Sklonda flipped the menu closed. She changed the subject smoothly, “I’m gonna get a cone, you guys want anything?”
“Egg cream? With extra chocolate. I think I’ve got some change—”
Sklonda shoved Jawbone playfully before he could pull out his wallet. “Hey put that away, I’ve got it.”
She made her way to the counter. She gave a little wave when she made eye contact with Digby and Wilma. They were clearly in an animated conversation with Bud, Bonnie, and Danny on OSHA-related business, so she didn’t feel obligated to stop to chat.
She pulled up a seat next to Matilda Donovan. She tried to catch Basrar’s eye but he was whipping up an ice cream of swirling reds and yellows, with a faint aura of danger.
“One Raspberry Lemon Chill Thrill.” Basrar called out cheerfully, and he handed the towering ice cream cone to Matilda.
Matilda was going full Winnie the pooh—wearing a leather corset over her ample chest and no pants but just the thick natural fur of her satyr legs. She had stuck her name tag—written in bold pink—on her tattooed bicep.
Sklonda tried to keep her voice even. “That looks amazing.”
“Mhm, care for a taste?” She casually offered, leaning half a step closer.
Sklonda tucked her hair behind her ears, letting herself tip her head back and flutter her lashes up at Matilda—trying to strike a balance between lasciviously fun and subtle enough for a public place. She briefly licked the ice cream, sweet and tart on her tongue.
Never one to miss a quip, Sklonda said, “Mmm that’s good. The ice cream too.”
Matilda looked victorious and delighted. She took her own deliberate taste of ice cream, savouring it for a moment. “Speaking of delicious things, we’re having a private gathering next Saturday, if you’re interested.” She smiled wide, the toe of her hoof tip-tip-tapping against the tile floor.
“I’m sure it’ll be quite the party.” Sklonda tried to dismiss the mental images of the last Donovan “gathering" she’d attended. It was a cowgirl theme; leather, sybian rides, and way too much Shania Twain. That summer night had felt endless—and not just because the Night Yorb was blocking out the sun.
“I’m still catching up with work since our family vacation in Fallinel, so I haven’t had much downtime.” Sklonda admitted. She hardly had a chance to hang out with Riz—not that he was home much these days.
“Well let me know if that changes. We all need a little stress relief, you know.” Matilda squeezed her shoulder lightly as she walked away.
Once Basrar came back to her, Sklonda placed her orders and carried them back to their table.
She found a middle-aged, rusty red kobold showing his crystal to Jawbone and Sandra Lynn. He was wearing chunky glasses, a soft flannel shirt and blue jeans. He gestured at his crystal as he expounded on some explanation, “—and this style’s really good for digitigrade legs, with this angle here for the best back support. And I can add any bars or other hardware at the ends here or here.”
Sklonda slid the egg cream to Jawbone, who grinned and interrupted the man. “Ah hey, Dylan Skuttle, this is our good friend Sklonda Gukgak. Dylan’s a fantastic carpenter, he was just sharing some of his custom designs.”
Even though Jawbone seemed completely relaxed, Sandra Lynn tossed Sklonda the same kind of look as when Gilear was going on and on about some miserable facet of his life. She obviously wanted an escape hatch.
“Nice to meet you.” Sklonda grasped the man’s hand a bit too tight, and smiled in that way that bared her fangs. “I actually need to borrow these two, if you don’t mind.”
A flash of frustration crossed his eyes, but he quickly recovered with a strained smile. “Oh yes of course, I was just going to say hi to my friend. Uh, Jawbone, you have my business card if you want to put in an order. Cheers!”
Sklonda sat next to Sandra Lynn, blocking out the space of the busy diner with all three feet and 2 inches of her frame. She fully focused on her friend, scanning her face for micro expressions of anxiety or anger. “What’s wrong?”
Sandra Lynn slouched deep into her seat, “Nothing, gods, he was just annoying.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it was just—” Sandra Lynn picked at a used napkin. “A bit weird, you know.”
In their many years of friendship, Sklonda had learned to trust Sandra Lynn’s judgement when it came to skeevy guys. Sklonda was really good at reading people, through attentive behavioural observation and careful questioning—but sometimes Sandy could sense cruelty and dishonesty in a split second. Sandra Lynn claimed it was a nifty Ranger trick.
Across the table, Jawbone made a thoughtful noise, “I guess I did find it a bit out of left field to have a stranger randomly walk up and try to peddle his wares.”
“Yeah,” A thought occurred to Sklonda. “Did it seem like he targeted you? Or is he doing this to everybody? There’s that shady stuff going on with crystals and soil influencing people, could be related to the kids—”
“They weren’t very good!” Sandra Lynn blurted out. “Fuck it’s like I don’t want to be that guy, and like sure everybody’s allowed to have their own aesthetics, but seriously for that kind of money I could fix the car, or buy another one, and at least the benches in that would be comfortable to fuck someone on.”
They burst out laughing, all three of them. They must have gotten some funny looks and Sklonda’s ice cream was dripping down her hand but that just made them laugh harder. Sklonda laughed so hard her guts started to hurt and she gasped for breath.
“Okay okay stop making me laugh, I gotta slurp some of this down.” Sklonda batted at Sandra Lynn’s cheek, ineffectively silencing her but effectively smearing melted ice cream on her face.
“Ew, is this that nasty nut milk?” Sandra Lynn licked some and pulled a face of sheer horror. “Sklonda I swear out of all the delicious options of ice cream you picked the only one that tastes like old shoes.”
Jawbone shushed them, pressing napkins in their hands, “Hey now let’s keep it PG 13. We don’t want to offend our frosty barista’s sensibilities.”
After they tidied up, Sklonda gave Sandra Lynn a saccharine sweet peck on the cheek. “I’m sure Basrar will forgive your ignorant, incorrect assessment of my excellent pistachio ice cream.”
Raising her eyebrows and lowering her voice, Sandra Lynn tipped her head minutely towards the counter. “Pretty sure he’s not thinking about ice cream right now.”
Stationed at the front counter, a crew of several young, hot Aguefort teachers were talking to Basrar. Basrar’s cool blue face was tinged pink.
“Damn, Corsica, Henry, and Zara?” Sklonda whistled lowly as she sized up the situation.
The munch had relocated to Basrar’s for the logistics—great location, accessibility, and respectability. Basrar himself seemed happy for the extra business and social aspect. He still didn’t seem to know that he was the diamond of the event—the handsome, highly eligible bachelor far more desirable than any frozen dessert on his menu.
“Three at once is a bit much,” Jawbone huffed. “I mean not that I haven’t enjoyed it in the right situation with lots of negotiation, but the poor guy’s at work—”
“He’s smiling, actually smiling not customer service forced cheerfulness.” Sklonda noticed Basrar’s body language—usually tight, narrow jet streams—flow into relaxed wisps of mountain breezes. “I think it’s good, and Corsica’s not a plastic fork, she knows when to back off.”
“Speaking of plastic forks,” Sandra Lynn grit her teeth. “Lydia was chatting with one online. He said he was surprised someone like her was dominant and that he could teach her about real doms.”
Sklonda involuntarily crushed what was left of her cone, green ice cream oozing between her knuckles.
Jawbone let out a low growl, the usual warm sunshine yellow of his eyes turning sharp. “Fuck that guy and fuck that whole bullshit alpha male mentality. Wolves in the wild don’t even follow that shit, that’s been debunked for years and I’m freaking sick of aggressive, competitive guys turning it into some natural order of supremacy.”
“Who was the fucker and what kind of car does he drive?” Sklonda asked.
Sandra Lynn shrugged. “Don’t know, some middle-aged tough guy who thinks beating people up makes him some kind of god. Lydia blocked him and screenshotted the messages, just in case.”
Jawbone hummed and started, “If only Cathilda were around—”
“She could track him down.” Sklonda interrupted.
“—I was going to say, she could teach that awesome OSHA-certified Domme masterclass. She addressed a lot of those toxic Dom attitudes and stuff.” Jawbone scratched his chin. “And I guess if all else fails watching her work with her knives and canes would make any assholes think twice about disrespecting femmes in kink.”
Sklonda noticed Sandra Lynn picking at her finger nails under the table. She took her hand and squeezed to get her attention. “You okay?”
Sandra Lynn gave a little smile, squeezing back. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind. I don’t—” She cut herself off, seeming to struggle for words.
Jawbone leaned forward, so that they could have a somewhat-private moment in the busy diner. “It’s alright if you’re not ready to talk about him, but you know you can talk to us and we won’t judge. We love you sweetheart, ain’t nothing you could say to change that.”
A few weeks ago, Jawbone had filled them in on the potential hiring of Bobby Dawn as Cleric teacher at Aguefort. This week, Jawbone had seen the signed contract. Sklonda didn’t have all the details of his relationship with Sandra Lynn, but she knew the way her friend shut down emotionally when his name came up.
Reaching out to grasp Jawbone’s hand across the table, her other hand still clasped with Sklonda’s, Sandra Lynn said, “Not yet, just… give me a bit more time.” She cleared her throat and let go of their hands, walling off her emotions and sounding not quite herself. “Can we talk about something else?”
Looking for an abrupt change of subject matter, Sklonda drummed her fingers against the edge of the table and mused, “Well, I was thinking earlier that it’s only a couple years ‘til your kids could come to these things.”
Jawbone chuckled. “Ah the kids wouldn’t want to hang out around all these old farts.”
“You sure about that? Kristen? Fig?”
“Well. Got me there.” Jawbone furrowed his furry eyebrows. “I mean it won’t be that bad. The kids are gonna be exploring this stuff, at least they can do it properly educated and supported.”
Sandra Lynn groaned and hung her head until it thunked gently into the tabletop. She mumbled, “I cannot talk to Fig about anymore sexual issues. It’s not—the things that come out of her mouth—”
Sklonda rubbed her friend’s back in comfort.
“Hey, why aren’t you fucking worried?”
“Riz would have zero interest in an event like this.”
“What if he finds out the Elmville munch is rife with secret intel and intrigue?”
Sklonda thought about it. Riz didn’t seem outright repulsed by sex and romance, and his obsessive curiosity frequently overrode any other need, even important things like sleep or personal integrity.
“Well fuck.” Sklonda sighed. "I'll miss the ice cream."