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Fabian isn’t very sure what he expected from something called ArtificerCon, but it certainly isn’t this.
“Dude,” Riz says, climbing up onto Gorgug’s shoulder. “That shrimp is frying rice.” Sure enough, in the demonstration set out before them, there’s a shrimp swimming about a small tank, and a wok currently frying rice. Wires and circuitry connect the two very different parts together, but no matter how hard the half-orc showing this off tries to explain his invention, Fabian just can’t comprehend it.
Turns out ArtificerCon, taking place for the first time in Elmville this year, isn’t as refined a showcase as the title would make him believe. Turns out it’s utter chaos, filled with the most baffling inventions Fabian has ever seen.
The half-orc raps his knuckles against the tank. “His name’s Seinfeld,” he says, proudly. Fabian has no idea what to do with that information.
This is only the second display they’ve visited. It’s going to be a long day.
“Fabian,” Riz gasps, tugging on his sleeve. “Fabian, look—”
“What, the Ball?” Fabian sighs, turning in the direction Riz is pointing at. They’ve been at this convention for a while. It’s not the worst, Fabian will have to admit, but the sheer scale of creativity and innovation has been making his head hurt, embarrassingly enough. It’s impressive as hell, but it’s also complicated as hell, and Fabian can’t say he understands half of what he’s seeing.
He tenses up slightly at what Riz is pointing at. It’s another cooking demonstration — why are there so many of them? — where a human woman is trying to prepare some pizza. On top of her head, tugging at her hair, is a little mechanical rat.
“You can’t cook, right?” Riz tells him with a grin, seemingly unaware of Fabian’s inner turmoil, which— thank god for that, Fabian thinks, because the fewer people who know he has a genuine issue with rats, the better. “So, like— maybe you could get that, let it help you cook—”
“If they have a different animal instead of a rat, maybe,” Fabian mutters.
“The rat’s a reference to a folktale from Bastion City,” Gorgug interjects. When Fabian and Riz both glance at him blankly, his forehead creases. “Have you guys not heard of it? About a rat that wanted to become a chef?”
“Wasn’t it a movie?” Riz asks. “I remember Penny showing it to me when I was a kid.”
“It’s based on the folktale, I think…”
Fabian tunes them out, swiftly moving on.
He gets back at Riz later when he sees something trundling past him at the race-track side of the exhibition. “Hey,” Fabian says, leaning over to poke Riz where he perches on Gorgug’s shoulder. “Hey, the Ball.”
“What?”
“Moving bed,” Fabian says with a smirk, pointing at a gnome in a bed with wheels, screaming as they zip down the track. “Maybe we should get that for you. Maybe then you’ll finally be able to get some rest while you’re on the move.”
Riz flushes, and Gorgug laughs. “Oh, shut up,” Riz mumbles, averting his gaze. “I’m not that bad.”
“It’s a five-person team effort to force you to sleep, Riz,” Gorgug points out. Fabian mentally high-fives him. “Maybe the bed will help.”
“Or maybe I’ll just crash it,” Riz sighs.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s my Wheel of Magical Potential!” the wood elf tells Fabian, gesturing at the device next to her — a large, bed-like invention that slides into a hollow cylinder. A colourful wheel, like the ones people spin for prizes, is attached to it. “It’s supposed to figure out your magic potential. Wanna give it a whirl?”
He wrinkles his nose at the thought of sticking his head in the hollow cylinder, a shudder rippling down his spine. “I’m good, thanks.”
Fabian takes a step back, rejoining his friends, only to find them both staring at it closely. “The Ball?” Fabian calls out. “Gorgug?”
“You should give it a try,” Riz tells Gorgug. His eyes catch Fabian’s own, and he grins. “Greatest wizard of our age, and all.”
“Yeah, sure,” Gorgug says, leaning down to let Riz clamber onto the ground. “Hold my bag, please?”
Fabian takes it. “Are you sure this is a good idea? That thing—” He lowers his voice, not wanting to be overheard. “It looks pretty dangerous.”
“I think inventions have to pass a safety test before they can be demonstrated here.”
“You think?”
“I’ll be fine, Fabian,” Gorgug says with a smile.
And he is. Gorgug emerges from the demonstration unscathed, his head not stuck in the terrifying metal cylinder. The device, however…
There’s a horrible scraping noise. Sparks fly, and smoke plumes from the device. As Gorgug hurriedly escapes it, Fabian sees the way he winces. “I’m so sorry,” he tells the wood elf, who stares at her broken device. “I don’t know what happened— I, uh, didn’t mean to break it—”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, turning to give him a strange look. “Clearly, this means your magic potential was greater than my machine could handle!” She perks up, grabbing his hands. “What was it your friends called you? Greatest wizard of our age? Well, this is just proof of it!”
As Gorgug stares in bewilderment, Fabian leans down slightly towards Riz. “Maybe Gorgug should finally dabble in wizard classes next year.”
“Maybe.”
“...Is that fish buying stocks?” Fabian’s voice is utterly bewildered.
“What?” Gorgug blinks. “Oh,” he says, stopping to look over at where Fabian is staring — a fish tank and a computer, filled with a chart with a lot of green lines. “Yeah, that’s Grendel. They brought her here last year too.”
His eyebrows press together, affronted. “How is a goldfish richer than me?”
“Maybe she’s just smarter than you, dude.”
“Shut up, the Ball.”