Part 3
A thick green curtain behind the counter parted revealing an average sized human wearing an off-white smock with a patch that read: 'Bob.' The man was bald save for the pair of bushy mutton chops that decorated his cheeks. He winked at a group of female shoppers stroking the facial hair: “Ladies,” he said in an alluring voice.
The group of women tittered before moving further into the store in search of gifts for giving. The shopkeeper wore a welcoming smile, which twitched and wavered when he spotted his damaged counter. Bob took in the sole customer remaining in the vicinity, who just barely rose above the edge. The merchant took in the needle-like teeth, chromatic eyes and gray fur.
"May I, um...help you?" inquired the shopkeeper.
"Yesss, that," said the creature pointing at the box on the shelf.
"Ah, the number one seller this holiday season. I am ‘Salacious’ Bob McKenna by the way, at your service. That particular model is not for sale, it is already purchased and awaiting pickup. Baron Von Woofen Schmooley himself is scheduled to pick it up," Bob whispered conspiratorially.
"Roderick,” hissed the creature pointing at itself. “I wantsss it.”
"You're a minion if I am not mistaken. Is that correct?" Bob guessed.
"Yesss...Want pink box," spat the minion. It was as though the mere mention of the color hurt his mouth.
"The 'Pretty Pink Princess Fantasy Realm Play Set'? You are most fortunate in that I am having several more sets to put out on the floor momentarily."
"Must have… The master's daughter."
“Yes of course,” Bob’s face was bland. “I would suggest you get in line over there in order to have a go at getting a set.”
Bob waved in the direction of a velvet rope labyrinth where a crowd waited impatiently. With a trademark glower the minion took a step toward the crowd with the morning star once again dangling from his hand and a wicked gleam in his eyes. Bob cleared his throat pointing a sign that read: “No Weapons, No Magic, No Foolin’!”
On cue a pair of massive Ogres shouldered their way from the backroom into the shop. They crossed their thick arms athwart unimaginably broad chests and scowled. Roderick considered his own scowl to be top notch. However here was a pair that boded an unpleasant and certainly sticky end. With great caution Roderick placed his weapon on the countertop. Then he went through the rest of his pockets divesting himself of his remaining potions, favorite black jack and a few booby-traps.
Feeling almost weightless Roderick sulked over to the line and stepped in behind a pair of older women clutching coupon books and brightly color pieces of paper. Roderick took in his surroundings. Checking to see if the Ogres were paying attention he slipped through narrow openings between shoppers in the line like smoke through a forest.
The line was not as long as it had first appeared to be. Only three patrons now stood ahead of him. He smiled at them showing off rows of pointy teeth. They paled slightly. Roderick hitched his thumbs into his belt and rocked back on his heels. An elderly Dwarf stood at the head of the line before him. She (or perhaps he) arched a bushy eyebrow then returned to stoic contemplation of the aisle ahead.
From behind him came a tapping sound. It was wood against wood, object hitting floor, the thudding drew closer. It stopped. A long wheezing cough sprayed unidentified wet bits across the nape of Roderick’s neck. He twitched involuntarily and spun around with narrow slits for nostrils and eyes. A shambling, phlegmy mass stood huddled mere inches from the minion. It took Roderick a few seconds to realize that the mass was a human woman wearing a hat and very tattered cloak upon which lichen grew and pulsed with a strange reddish inner light.
Beady eyes peeked out from under the brim of the felt hat flicking up and down Roderick’s frame.
"Oo, aintcha a narrah one,” rasped the newcomer.
She shuffled forward closing the last few inches between them. The brim of her hat tipped up as she gazed into Roderick’s eyes. He in turn looked down his nose at her. The eyes that met his gaze were close-set and sunk into many folds of wrinkled skin. He took a step backwards while the dorsal hair on his neck stood upright.
“Wotcher lookin’ for in here muh wee furry lackey?” she asked with a voice as dry as old parchment. “A bit o’ joy fer the master mebee.”
“On a quessst,” affirmed Roderick.
"Mmm, to be sure an' its’ a doozy. Mean pun’shment waitin’ if you fail?”
"Yesss."
“Tricky bidness Minioning,” the woman said slyly.
Roderick nodded slowly in agreement then took a sideways step away from the woman, who he believed was probably a witch from the southern swamps. Resolutely he turned his gaze back to the aisle where the cardboard and cellophane prize awaited him. A few sad squishy noises from the witch made his ears spasm uncontrollably.
Another noise distracted him from his glowering. It was that of sniffling. Turning his head Roderick discovered a young man standing next to him. The youth was dressed completely in black pajamas with a cowl draped around his neck. A delicate tendril of mucus dangled from the right nostril, stretching and defying gravity. A weak smile flickered in Roderick’s direction. Roderick blinked once, but when his eyes opened the kid was gone. A slight scuffling sound drew his attention to his right. There was the youth again.
“Hi.IlikealltheFantasyRealmPlay Sets.They’retotallyboss.Idon’thavethePrettyPinkPricesssetyetbutwhenIdoit’llcompletemycollection.”
Roderick winced. The youthful vigor oozed literally and figuratively from every orifice and pore. He sidled away from the raven garbed boy. His barefoot squelched down into a puddle of something cold, viscous, and sticky.
“mmmm, now yer innit ain’tcha?” the witch cackled.
Roderick scanned the crowd that was gathering behind the witch and kid. The crowd began to look like a swelling mass of water about to burst over a dam. Roderick considered fleeing, briefly. However the vision of his master’s torture chamber along with all of the recently sharpened pointy things sent a chill down Roderick’s elongated spine.
Grumbling even more the minion pivoted again to face the red velvet rope blocking his passage into the aisle where three pink boxes shone in magnificent light, sparkling like gems in the underground vaults of the master’s holdings.
“It’sjustspeciallightingtocreatetheillusionofglitteringjewels.WhenImoveoutofmyparentshouseI’mgonnasetupalightingrigthatwillbejustasspectacularasPhilbertssilvertippedtusks!” enthused the young man.