Chapter D

  Onward, to Find a Cure!

  “...And for that reason I will henceforth be traveling with my party, effective immediately.”

  What you just heard was the Kingdom of Dawn’s Hero-King Solaris, announcing the start of his new journey with his legendary party, Sunbreak, this morning. Their goal? To find a mysterious artifact to quote, 'Ensure the continued prosperity of the kingdom.' What that is remains a mystery, sending scholars and intelligence agencies across the world scrambling to figure it out. Other nations have increased security around their treasure vaults, speculating that he could be after artifacts such as the Sword of Saints, Hailey's Fury, the Helm of Unfathomable Knowledge, and Love Potion 69. While the Hero-King remarked that it is unknown how long the journey will take, his son and daughter, the Prince and Princess of Dawn, Phoenix and Aurora, will take control of his and Demon King Veris’ thrones respectively. Sunbreak has since been sent off in massive applause by the kingdom's citizens, but their current whereabouts are unknown. Who's to say how well the interim rulers will fare? Citizens are—

  Shwoom.

  The MagiTV orb blinked off to the dark reflections of Phoenix and Gwen in bed. Phoenix laid back into his pillow, thinking about his future.

  “Worried, honey?” Gwen asked him.

  “A bit,” he replied. “I'm more nervous than anything.”

  “Well,” she pecked him on the cheek. “You finally got your wish, better make the most of it. Don't forget that I’m here for you, through thick and thin.”

  “Yes, yes. You're right.” Phoenix took off his glasses, set them on his nightstand, and chugged a sweaty glass of wawa. “Thank you, Gwen,” he kissed her back. “Goodnight.”

  “Wait a minute,” she flicked him on the nose. “I never gave you your congratulations present.”

  “Congratulations present?” he repeated?

  Gwen smirked, then shuffled under the covers crawling directly to Phoenix’s waistline. Wondering what she was about to do, his eyes suddenly bulged, then he reclined further into his pillow, mouth open with bliss.

  Step, slosh, stab, float, roll.

  Five figures strolled along the muddy path by the golden Sunrise Fields.

  “So where are we going again?” Mimi asked the others with her arms behind her head.

  “The Kingdom of Michael,” Sol answered, currently being pushed in his wheelchair by Bird.

  “Veris, can't you just portal us over there with your magic?”

  “I could,” she answered, “but—”

  “The journey would be incredibly boring,” Sol interjected.

  “Short range TPs only. Sorry, Mimi.”

  “The journey is more important than the destination, right?” Bird wised.

  “Psh. Says the guy that runs head first into everything naked,” Mimi retorted.

  “Hey, I can’t help it if not all clothing is made with stretchy material! My muscles are huge!”

  “Whatever. So how long is the first leg going to take?"

  “Two months,” said Veris.

  “And we forwent the carriage, why exactly?”

  “I like walking,” Sol answered.

  “Sol, you're virtually a dried-up old toothpick that can't even walk. Bird's been pushing you since we've left! Geneesus what ever happened to you?”

  “The great march of time, Mimi," he sulked. "The great march of time.”

  “The other elves always mentioned how short humans’ lifespans are. I guess I never believed it.”

  “Mimi, you've been on tour for the last forty-odd years, but it doesn't seem like you're well-traveled,” Bird observed.

  “Shaddup!” she turned goth. “I've been to more places than you can even think about!”

  “Name five.”

  Mimi held up her black-nailed fingers, counting them.

  “Twiggleton, Bramblewood, Birchmarch, and Daisyfield. Oh, and the Kingdom of Dawn.” She ended on her middle finger.

  “Those are all relatively local."

  “And within a month's travel, I'd say!” Domino added.

  “Yeah, we've all been there on our past journeys,” Veris commented.

  Mimi blushed and crossed her arms, “But I did go to other places, I did!” then shied away. “But I guess I didn't stop and smell the roses, so to speak.”

  “Well, now you have the opportunity to do so,” nodded Sol. “What say we pass the time with a little music?”

  Mimi closed her eyes and took a deep breath, changing back into her pink attire.

  “Fine.”

  Thus, Sunbreak began their journey to the tune of Mimi’s singing; camping at night and traveling during the day. The peachy wheat fields turned into grassy forest, Bird hunted some fish and deer, Mimi picked a bunch of blueberries, and Veris gathered logs for a campfire. Together the party ate, sang, and slowly got back into the rhythm of things. All the King could do was watch, but he smiled. He needed this. Absolutely.

  The next week brought with it a couple encounters. First were an ooze of slimes that were easily stepped on and harvested for their jelly. Next were some dire wolves, who were afraid of the Veris and her demonic aura. Flayed them alive, she did. Collected their blood, too. It was a dreadful sight that the others shuttered away from (except for her husband, who was used to her antics after their honeymoon), but unfortunately it was necessary to stave off her suppressed demonic instincts. Finally they encountered a raging minotaur, angered at their disturbance.

  “HUFF, HURF,” it snorted harshly.

  “Bird, let me take a crack at it!” shouted Sol from his wheelchair.

  “You sure?” he yelled back, in the middle of squaring up.

  “Yeah!”

  “Okay!”

  Sol turned to Veris and nodded. Understanding his intentions, she began to cast a purple spell while metal-head Mimi shredded with her illusory doubles in Bird's direction. An orange measure of music with spiky notes surrounded him, creating a dissonant noise and driving up his tempo.

  “Come here, you cow!” he shouted, now glowing an annoying, radioactive fiesta orange.

  “HRAF! HORF!” The minotaur's pupils transformed into targets, and it aggressively dug at the ground with its hooves, prepping for launch. “HROOOOOO!”

  The beast darted at Bird, horns forward. But in the mere second before it reached him, the purple spell Veris had cast caused its hooves to miss the ground. The minotaur hovered lackadaisically like an air-hockey puck, conserving its momentum while the orc leaped out of the way. And as it barreled uncontrollably toward Sol, he simply lifted his shaky, arthritis-stricken hand at its forehead.

  Flick.

  NYOOM!

  “OUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHhhhhh…!”

  The minotaur was sent flying into the stratosphere with a trailing death vortex of wind behind him, never to be seen again by Sfogliatellan eyes.

  “Ew,” Sol scowled at the blood on his fingertip, quickly wiping it on the handkerchief his son had gifted him before he left. But, something was wrong. “Shit! Goddamn trigger finger!” His pointer finger had locked in position. As it turns out, his fine motor-skills weren’t so fine anymore. He couldn’t just send a signal from his brain, down his spine and arm, to his left hand, to pull the collagenous rubber band back. The tendon was stuck. Caught on something. An inflamed something. He had to use his other hand to bend it into shape.

  CRACK!

  “Fuck!” Sol yelped in frustration, and upon hearing this, Veris felt a pulse of heat vibrate up her spine. The cranky king flicked his hand then extended and relaxed his finger. Once he was sure that he was in the clear, he laid back in his wheelchair for a moment of reprieve.

  “Glad that's settled,” Mimi put her arms behind her head, now pink again.

  “I’ll say,” commented Bird. “But I could've just punched the beast myself, y'know?"

  “Hey, you can't fault a guy that wants to check if he's still rusty,” Sol defended himself.

  “And it was pretty enjoyable to see the minotaur launch away like that, anyway” Veris supported him.

  “Truly,” added Domino.

  “Hey Dom, when were you going to contribute to our fi—and they’re gone,” Mimi sulked. “Can't say I will ever get used to that.”

  “They’re cursed,” remarked Sol. “They can't help it.”

  “Did we ever get confirmation on that?” asked Veris.

  “No,” answered Bird. “But we just kind of assumed they were, since they disappear whenever somebody directly addresses them.”

  “Huh. Never heard of a curse like that.”

  “Probably rare or something,” guessed Mimi, who then looked forward. “Ah, here we are.”

  Before Sunbreak was the first official stop of their journey: Binglesnort. A quaint little town in the middle of Sunnyside Forest, known for its furry mayor: Binglesnort.

  “Binglesnort! Binglesnort!” uttered the remarkable creature on top of a precarious stack of boxes in the center of the marketplace.

  “It looks just like an orange cat with a tomato nose, clown facepaint, and a pilot’s hat,” examined Mimi, her hand blocking the sun.

  “Oh stop!” Veris chuckled as the creature leapt down to meet them. “See?” she tugged at its features, “It’s all real.”

  “Bwinglesnart,” it said as its face stretched and contorted.

  “Oh wow,” Mimi leaned in. “They’re like, fused with its very being. Is it all fur?”

  “That’s right!” Domino answered. “It's an evolutionary tactic to lure prey into a false sense of security, before it strikes. Observe.”

  The five watched as a wild rat scurried in front of Binglesnort, stopped to laugh profusely at it, then let out a “EEP!” as it was deleted by a crimson mouth laser.

  “BURP! Binglesnort!” Binglesnort rubbed its belly, then spit out a rat carcass, which collapsed into dust not a moment later.

  “Ah, very perceptive my frie—wait, where'd they go?”

  Another man dressed in a red suit, a matching tophat, clown makeup, and had a bulbous red nose, looked dumbfounded at the sudden disappearance of Domino.

  “Who are you?” asked Sol.

  “I'm Mayor Binglesnort’s caretaker, Kenneth Brown, at your service.”

  “Why are you dressed like a clown?” asked Mimi.

  “Because I’m very proud of my clown college degree Miss,” he answered, then examined the party closer. “Oh my! You're Mimi of Entente aren’t you? And Berserker Bird, Demon King Veris, and the H-H-Hero-King himself!”

  The townspeople immediately surrounded the party and knelt. Everyone had some fashion of clown makeup on their wowed expressions.

  “My… my apologies, Your Majesties! What can I--no--the village of Binglesnort do for you and your party?”

  “Binglesnort!” Binglesnort binglesnorted.

  “Please, stand up,” said Sol. “We are merely looking for a place to stay for the night.”

  Everyone did as asked, with a couple of honks and the jingle of colorful accessories for flavor.

  “Certainly, My King,” Ken answered. “Your party can stay at my house.”

  “I don’t think that’s really necessary. Surely an inn will suffice?”

  “That’s great, because my house is an inn!”

  The party looked at each other funny.

  “And the Mayor and I might as well give you a little tour of our little village on the way, right Mayor?”

  “Binglesnort,” it affirmed.

  “First is our marketplace,” Ken gestured. “Located as soon as you enter; where you are right now.”

  A few stalls with various goodies (all somewhat clown-culture related) were lined up on both sides of the street. The merchants returned to their spots behind them and waved at the party with their exaggerated faces. The party waved awkwardly back.

  “Next,” Ken continued, “we have our logging facility.”

  Lumberjack clowns dressed in red spots cut down trees and planted saplings in their place, using magic to accelerate their growth. The green-spotted logistical clowns then levitated the logs over to the sawmill, where they were cut into smaller pieces by the yellow-spotted mill clowns using a spinning circular blade. The workers nodded up at the party. The party nodded up back.

  “I'm proud to say that we've gone a full month without injuries here!” Ken pointed at the related sign, which read: ‘30 Days Without Workplace Incidents.’

  “Binglesnort,” the creature tugged on his coattails toward the sawmill.

  One of the waving clown millers, a gnome, got knocked into the rapidly rotating blade by one of the floating logs.

  ERRR!

  The party watched as blood splattered everywhere; the droplets just missing their boots. At least it was a quick death. The gnome barely had time to understand.

  “Oh dear,” Ken commented. “Nevermind that! Let's continue!”

  The group walked along, traumatized (except for Veris, who stifled her excitement) as the workers changed the ‘30 Days Without Workplace Incidents’ sign to ‘0 Days Without Workplace Incidents.’

  “And finally,” Ken stole their attention, “we have the mayor's office.”

  It was a marble cat house decorated with intricate pillars; chiseled with happy clownfish symbols nestled between their spiraling grooves. Written in large text above the miniature archway was 'Binglesnort.' Through it sat a birch desk, on top of which was a comfortable looking cat bed. And by its side were two plates for food and water, both labeled appropriately. The floor was layered with heated slate, denoted by the metal grates poking just below the foundation with fireballs calmly floating inside.

  “And my abode, the Big Top Inn.”

  On the same lot were four circus tents. One was larger; striped red and white. The other three were smaller; striped green and white, blue and white, and yellow and white. Ken brought the party over to the big top and spread its flap open.

  “This is where I stay, and where you’ll receive breakfast in the morning.”

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  Inside was a series of tables and chairs, a counter with some metal re-heating trays powered by more floating blobs of flame underneath, a kitchen, a set of bookshelves, a nightstand, and a polka-dot bed, all on a polished dirt floor. I mean polished, really polished; enough for Bird to notice the stubble on his chin through its reflection.

  The clown then brought the party to the blue and white striped tent and showed them inside.

  “Each guest room has two beds, chests, and nightstands. Feel free to rearrange them as you like.”

  “Thank you, Ken,” said Bird.

  “It's my pleasure. Now, go ahead, get settled, and let me know if you need anything. But before you go exploring the town, I want you guys to stop by the big top real quick.”

  “Okay,” answered Sol.

  “Great!” the mayoral duo bowed. “We’ll see everyone in a bit, then. Thank you again for visiting Binglesnort, Your Majesties and the rest of Sunbreak.”

  “Binglesnort.”

  Ken and his cat(?) exited, leaving the party to figure out who was sleeping with whom.

  “How are we doing this?” asked Mimi.

  “Sol and I will take this tent,” answered Veris.

  “Okay, then how about Bird and Domino take the orange one, and I take the green!”

  “Oh,” Bird sulked. “I really wanted to be with you.”

  “No chance, Bird-brain. I do not want a repeat of Gringlemarsh.”

  “But you were the one that instigated—”

  “SHUT IT!” Mimi cut him off and hastily left through the flap.

  Bird shrugged at the others and exited as well.

  “What the hell are they mad about now?” Sol wondered.

  “Gringlemarsh, honey. She just mentioned it,” answered Veris.

  “Gringlemarsh?”

  “You know: the town we saved from that gigantic earth golem that went rogue, then they threw us that giant drinking party with their special booze?”

  “Oh!” he slammed his fist into his palm. “You mean Sapsuck?”

  “Yup. That’s the one.”

  “The one-ninety proof maple sap tart liquor,” Domino added.

  “I remember now!” Sol leaned back into his chair. “Wow, that was bad, wasn’t it?”

  “Mimi was a quite a proverbial freak, hun. Which is news coming out of my flaming whore mouth.”

  After the party set down their things, they visited Mr. Brown in the big top, as requested. Walking through the flap, they were met with quite the sight: Mayor Binglesnort used a torch sticking out of his mouth to light the fun-time cannon’s fuse, and sprinted away. And only a few seconds later, the crew was met with a “BOOM!”

  "WHEEEEEEEEEEEE--"

  The mayor’s aide was shot out of the cannon, through a ring of fire, and into a target hung on the opposite side of the room. He smooshed into it, head first, then peeled off and landed like an accordion. The party approached to find him completely out cold with a stack of flesh colored bumps piercing his hat. The mayor hurried over with a bucket of water hanging off of his tail, splashing it onto the clown's face in a whipping motion.

  “Are you okay?” asked Mimi.

  “Huh? Oh yes, I’m quite fine, quite fine indeed. Just practicing my form.”

  Ken smiled. He was missing a tooth. After he recovered he showed them to a table.

  “Now what is it that you wanted us for, Mr. Brown?” Sol inquired.

  “Yes, yes, about that,” he folded his hands. “Um, you see, the town’s got a bit of a problem.”

  “A problem?” repeated Bird. “What kind of problem?”

  “A mime problem,” he clarified.

  Mimi snorted.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she dismissed the thought with a wave.

  “Please elaborate, Ken,” Veris prompted.

  “Certainly,” he nodded. “Lately a group of mimes, no doubt an unruly gang from the mime college in the next town over, has made their way into Binglesnort and started to cause some havoc.”

  “Havoc?” Sol repeated.

  “Havoc, Your Highness.”

  “Binglesnort,” muttered Binglesnort.

  “What type of havoc?”

  “Y’know, havoc of the mime variety: tying people in invisible rope, putting them in make-believe boxes, leaving imaginary garbage everywhere, and dealing drugs!”

  “And your guards haven’t done anything about it?” asked Mimi.

  “Guards? HA-HA,” each chuckle honked his red nose. “Guards, she says! No-no, there's no guards here in Binglesnort!”

  “Why not?”

  “Our mayor deals with any problems!”

  “Binglesnort,” the creature confidently agreed.

  “But not this one?” Mimi said, confused.

  “Except this one,” Ken clarified. “Mimes and clowns don’t mix. It’s a big no-no. We have a very ridiculous history, and quite frankly,” he shrugged, “it’s not like we speak their language.”

  “So you want us to deal with them, then,” Sol concluded.

  “Yes. But I’m afraid I can’t offer you much, My Liege, other than the clowns’ admiration. And that isn’t much, as you’re already admired, being the King and all.”

  “Might as well do it then, since we’re here,” Bird shrugged.

  “I suppose,” Veris agreed.

  “That’s the spirit!” Ken coughed, and a colorful rope shot out of his mouth, which he took a second to wipe. “Okay!" he pushed the party out. "You’ll find the evil-doers just down Cr-mime Alley. Nearby the market," he pointed. "You can’t miss it!”

  As the party delved further into town, Binglesnort and Ken honked their horns in prayer.

  “Cr-mime Alley,” Bird read the out-of-this-world, green highway navigation sign. “Wow, he wasn’t kidding.”

  As Sunbreak walked along the run-down black and white alleyway, the party noticed some unsavory stares from its unsaturated regulars. Eventually, they rounded a corner and found a solitary mime. He dragged an imaginary cigarette, leaning against an airy wall in the middle of a noir-like blinking light.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Mime,” Bird waved for his attention. “Do you have a moment?”

  The mime spit out the transparent cigarette and crushed it against the bottom of his bespoke black shoe. He gestured to himself.

  “Yes, you.”

  The mime nodded.

  “Do you happen to know the culprits behind the recent kidnappings, and the rampant drug smuggling in town?”

  The mime was surprised at the orc’s audacity. Who starts a conversation like that? To a stranger no less! But then he thought about it for a minute. His mindscape showed him running to an invisible bank, gripping an invisible moneybag filled with—you guessed it—invisible money. He looked left and right, then held ten fingers in front of him in some kind of fashionable pose, like he was on the cover of Mime Magazine (published in invisible ink).

  “Money? You want money?” Veris clarified.

  The mime nodded, then looked at Bird.

  “Don’t look at me, I live a life free from possessions.”

  The mime raised an eyebrow at Mimi instead.

  “Ugh, fine,” she sighed, then fished out ten gold coins from her coin purse.

  The mime rapidly shook his head no.

  “You don’t take Gold?” She whipped out her elven currency. “What about Emerald Leaves?”

  The mime stood tall with an outstretched palm and looked away in denial.

  “Relax, Mimi, I have a solution.”

  Everyone watched as Domino reached into an invisible layer of cloak, removed his vaporous coin purse, unzipped its pellucid zipper, and offered the mime ten sheer mimetic ducats. The mime graciously accepted with closed eyes, knowing that he scammed them out of a lot of money, but when he opened them to gesture his thanks, the generous figure was gone. He staggered backwards into the airy wall, then realized who the group that stood in front of him were. Sunbreak. The King of Dawn’s legendary party of adventurers. They saved his imaginary dog Louie once, even if it was accidental.

  The mime pulled at an invisible rope for the party to step into whispering distance. Once they huddled around him, he made some really quiet gestures, like a fat Smoxian who couldn’t raise their hands above their shoulders. First, he spread his index and middle fingers, then rested his thumb on the end of an invisible needle and pointed it at his arm. Next, he covered his mouth and shivered, pretending to cower inside a box or cell. Finally, he pointed at a half-wall further down the alleyway, but held out a flat hand to stop the party from continuing. He scanned his surroundings again, then made them huddle even closer as he reached under his shirt, into his pants, and pulled something see-through out. His bottom three fingers wrapped around it, while the top two pointed forward like they were against a flat surface.

  “What? There's nothing there?” Mimi complained.

  The mime chuckled at her in silence, then rested his arm on the invisible wall to catch his breath. Once recovered, he took his other hand and wiped it across the imaginary object fast, then started finagling with his fingers as if he was spinning something. When the others stared at him like idiots, he slapped his head and motioned for them to follow him through a nearby door. Yes, a real door!

  The party shrugged and did as the mime asked. He led them through another door, this time reinforced, and closed it behind them. The room then lit up, showcasing a wide square space with a low ceiling, completely devoid of anything except for the magic orb lighting. The mime presented the space as if it held some sort of mega-secret collection. The party glanced at each other. What the heck were they supposed to be looking at?

  “This… is just an empty room?” Veris remarked.

  The mime slapped himself on the face and pulled it to a frown, astounded that they were not getting it. He walked to one of the walls, which had metal hooks sticking out of it to support things from below, and tapped it. The party walked over, still confused, and the mime threw his arms down as if he wanted to say “REALLY?” He reached up, lifted something transparent off the hooks, caressed it with his hand, then transitioned into the next room with the others.

  There was a counter here, about waist-height, and separated into three sections by metal barriers. Standing at the counter would let you stare down a long hallway with paper targets at its end. Pictures of clowns were printed on them with the bullseyes centered on their funny noses.

  The mime stood at one of the sections and looked down the length of the imaginary object in his hands. His index finger flipped some kind of switch, then he pulled the air-trigger underneath. If the weapon was real, there certainly would’ve been a BANG, yet he still jerked back from the self-imposed recoil. Finally, he hit the make-believe switch again, lowered the object, and pointed down the range with a confident smile. The paper targets… they were still intact.

  “Um,” Mimi began.

  The mime stopped her with a vacant expression.

  “Allow me,” said Domino, who reached into his metaphorical coin purse and handed the mime more metaphorical currency.

  The mime, surprised at how much money he received, brought the party back to the weapon racks and handed each of them a weapon he thought they’d be satisfied with. Everyone played along to get this exchange over with, then copied his motions as he collapsed the imaginary gun between his hands and shoved it into his striped pants like a piece of paper.

  Satisfied with the transaction, the mime then showed them back to the half-wall from earlier, urging them to follow. They watched as he descended behind it, away from view, but when they rounded its corner, there was nothing there but the weeds on the ground.

  “It's just dirt,” said Bird.

  “Wait, Bird,” Mimi stopped him. “If I'm correct, then this is merely an illusion.”

  The party leaned forward and their shadows disappeared underneath the false ground. Sol’s wheelchair, however, lost its grip, sending him down the illusory staircase.

  “WA-WA-WA-WA-WAOW!” he screamed as he disappeared under the ground.

  The rest instinctively flailed about to grip his wheelchair's handles, but tripped over each other and tumbled down with him.

  “DIE! DO! DEE! DIE! DO!” yelled Bird, bumping down each step on his head like a pogo stick.

  “MO-THER-FU-CK-ER!” screamed Mimi, switching between pop and metal each time her body bounced.

  “O-HO-HO-HO-HO!” shouted Veris, who had successfully cast a protective bubble shield, but forgot to add the gyroscopic factor and rolled uncontrollably down the steps.

  Sol managed to stay upright, wheelie-ing perfectly fine down the stairs, but eventually rolled to a stop against another reinforced door, stubbing his toes in the process. Bird on the other hand, slammed head first onto the floor, whipping his back down to the pavement. Hard. Mimi ended up landing on top of his chest, her appearance glitching before ultimately settling on metal. And Veris, Veris crashed into them like bowling pins, netting a strike and throwing them just behind Sol’s wheelchair. The three of them groaned as Domino simply levitated down the steps in a smooth fashion, as if he had no legs underneath his tunic of shadows. The three on the floor quickly recovered, dusting themselves off. They were high level beings after all. The mime, who had watched the whole sequence of events occur, questioned his decision to guide them to this place.

  “So this is it?” Sol asked him.

  The mime nodded, then opened the door. Instantly, the five poked their heads through it. Inside was a bar. Not an ordinary bar. A mime bar. Filled with mimes. The only physical things present were the people and the furniture. No glassware. No alcohol. No dartboards or billiards tables. Nada. It was simply a place to sit and chat, except I wouldn’t call mime-to-mime communication chatting. Regardless, as the party walked in, the mimes, who were fake smoking, fake drinking, and fake gaming, all looked at them with very real scowls; frozen in place. Their tour guide simply made for the janitor’s closet, locking it behind him. Was he really the janitor, or was he just scared?

  The party, out of place, walked over to the bar and sat down quietly. Surprisingly, there was a spot for the handicapped, which Sol wheeled to, only to find that another mime in a similar predicament was scowling at him too. He awkwardly broke eye contact with her, then lifted a finger to gesture at the bartender for a drink. The bartender raised his eyebrow, grabbed an invisible glass from underneath the bar, then used the remarkably real tap to fill it with liquid-nothing, and slid it over. Sol, realizing the situation his party was in, quickly timed the drink’s arrival and firmly grasped it in his hand. He lifted the practically weightless thing to his lips then gulped the air-booze down. With the wipe of his sleeve, he slammed the glass on the counter lightly, waiting for some sort of response from the bar’s patrons. The mimes collectively accepted the gesture and turned their gazes to the rest of the party, who quickly followed their leader's example, much to their satisfaction. Almost automatically, Mimi was about to speak to the bartender, but he stopped her, pointing at the sign which read: 'No talking.'

  Stuck in here with only the very basics of mimedom at their disposal, the party was restless. They were lucky to have found the one mime that would answer their spoken queries, but they felt like any other patron would negate their advances—and may even throw them out. So, they did what any sensible lost person would do: drink. They drank and drank, and regardless of the fact they weren’t actually consuming any alcohol, they felt themselves get tipsy. Due to all the cultural exposure that surrounded them, they slowly learned more about mime communication methods. And the mimes, just as curious about the strangers in their third space, started approaching them.

  First, an older gentlemime walked up to Sol and gestured to play a game: shadow-boxing; a hit with the young’ins, apparently. He guided Sol over to his grand kids, currently mid-match. One striped kid threw fake punches at the other, who reacted by moving their head in the opposite direction. Eager for a challenge, Sol accepted the gentlemime’s invitation.

  Second, was a beer-belly mime that approached Veris with two empty glass beer mugs in hand. He offered one to her then pointed at a table currently engaged in a drinking competition, with one participant passing out mid-chug. The beer-belly raised his eyebrows at Veris expectantly, and she nodded.

  Third, was a group of four young adult mimettes; quadruplets who split up in twos surrounding Bird and Mimi. Mimi's mimes were intrigued by her style. She noticed this and waved her hand in front of her face, instantly applying their exact makeup with her illusion magic. Surprised at the ease of application, the mimettes pulled her away with a make-believe rope into the women's restrooms so she could teach them the trick in detail.

  On the other hand, the mimettes around Bird were simply lovestruck at his macho orc body. They couldn’t exactly touch him, as per their tenants, but they could show him their fantasies. Those fantasies being humping. Yeah, they humped the air, or should I say, air in the shape of Bird, right in front of him like some sort of courting request.

  “But the passion,” Bird thought. “The passion of which they humped with. The way their hips gyrated. The way they seductively licked my imaginary clone’s back. Alluring. Utterly, mimedly, alluring.”

  Like with Mimi, the mimettes pulled Bird into the men’s bathroom to show him a trick of their own. Those tenants I just mentioned? Fuck ‘em. They meant nothing in the face of love. Imaginative freaks, these mimettes, like nuns at a church. Bird will discover a new fetish tonight.

  As for Domino, nobody bothered him. Well, that is to say they couldn’t bother him. The mimes weren’t even sure he truly existed. Fleeting glances offered equally fleeting appearances of his figure. Perhaps he was a trick of their drink, or they simply had overactive imaginations. Mimes did tend to have a predisposition to schizophrenia. Yeah, perhaps that masked figure wasn’t real after all.

  An hour passed, and the party slowly reconvened at the bar. Sol lost his game, no doubt due the fact he was handicapped, but made a new friend in the process. Veris won her match, quite easily, actually. Her high-temperature body quickly burned through the alcohol, causing her to burp flame into the air. The alcohol, like I said, wasn't real, but she believed it was; placebo’d herself into intoxication, while her blubbery opponent passed out mid-imbibation. By chance, Bird and Mimi walked out of their respective restrooms at the same time. She was now in full mime-dress, a learn-ed of their culture. And he was covered in black kiss marks, fixing his clothes. They stared at each other, then blushed away, while the mimettes winked goodbye and returned to their colleagues. Domino watched the whole process happen, his presence unconsciously acknowledged by the rest of the party as they sat down, preventing his disappearance.

  Then, a certain mime entered the bar. He was big and mean-looking. His black and white makeup wasn’t so much makeup; it was tattooed onto his face. A permamime. A fundamimealist. Never strayed from the rules, even if it meant letting a fellow mime die. With gumption and gusto he walked in, two feet up and two feet forward, as the rest looked on in an all-real fear. This was him. The guy. The edge. The big cheese. Baron Von Mime (*not an actual baron).

  Von Mime sat at the bar, his stool bending but too afraid to creak, and nodded at the bartender. With no unnecessary movements, he was instantly served invisi-whiskey; hard, with no ice. He downed it and slammed the clean glass, then shot an antagonistic glance at Sunbreak. He knew who they were. He could even hazard a guess why they were here. So, he stood up and approached the member who would most likely be his best rival. Bird, who met his height.

  What followed was a fierce staring competition. A battle of will. Bird called back to his mioga training, clearing his mind of everything but the mime in front of him. Forget the eye-strain, just focus on him. At the same time, more buddies of Von Mime filled up the space. Nasty looking people; nasty looking mimes. And, as the rest of the party stood up to prepare themselves, the staring contest was coming to a close.

  Von Mime blinked. Subsequently, his face filled with anger, having lost this little competition. In his rage he pulled out his trusty Clowntaker revolver and shot at Bird’s groin. A cheap shot, but it hit a rich vein. Instinctively, Bird’s clothes ripped apart, showcasing his balls of steel and metal rod. The imaginary bullet did nothing to hurt his boys, but boy did it piss him off.

  Everybody revealed their weapons and fired as the civilians ran away or took cover in their imaginary boxes. For Bird: a quad-barrel ethereal rocket launcher. For Mimi: a set of dual make-believe machine pistols. For Veris: a fictional flamethrower. For Domino: a hypothetical sniper rifle. And for Sol: a wheelchair-mounted immaterial machine gun.

  There were no screams. There was no gunfire. The explosions were virtual and the flames were ideas, of which the bar subscribed to. After the slow-motion destruction; fake scorch marks and fanciful bullet holes caused by the faux-damage, Von Mime’s buddies played dead. Only he remained amongst the bodies, thinking them as weak. As a final gambit he challenged the orc one last time. This time he would take out his imaginary rope, toss it around Bird’s very-real neck, and choke him. But it wasn’t just an imaginary rope, it was an imaginary chain with sharp spikes fashioned between its links. Without a second thought he caught Bird in a choke-hold by proxy. Bird gripped at it, his mind filled with thoughts of his trachea being crushed. The others stepped forward to help, but he stopped them with his palm.

  Von Mime smirked, then pulled Bird in his direction. But just when he thought he had a hostage he could walk out safely with, the orc flashed a smirk of his own. Ignoring the piercing damage of the mental spikes, Bird yoinked Von Mime in his direction. And before the mime could even tell what was happening, he fell face first onto the chain line. A conceptual spike poked a phantasmal hole straight through his left eye. For the moment he was dead; utterly still on the floor. The room was silent.

  “Well, glad that’s over,” Mimi threw away her weapons.

  “I had a great time!” Bird remarked.

  “Indeed,” Domino added.

  “We should probably look around for contraband, right hun?” Veris suggested to Sol.

  “Yeah,” he nodded.

  Click.

  The janitor’s closet unlocked, and the weapons dealer mime from earlier walked out carefully, taking in all the destruction. He approached them, noticing the evil Baron Von Mime collapsed on the floor, and pointed at him with surprise.

  “Dead,” Bird stated.

  The mime’s eyebrows lifted, then shrugged and gestured for them to follow once again. He led them through the back door into a storage room, and turned the mana light on. The shelves were empty, except for extra glassware. No booze to think of. Against the back wall was an empty crate on the floor, and the mime motioned for Bird to move it. He did, and underneath it was a trap door. Descending through it, the party came to another room with nothing but a single mana orb casting light down on its center: an empty space.

  “Nothing? Again?” Mimi said.

  The mime just rolled his eyes and brought them to the middle, lifting a nonexistent hatch and pointing down into it. The party looked at each other and bent forward.

  Yup. Those were drugs. Very real drugs. Pixie dust, clogshine, brimstone-smoke-inhalant (BSI), dragon’s blood, sweetleaf, and the worst: heroin laced with fentanyl. It was illusion magic that hid them; they were not present from the side of the container. But they were there, clear as day.

  “Um, wow. Ken was not kidding when he said they dealt drugs,” said Mimi.

  “Mhm,” nodded Veris.

  “What about the humanoid trafficking?” Sol looked at the mime.

  “Ha!” he pointed and laughed, rolling on the floor. Clearly that was a joke!

  “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” Ken shook Sunbreak’s hands one after the other.

  “Binglesnort!” Binglesnort hopped around excitedly.

  “So uh, what should we do with the drugs?” Sol wondered with the ‘crate’ on his lap.

  “Oh those?” the clown replied. “Just place them on the ground. Binglesnort will handle it.”

  Bird took the crate of drugs from Sol and placed it gently on the ground. The clown urged everyone to step back, and once they were at an appropriate distance, Mayor Binglesnort beamed the drugs out of existence. A few seconds later, his eyes went wide and he began staggering about, bumping into things and drooling.

  “Bwinglesnooort, Blinge—BARK!”

  “Is Binglesnort going to be okay?” Mimi asked the clown.

  “Oh yes, his species are practically living trash compactors. They’re able to dispose of anything by eating via their mouth laser. Just give him a night and he should be fine.”

  The party watched as the cat-thing started literally bouncing off the ground like a rubber ball. He was cooked. High on a malicious mixture that would make any other creature vomit out their liquefied insides. His brain wasn’t even a part of this plane of existence anymore. He’s one with the strings, man.