Orogarn Two brooded silently in Leninia’s dreary basement. Not a dry, warm, comfortable basement, filled with air and pleasant smells, but a dank, damp odiferous basement, dripping with foulness and in need of a good Swiffering. It was a wightish basement, and that means miserable.
Singéd stood shivering beside him, nuzzling his master in hopes of a slight transfer of heat. Leninia’s crummy cellar felt as if it were carved into the size of an iceberg, and the tiny morosa thoroughly hated all things cold, so much so that he would actually cross to the other side of the street to avoid a young Grundorian lad that had dropped an ice cream cone or a fudgesickle. Singéd imaged the other steeds of the Sportmanship would laugh at him if they knew of this frosty aversion, because he knew for certain that they wouldn’t pass up on a free frozen dairy treat. He pushed a little closer to Orogarn Two.
Thinking that the little horse was crowding him, Orogarn Two pushed back gently, hoping to discourage Singéd from getting too chummy. It wouldn’t do for the beast to think he was appreciated too much. Horses latched on to their masters quickly, at least the good ones did, and though this horse had aided him many times during their travels together, Orogarn Two still hoped to get a normal sized mount when he got back to Minus Teeth. He began to rummage through the horse's saddlebags.
Grumbling to himself, he removed several items that he had managed to purchase at the GAP. Entering the place, he had been as broke at the Ent that was broken, but a quick trip to the local Citibank had corrected that situation, but not like he had hoped. He had been shocked to find that his own personal account was completely empty with only a short note from his father explaining how his inheritance was being used as collateral for a new construction project in the city. The message hadn’t explained what was being built or why, but fortunately it had concluded with a co-signature from his father on a loan of 10,000 kabob. The bank manager, an old friend of the family, had even thrown in a free Citibank keychain.
Orogarn Two had immediately put the cash to work, and along with a three-month supply of Slim Jims and strawberry licorice, he had bought several more useful items. He now passed around tiny flashlights to each of his captured companions, as well as small lighters that might come in handy in the event that the batteries died or a rock concert power ballad occurred nearby. He lost himself momentarily in fond memories of waving his lighter in the presence of such Muddled-mirth music greats as the Eagles, Black Oak Argonath, and Lyndon Skyndon.
Digging further through the bag, he found his new handheld, color Parma Palantir with wireless connection. Pulling the tiny stylus from it holder, Orogarn Two attempted to connect with the nearest cél, but after several attempts he remained offline. A blinking, rotating tooth icon on the upper right corner indicated that he did have a few messages saved, sent sometime earlier in the day by his father. He scanned their subject lines until he found one that seemed worth reading.
Quote:
SUBJECT: First Payment Due
BODY: Dear Orogarn Two. You are now more than 24 hours late on your first payment of your 10,000KB loan of two days ago. Along with the compounding of 1% interest daily and a 100KB late fee, your loan balance is now 10,300KB. You next minimum payment of 100KB is due tomorrow. Assuming you make the remaining minimum payments on time, you will have this loan paid off by 1823 Fourth Age. Sincerely, your father, Orogarn, Proctor of Grundor.
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Orogarn Two shook his head in shame. The financial situation in Minus Teeth must be worse than he thought if his father was fleecing him as badly as the bank normally did the citizens of the city. He went on to the next message.
Quote:
SUBJECT: New Motto
BODY: Effective immediately, the new motto of the Proctor of Grundor is:
“Welcome my son. Welcome to the machine.”
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Orogarn put his face in his hands and cried, “Something is rotten in the state of Grundor.”
I see a root canal in someone’s future, thought Singéd.