Poison the Well
Ranar
PinksPosies if one had good news to share and wanted it to spread as widely and quickly as possible — the Beanery was the site of one’s celebration.
Likewise, it was the place to avoid if you were hiding your shame, which was why Ranar had avoided the coffee shop in those weeks after his visit to Jack Hemming’s office and the subsequent disastrous encounter with the beautiful stranger to whom he had pinned too many of his hopes.
Living in a town that was as addicted to the goings-on of the neighbors as Cambric Creek had its downfalls, and everyone being aware of his was not something he wanted to deal with, not them.
That morning, however, he arose with fresh eyes.
Pinky was right.
Poison the well.
Play on the offensive as long as he was able, for he knew without question defense was impossible.
Slither into the Black Sheep that morning with his head held high, a picture of tragic composure, the good son, just trying to care for his aging parents in the face of a corporate bully. And most importantly, allow his neighbors to see him doing so.
“Have you tried talking with anyone upstairs?” Xenna leaned over the counter, shaking her head sympathetically as a gaping goblin rang him out.
Ranar knew exactly what she meant by upstairs.
“I talked with him as soon as the signs went up.
He’s sympathetic, but what’s done is done.”
The nymph who was working the espresso machine muttered something in response.
Ranar was unable to make out her words over the hisss of the machine, but Xenna snorted, nodding her head in agreement.
“Can’t pay your mortgage with Jack’s sympathy.”
“What’s most upsetting to me is the way she went about all this, you know?” he went on as earnestly as he could.
Remember, you are the victim.
“The other owner, I mean.
She’s positioned herself as an independent shop, but the corporation’s name is above the door.
You know, she came into our store, weeks and weeks ago. Asked if I had any tips. I didn’t realize then that she was just scouting us out.”
The sheep woman made a noise in her throat as Ranar re-coiled himself to the side, tail tucked out of the way, watching as the goblin whipped around to put their head together with the other cashier.
Watch the ripples grow.
“Ranar, we heard the news.”
He turned, tipping his head to meet the towering orc’s eye.
Magruh was the longtime chief of the Cambric Creek fire department, the same department where another one of Jack Hemmings’s sons worked.
“My wife pulled out the headpiece from our wedding just the other night to show the grandkids.
Your grandfather made it, not long before he retired.
We just hope you’ll be able to weather this.”
Poison the well.
He didn’t need to act as he gave the big orc a sad smile.
“I’m going to do all I can.
I know it would be easier to just sell, but I want to hold on as long as I can for my dad.
He still comes in for a few hours almost every day. We don’t want him to lose that routine.”
The big orc dropped a hand to Ranar’s shoulder, patting with a shake of his head.
Watch the ripples grow.
He didn’t know if this was specifically what Pinky meant, but he had a feeling it would be the most effective thing he could do.
He didn’t need to run a campaign of disinformation against Sumi and her shop — the reality was damning enough.
He felt cheerful for the first time in weeks as he left the coffee shop.
He had a detour to make before heading to work, a special package to pick up from the refrigerator in his parents’ garage, an idea inspired by Coming Gnome 3: The Grimening, ironically enough.
Pinky to the rescue again.
His father was no longer able to drive, after too many episodes of forgetting where he was going mid route.
That had been the first sign of how bad things would get, Ranar thought.
When his father began to forget how to get to the flower shop, the place he’d spent nearly every day since he was a teenager, Ranar understood what the doctors weren’t telling them.
His mother only felt comfortable driving in the daylight hours, and parked in the driveway, directly adjacent to the door.
It left the garage the perfect place to store something undesirable, and he was hard-pressed to think of anything more undesirable than what he had waiting there.
Transporting it was an aggravation.
He knew it would be noxious — after all, that was the point — but he had forgotten in his planning that he would have to tolerate it long enough to make the delivery each week.
So you keep the window open and stick your head out like a werewolf.
And if anyone asks what you’re doing, tell them you’re just trying to channel your inner Hemming. See what Jack says about that.
ChaoticConcertina: Do you want me to come kick this guy’s ass?
I mean, ‘kick’ is relative, but just say the word & I will eat his face off for you.
I get more annoyed every time you mention how badly this is messing with your head
Frankly, I think me punching someone might be good for both of us.
I’m not normally the violent type,
but with EVERYTHING I have going on and the way this dick is treating you?
I would love the excuse.
Seriously though, fuck this guy.
Just remind yourself what a pathetic, miserable weasel he probably is.
It’s hard to stay affected when you see people for what they are
And he doesn’t sound like someone worth affecting you.
You are brave and hilarious and an excellent plant mama.
Fuck him for not seeing it.
I’m only half joking, Pinky.
Say the word and I’m on your doorstep with a baseball bat.
Let’s break someone’s arm.
Do you know what this is? FREE BONE MEAL
PinksPosies&Pearls: OMG, stop it!
I mean, don’t stop, because this is the first time I’ve laughed in days.
Thank you.
I needed that.
How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?
I tried explaining the situation to the one friend I made here, and she was zero help.
Like, actually NEGATIVE help.