G’narsh

The Troll, The Myth, The Legend

by

Kevin Stillwater

chapter 3
# # # And Here Now Our Story - G’narsh’s Ray’s # # #
page 12

    In her place a short bipedal walking alligator type creature (((one of the cobalts -- just in case I haven’t described them before))) picks up the conversation. “You must have droppy dis,” he says as he tosses the coin onto G’narsh’s desk where it lands amid the stacks containing hundreds more of its kind. “Ohh, I sees why it so difficult to keep track of dis little one. You’se got da so many of dem. What da one more matter?” And having said what he wished to say, the cobalt (((the Charlie as they all are called, but I think you probably got that by now))) stands at attention (((sort of, kind of, OK, not really, not really at attention at all))) as he waits for G’narsh’s reply. But there is none forth coming. G’narsh is thinking about the cobalt’s words and looking at the stack of gold before him. “You’se supposed to say something, boss man,” the cobalt reminds him; and then, after a moment more adds, “Like tankees,” or after thinking on it even more adds, “In da old days you’d maybe probablies turn it around and makee eet da Charlie’s fault. You’d yell and scream, maybe eben rip da Charlie or two in da half.”

    “Sorry about that.”

    “Eh, eet OK,” Charlie assures him as he leans against G’narsh’s leg and waves it off. “Does good times. Betides, Charlie gotta dat tricky blood,” regenerative powers and all that. “We more resiliency den you’d tink.”

    “Is that a fact?” G’narsh asks as he raises the waist high (or in G’narsh’s case, knee high) creature up so that they are eye to eye.

    “We’se toughies,” the cobalt responds undeterred.

    “Then I’ve got a mission for you.”

    “Yippies,” the cobalt responds excitedly as his arms and legs dance about in the air.

    “It’s dangerous.”

    “Dat be da Charlie’s middle name.”

    “And in all likelihood no one will ever thank you.”

    “Eh,” the cobalt says dismissing the thought with his hand, “no’b one eber tanks da Charlie. We wait for da tanks, we die of da old age.”

    “OK then, just so you understand the risks involved.”

    “Dis da real mission?” Charlie asks suddenly very serious and interested.

    G’narsh nods his head in agreement as he sets the creature down on his desk. “We’ve waited long enough.” But not liking the sound of that, “I’ve waited long enough. I need you to do a quick sweep of the perimeter and if you find anyone hiding face down in the snow...”

    “Da enemy infilb-trators?”

    “Yeah, but pretend you’re friends.”

    “We be nice-nice. We’se invite dem back. Maybe feed them da pizza. Den dey be ours,” the cobalt concludes as he hops down onto the floor.

    “Oh, and put an extra log in the oven, as well,” G’narsh says in relay of Flicker’s request after he senses that he and the cobalt have come to an understanding.

    “Yeppers,” the cobalt nods as he starts off on his quest. “Charlie gettee dem all comfee. Den when’d dey wake up, dey tink dey be ones of us.” And then, thinking this through, the little guy scratches his head as he pauses to add, “Dat be too much for’d some ob’d dem. Dat be when dey pukies.”

    “It is what it is,” G’narsh agrees before suggesting hopefully, “If you are up to it, before we go to sleep tonight, I’d like to sing some of the old songs.”

    “We’d hab’d da party?”

    “Yeah. You think you can keep from killing anyone if we sing the real words?”

    “Dose da only’d words we know’d. Does ober words just be da camoflage for da big guy.” And then, scurrying off he adds excitedly, “I goes tell da guys.”