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Tzimmes Cracked Corn (And I Don’t Care)
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by
susandeer
11.
Rosie:
Franneleh had gone to work, and I was helping Vicky and my other employees get Luchow’s ready for the breakfast crowd. I opened the door and we settled back to wait for the first customers. As usual, we didn’t have to wait long, and soon we had the early risers among the tourist crowd showing up.
I sighed happily. I was pregnant and getting married to a wonderful buck, my business was doing pretty well, and it looked like it was going to be a great day.
I spotted two very familiar faces coming into the biergarten, and I waved them over to the table that I usually keep reserved for Franneleh. Nu, Willow and Reggie are family, it’s allowed. Hey, my business, my rules.
“Good morning!” Willow said after we exchanged hugs and she gave me a kiss on the cheek like a good prospective daughter-in-law. Reggie just gave me a hug and I gave them menus as they sat down.
“Great to see you two,” I said. “Order what you like. It’s on me – “
“No, it isn’t,” Reggie said in an almost absent tone, studying the menu.
“What?”
Reggie turned away from the menu. “Well, Rosie, it’s like this. We know that you’re doing well here.”
“And?”
“Well, dash it all, it’s simply not on to offer us a free meal.” He looked up at me. “I insist.”
I glanced at Willow for support. She huffed a breath and looked up at me with a sigh. “You know he’s right, Rosie.”
“All right!” I threw my paws up. “I surrender.”
Reggie grinned. “Jolly good! I’d like the eggs Benedict. The herbivore version, please.” He kept the grin on his face even after I took the menu from him and whapped him over the antlers with it. Willow giggled, ordered the same with fruit juice and coffee for two. In hindsight, it was just a minor defeat, hardly anything that could spoil my day.
So, of course . . .
There was an ear-flattening howl, followed by a voice.
“-ing on? Oh! The People of New Haven send their fraternal greetings to the People of the Spontoons!”
Oy, you can just hear the capital letters, can’t you?
“The People of New Haven congratulate the Spontoon People for surviving the hordes of capitalist exploiters that have descended upon them! New Haven hopes that the Spontoonie People shall rise up and overthrow the grasping capitalist order that has been imposed upon them, and create a socialist paradise under the guidance of Comrade Trotsky! The People of New Haven stand with them in this struggle, and call upon them to deliver Franklin Stagg, an Enemy of the People, to revolutionary justice!”
There was another, mercifully short, blast of noise, and I growled, “Mamzers . . . “
“Something has to be done about that,” I heard Grace say behind me. I turned as she added, “Troublemakers.”
Reggie nodded. “It’d be awful if they got up to something.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m not sure – “
“Leave it to me,” Willow said, her expression turning nasty.
“Willow, don’t get in trouble,” I warned her. Good Lord, I’m sounding motherly already.
Hee!
Willow winked. “Oh, don’t worry.” She smiled. “Think of it as a wedding present.”
***
Willow:
After breakfast, Reggie and I were walking to our rooms after taking a water taxi back to Casino Island when Reggie said, “Willow, my love?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?”
He waited to see if I was going to comment on that, and when nothing was forthcoming he said, “I think that it’s going to be rather warm this afternoon, so I had thought that we should take full advantage of this splendid morning.”
“Oh?” I asked with a smile.
My mate nodded. “We should break out the old pram and let Tommy get out of the rooms and get a breath of fresh air. What do you think?”
I took his paw in mine. “I think that’s a great idea, Reggie.”
So when we got back to our rooms we packed a few items, and shortly thereafter Reggie and I were walking along beside the baby carriage, while Sophia pushed the vehicle along. Tommy, for all the fact that he’s a buck-fawn, was a perfect little lamb. In fact, he slept most of the trip as we took a slow walk around the island. There were still some tourists out and about, and we headed into Luakinikia Park to sit in the shade.
Time for some thinking.
Judging from appearances, the Embassy was the staff’s home as well as their workplace. And I immediately nixed the idea of somehow getting into the building. No need to start an international incident, so a different approach would be necessary.
I recalled a certain memorable May Day three years ago, but dismissed that notion as well. There might be collateral damage, not to mention I wasn’t sure if Spontoon used natural gas.
(“Stop growling, Grace. You’ll wake Tommy.”)
My alter ego glowered at me. (“What we did three years ago was justified.”)
(“And I’m not arguing with you, Twin. But we need to keep the fun clean. If anyone dies or the Embassy suddenly takes it in its head to see if the volcanoes on the Moon really exist, Da will get involved.”)
(“And we don’t want that”), Grace sighed. (“Perhaps we could ask Aunt Victoria.”)
I smiled as a tropical butterfly briefly landed on Tommy’s nose, flying away as he stirred and waved his paws. (“Excellent notion.”)
In my mind’s eye, I saw Grace’s ears swivel and an expression that could be described as ‘devilish’ crossed her face. (“In addition to Aunt Victoria . . . “)
(“Yes?”)
(“We should talk to Sergeant Brush.”)
Hmm . . . (“I think we could at least sound him out, maybe use him as a – a consultant prankster, if you will. He might know a few tricks we don’t.”)
***
Reggie:
Willow wanted to go talk to a few people about a little prenuptial mischief to keep those indefinites from causing any trouble while her father and Rosie got married. It was something that I wholeheartedly agreed with, but I felt that I should keep a low profile.
Apart from being my dear wife’s alibi, of course. I’m not that stupid.
Why the low profile? Well, I’m certain that there are fishermen on the extreme western reaches of Main and South Islands that have heard that Reggie Buckhorn has returned to the Spontoons, and are waiting to see what species of rannygazoo I’ll get up to.
Those that aren’t swarming the betting shops and besieging the punters for odds.
Now there’s a thought. I could place a wager on myself that I wouldn’t do anything, and possibly break the bank by simply staying in bed. I dismissed that out of paw; one should never go full Oblomov.
A bit before lunchtime I headed downstairs to the Long Bar to get a bite of lunch and something non-alcoholic to drink.
The minute I walked in I heard a soft voice say, “Ah, Señor Buckhorn. Fausti is the very pleased to see you here again.”
I looked around before the penny dropped and I looked down, where a dainty set of paws rested on the edge of the bar, accompanied by a small set of antlers and two rather soulful eyes. “What ho, Fausti,” I said to the pudu. Fausti has a wide reputation for concocting cocktails and producing potent potables, and before I married Willow I had been an occasional test subject.
“Will the Señor have something to drink? Fausti is making something especial for the wedding of Señor Inspector Stagg and Señorita Baumgartner.”
“Oh?”
“Si,” and the stubby horns bobbed up and down. “Fausti call it the Treulich geführt. It use the cherry schnapps.” He placed a shot glass of a clear red liquid on the bar. “Cherry, for bridal bouquet, yes? The other ingredient, they are secret.”
I eyed the drink dubiously. I rather doubt that the Inspector is much of a drinker. “I thought that the Militia confiscated your last ‘especial.’”
“Oh, they are so mean to poor Fausti. Anarcho-syndicalists, pfui. Would Señor Buckhorn please to try the drink?”
“No.”
“Oh, but Señor – “
“I said no, and I meant it, Fausti. I will have a lemonade and a bowl of salted acorns, please.”
“Oh, please, Señor . . . “
Our eyes met, and I felt my resolve waver.
But only for a moment. Dash it all, it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. “No.”
The pudu served me the asked-for lemonade and salted acorns, and I enjoyed a fine pre-prandial snack, garnished with a side of great pride for my wife, who helped me change my drinking habits for the better.
While I enjoyed my snack, I pondered. "Fausti," I asked insinuatingly, "you don't happen to have any money down on certain wagers, do you?"
"They did not take the coin of Fausti, for they said that I, the deer, have what it is they call the conflict. Pfui."
I frowned. That was certainly a rum go, and I felt some sympathy for my fellow herbivore. Cervine solidarity, and all that. Still . . . “But you do know certain furs. I’m sure every bartender does, and I’ve been in bars from Oxford to Spontoon and back again.”
The horns bobbed up and down. “Si! Fausti know of the several.” A pause. “Does Señor desire to know of one?”
I leaned over the bar, and tapped the side of my nose. “For both of us, Fausti.”
“Gracias, Señor.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by
susandeer11.
Rosie:
Franneleh had gone to work, and I was helping Vicky and my other employees get Luchow’s ready for the breakfast crowd. I opened the door and we settled back to wait for the first customers. As usual, we didn’t have to wait long, and soon we had the early risers among the tourist crowd showing up.
I sighed happily. I was pregnant and getting married to a wonderful buck, my business was doing pretty well, and it looked like it was going to be a great day.
I spotted two very familiar faces coming into the biergarten, and I waved them over to the table that I usually keep reserved for Franneleh. Nu, Willow and Reggie are family, it’s allowed. Hey, my business, my rules.
“Good morning!” Willow said after we exchanged hugs and she gave me a kiss on the cheek like a good prospective daughter-in-law. Reggie just gave me a hug and I gave them menus as they sat down.
“Great to see you two,” I said. “Order what you like. It’s on me – “
“No, it isn’t,” Reggie said in an almost absent tone, studying the menu.
“What?”
Reggie turned away from the menu. “Well, Rosie, it’s like this. We know that you’re doing well here.”
“And?”
“Well, dash it all, it’s simply not on to offer us a free meal.” He looked up at me. “I insist.”
I glanced at Willow for support. She huffed a breath and looked up at me with a sigh. “You know he’s right, Rosie.”
“All right!” I threw my paws up. “I surrender.”
Reggie grinned. “Jolly good! I’d like the eggs Benedict. The herbivore version, please.” He kept the grin on his face even after I took the menu from him and whapped him over the antlers with it. Willow giggled, ordered the same with fruit juice and coffee for two. In hindsight, it was just a minor defeat, hardly anything that could spoil my day.
So, of course . . .
There was an ear-flattening howl, followed by a voice.
“-ing on? Oh! The People of New Haven send their fraternal greetings to the People of the Spontoons!”
Oy, you can just hear the capital letters, can’t you?
“The People of New Haven congratulate the Spontoon People for surviving the hordes of capitalist exploiters that have descended upon them! New Haven hopes that the Spontoonie People shall rise up and overthrow the grasping capitalist order that has been imposed upon them, and create a socialist paradise under the guidance of Comrade Trotsky! The People of New Haven stand with them in this struggle, and call upon them to deliver Franklin Stagg, an Enemy of the People, to revolutionary justice!”
There was another, mercifully short, blast of noise, and I growled, “Mamzers . . . “
“Something has to be done about that,” I heard Grace say behind me. I turned as she added, “Troublemakers.”
Reggie nodded. “It’d be awful if they got up to something.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m not sure – “
“Leave it to me,” Willow said, her expression turning nasty.
“Willow, don’t get in trouble,” I warned her. Good Lord, I’m sounding motherly already.
Hee!
Willow winked. “Oh, don’t worry.” She smiled. “Think of it as a wedding present.”
***
Willow:
After breakfast, Reggie and I were walking to our rooms after taking a water taxi back to Casino Island when Reggie said, “Willow, my love?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?”
He waited to see if I was going to comment on that, and when nothing was forthcoming he said, “I think that it’s going to be rather warm this afternoon, so I had thought that we should take full advantage of this splendid morning.”
“Oh?” I asked with a smile.
My mate nodded. “We should break out the old pram and let Tommy get out of the rooms and get a breath of fresh air. What do you think?”
I took his paw in mine. “I think that’s a great idea, Reggie.”
So when we got back to our rooms we packed a few items, and shortly thereafter Reggie and I were walking along beside the baby carriage, while Sophia pushed the vehicle along. Tommy, for all the fact that he’s a buck-fawn, was a perfect little lamb. In fact, he slept most of the trip as we took a slow walk around the island. There were still some tourists out and about, and we headed into Luakinikia Park to sit in the shade.
Time for some thinking.
Judging from appearances, the Embassy was the staff’s home as well as their workplace. And I immediately nixed the idea of somehow getting into the building. No need to start an international incident, so a different approach would be necessary.
I recalled a certain memorable May Day three years ago, but dismissed that notion as well. There might be collateral damage, not to mention I wasn’t sure if Spontoon used natural gas.
(“Stop growling, Grace. You’ll wake Tommy.”)
My alter ego glowered at me. (“What we did three years ago was justified.”)
(“And I’m not arguing with you, Twin. But we need to keep the fun clean. If anyone dies or the Embassy suddenly takes it in its head to see if the volcanoes on the Moon really exist, Da will get involved.”)
(“And we don’t want that”), Grace sighed. (“Perhaps we could ask Aunt Victoria.”)
I smiled as a tropical butterfly briefly landed on Tommy’s nose, flying away as he stirred and waved his paws. (“Excellent notion.”)
In my mind’s eye, I saw Grace’s ears swivel and an expression that could be described as ‘devilish’ crossed her face. (“In addition to Aunt Victoria . . . “)
(“Yes?”)
(“We should talk to Sergeant Brush.”)
Hmm . . . (“I think we could at least sound him out, maybe use him as a – a consultant prankster, if you will. He might know a few tricks we don’t.”)
***
Reggie:
Willow wanted to go talk to a few people about a little prenuptial mischief to keep those indefinites from causing any trouble while her father and Rosie got married. It was something that I wholeheartedly agreed with, but I felt that I should keep a low profile.
Apart from being my dear wife’s alibi, of course. I’m not that stupid.
Why the low profile? Well, I’m certain that there are fishermen on the extreme western reaches of Main and South Islands that have heard that Reggie Buckhorn has returned to the Spontoons, and are waiting to see what species of rannygazoo I’ll get up to.
Those that aren’t swarming the betting shops and besieging the punters for odds.
Now there’s a thought. I could place a wager on myself that I wouldn’t do anything, and possibly break the bank by simply staying in bed. I dismissed that out of paw; one should never go full Oblomov.
A bit before lunchtime I headed downstairs to the Long Bar to get a bite of lunch and something non-alcoholic to drink.
The minute I walked in I heard a soft voice say, “Ah, Señor Buckhorn. Fausti is the very pleased to see you here again.”
I looked around before the penny dropped and I looked down, where a dainty set of paws rested on the edge of the bar, accompanied by a small set of antlers and two rather soulful eyes. “What ho, Fausti,” I said to the pudu. Fausti has a wide reputation for concocting cocktails and producing potent potables, and before I married Willow I had been an occasional test subject.
“Will the Señor have something to drink? Fausti is making something especial for the wedding of Señor Inspector Stagg and Señorita Baumgartner.”
“Oh?”
“Si,” and the stubby horns bobbed up and down. “Fausti call it the Treulich geführt. It use the cherry schnapps.” He placed a shot glass of a clear red liquid on the bar. “Cherry, for bridal bouquet, yes? The other ingredient, they are secret.”
I eyed the drink dubiously. I rather doubt that the Inspector is much of a drinker. “I thought that the Militia confiscated your last ‘especial.’”
“Oh, they are so mean to poor Fausti. Anarcho-syndicalists, pfui. Would Señor Buckhorn please to try the drink?”
“No.”
“Oh, but Señor – “
“I said no, and I meant it, Fausti. I will have a lemonade and a bowl of salted acorns, please.”
“Oh, please, Señor . . . “
Our eyes met, and I felt my resolve waver.
But only for a moment. Dash it all, it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. “No.”
The pudu served me the asked-for lemonade and salted acorns, and I enjoyed a fine pre-prandial snack, garnished with a side of great pride for my wife, who helped me change my drinking habits for the better.
While I enjoyed my snack, I pondered. "Fausti," I asked insinuatingly, "you don't happen to have any money down on certain wagers, do you?"
"They did not take the coin of Fausti, for they said that I, the deer, have what it is they call the conflict. Pfui."
I frowned. That was certainly a rum go, and I felt some sympathy for my fellow herbivore. Cervine solidarity, and all that. Still . . . “But you do know certain furs. I’m sure every bartender does, and I’ve been in bars from Oxford to Spontoon and back again.”
The horns bobbed up and down. “Si! Fausti know of the several.” A pause. “Does Señor desire to know of one?”
I leaned over the bar, and tapped the side of my nose. “For both of us, Fausti.”
“Gracias, Señor.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cheetah
Size 939 x 1280px
File Size 229.4 kB
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