This would have been a perfect time for Sheriff Walt Magnus
to begin again…if it wasn’t for the smell of alcohol radiating off of his body
like nuclear energy. The burps exploding from his fanged mouth also included
splashes of green spittle, a color that already looked horrifying on his scaly
orcish flesh. The crotch of his blue jeans resembled a swimming pool, provided
his bits and pieces were swimming in sewage. His red flannel shirt was glazed
over with sweat, so much so that he had to air out his leather vest just to
beat the desert heat. His snakeskin boots danced around on the sandy ground as
he shimmied drunkenly from side to side. No doubt the Silver Star on his cowboy
hat looked less and less believable with every near trip.
Passersby gazed upon their once beloved Sheriff with
crinkle-faced disgust. Elven traders backed away as quickly as they could,
probably hoping Walt’s drunken sweat didn’t get on their produce. Human
families shielded their children, covering their ears with every passing burp.
Even the shirtless, flabby-bellied, shit-breathed ogres held their nose in
disgust as they waddled away from Walt. Despite his mind echoing with drunken
harmonies, he could make out the various curses that his citizens said under
their breath. Walt’s heart would have sunken if his emotions weren’t already
numb. Instead, a vomit spill on the wooden steps of the Red Dragon Saloon would
have to suffice. Now the citizens got the hell out of there in a big fucking
hurry.
“I got this…I fucking got this shit…I can do this…just one
measly arrest is all it takes…eh, who am I kidding?” With nobody around to
listen to his monologue, Walt collapsed through the swinging doors of the
saloon and face-planted on the floor, almost shattering his wide nose and a few
fangs in the process. Almost. Drunken stupor be damned, he could still hear the
squeaks of a rag cleaning off glass mugs. “Thank god you’re here, Murphy. You
ain’t going to believe this, but…I need another drink…”
Walt grabbed the edge of a nearby piano and yanked himself
to his feet, but not without dancing around some more. It suddenly dawned on
him why the saloon was so quiet. Human corpses decorated the establishment,
some bent over chairs, some sprawled out across the tables and the bar, all of
them with blood pouring from their wounds like the tap itself. Walt could also
smell elven blood, which was a daisy garden compared to the ogres lying about.
Once his vision cleared up, he saw no sign of Murphy the Bartender behind the
counter.
The one wiping the glass mugs (and shattering a few of them
with her thick fingers) was a rotund anthropomorphic rhino dressed in a green
leather apron. She gazed into Walt’s watery eyes and pointed her blood-soaked
horn at him. “I ain’t Murphy, asshole. He couldn’t make it to work today. He’s
taking a permanent vacation in the bowels of hell with the rest of these
fat-shaming losers. It’s like they ain’t never seen a big woman before. Even
these god-forsaken ogres couldn’t keep their flabby gums shut.”
“Yeah, I know how that is…” Walt burped before staggering
and dragging his feet towards the bar, almost falling off of his stool as he
parked his ass down. He could have sworn the deer heads on the wall were
glaring judgmentally at him as well. Even the corpses looked like they wanted
to drag Walt to hell with them, provided the rhino woman was right about their
ultimate fates. “Can I at least have a beer?”
The rhino woman laid her palms across the bar after tossing
the glass mug aside. “You sure about that, honey? Do you really need another
bottle right now? Shouldn’t you be out cuffing people or some shit?”
Walt dropped his forehead onto the bar. “Yeah, like anyone
gives a shit anymore. It’s always do this, do that, all without an ounce of
thanks. You have any idea how many punks I’ve put in the pokey?” He lifted his
head and tried to use his bladed fingers to count, but immediately lost track
and chuckled. “I’m all burned out and nobody gives a rat’s ass. They whine and
complain to me all day and now they’re fucking surprised that I’m piss drunk.”
“I certainly hope you’re not trying to pull a fast one on
me, Sheriff. I might have to gore your ass too if you pull that negotiator 101
shit right now. Yeah, you’re one ugly motherfucker alright, but you’ve got that
little narrow ass that the voters like. Me? I couldn’t sell a glass of water to
a guy dying of thirst. They see my big ass and my big nose and automatically
want to deduct a hundred IQ points. Ain’t nobody voting for me anytime soon.”
Walt burped again, spilling bile down his already messed up
shirt and vest.
“Ain’t nobody voting for you either if you keep that shit
up. Seriously, go take a bath or something. There are horse stalls across the
street that smell better than you.”
Walt almost leaned back too far for his comfort. “You know
what? You’re right. Maybe I don’t need a beer today. But…there’s no way in hell
I’m going out there in that heat…not like this. You won’t mind if a sleep here
for a few hours, would ya, miss?” He took the rhino’s hand and kissed it in a
vain attempt to sweeten the deal.
She smiled. “I don’t see why not. Everyone else around here
is taking a nap, I guess you could too. Maybe I’ll play something on the piano,
like a lullaby or some shit. Or I could just stick my horn right through your
fucking chest, either one would be fine.”
Walt lurched forward and a vial of amber liquid fell out of
his sleeve. His eyes widened as his façade was exposed to the now growling
rhino. She picked it up and shattered it between her fingers, confirming that
it was indeed alcoholic perfume.
The Sheriff chuckled hoarsely. “Dina Octavia Lord…you’ve got
this entire town scared shitless of you...Nobody’s got balls big enough to
confront your big ass…But I will. Come with me, babe. You’re under arrest for
mass murder!”
Dina roared a windstorm in Walt’s face, assaulting his
nostrils with bad dentistry and knocking him on his back. “Oh, shit!” he said
as he put his blown off hat back on and scrambled to his feet, bolting out of
the saloon.
The thunderous sound of massive rhino legs charging behind
him caused Walt to hold onto his hat and pick up speed. Everybody else
scattered like cockroaches, screaming and crying while their arms flailed in
the air. As Dina’s feet clomped and shook the ground, Walt’s heart thudded even
louder and his mind cluster-fucked itself worse than if he actually was drunk. The
footsteps pounded his eardrums like they were actual percussion instruments.
“Just a few more steps…a few more!”
Once he could feel the tip of Dina’s horn piercing his ass crack,
Walt dove through one of the horse stalls and covered up in the hay. The wooden
walls exploded like dynamite once Dina crashed through them. Walt was certain
he was going to be flattened like a pancake and crushed like peanut brittle.
But then…horse whines belted through the stables and were accompanied by hooves
smashing and kicking out of intense fear. Dina bellowed out of both anger and
pain, her face and ribs covered in horseshoe marks, broken bones, and blood.
Walt covered up and cowered some more as the horses stormed
out of their stalls, leaving a trail of shit and piss behind them, not to
mention Dina’s thick blood. Speaking of Dina, she lied on the ground clutching
her broken body and coughing up blood. Her horn even broke off to where it was
a jagged mess rather than a clean blade.
Sheriff Magnus slowly stood up and pulled out his six
shooter, aiming it at the wounded and battered Dina, who just suffered through
a kung fu assault from a house full of frightened horses. “You see that, Miss
Lord? That’s what happens when you try to use fear to control your enemies.
When the people get scared, they do scary shit. In the case of the horses…well,
we knew how that story ended. I know you don’t like being called fat and ugly.
To be honest, nobody does. But if the whole town followed your example and went
on a mass murdering spree…I might have an actual reason to be drunk as a skunk
instead of doing my duty.”
Kneeling down beside Dina, he said, “Now listen, lady: I
ain’t got cuffs big enough for them wrists of yours. No, that ain’t a fat joke,
that’s god’s honest truth. I guess I’ll just have to hold your ass at gunpoint
as I take you to jail.” He stood back up and motioned for her to stand up with
his gun barrel.
Spitting out chunky blood and broken teeth, Dina said,
“There’s no way in hell I’m going to jail before these jokers and clowns do. I
don’t see you arresting the dickheads who signed their own death warrant a long
fucking time ago. They didn’t have to kiss my ass. They just had to keep their
damn mouths shut. Is it too much to ask? I SAID IS IT TOO MUCH TO FUCKING
ASK?!” Despite aggravating her rib injuries, Dina found a way to reach Walt’s
ankle. She got what she probably hoped for this whole time: suicide by cop.
Walt shot her in the chest multiple times, putting an end to her reign of
terror for good.
Despite having an obvious victory under his belt, Walt
frowned at his handiwork. His body shook in anger as onlookers clapped for him.
He couldn’t help but think there was a little bit of truth to what Dina said
during her final moments. Walt spun around and confronted his admirers. “What
are you fuckers cheering at?! This is your damn fault!” The clapping died down
and faces sagged in somber reflection. “Hell, none of you would give me the time
of day when you thought I was drunk. You were ready to vote for the other guy
once you had enough of my jolly green ass. Shallow bastards!”
Walt ripped the Silver Star out of his cowboy hat and tossed
it aside before marching away, his middle finger waving proudly in the air like
a patriotic banner. These people were freaks too, but maybe Dina was a little
too freaky even for them. Then again, so was Walt Magnus, which was why he
stamped away from these ingrates in the first place.
