Chapter 40: Old Men And The Same Old Shit.

--- Old Man Hendrickson ---

(Why the fuck do people keep coming to me about this shit?) He couldn’t help but wonder as he sipped at his beer, really wishing he could light up a smoke as well.

Since a time he’d had a few too many blackout nights to actually remember, some idget had decided that his diner was the place to hold these magical midnight meetings. At which point he’d have to settle any arguing that happened to keep people from scuffing up his place. (Because this place may be a shit hole, but it is my shit hold damn it.)

This had the unfortunate consequence of making people come to him to settle their shit, rather than talking it out like adults or beating the shit out of each other like the angry apes humans really were at the end of the day. (I mean I didn’t tell them they couldn’t fight, just to take it outside so I don’t have to mop up any blood.)

Though he now had employees to do that for him, so he didn’t care as much as he used to.

Even if he didn’t, he could handle these once a month meetings if he was stoned or drunk through the meeting. Especially since he had a second menu that charged everyone double as a ‘pain in my ass’ tax, that he put up specifically for these nights that only like two people had ever questioned him on.

The problem however, was that ever since some idget went and cracked the sky open, people had been coming to him almost daily crying about everything. ‘Oh, no! Monsters are running the streets!’, ‘Oh, no! The psychics are tripping balls!’, ‘Oh, no! Half the city is literally on fire!’, ‘Oh, no! All the toilet paper is gone!’

(Actually, that last one might be a real problem.) He was not stupid enough to use magic to try and clean his ass again. (Never again…)

That said, even if magic wasn’t the solution to that particular problem, he couldn’t help but wonder how it was that everyone complaining to him wasn’t smart enough to realize the answer to all of their non-bathroom problems was in fact ‘Magic’.

You know, the thing every last person bugging him had spent years studying.

Luckily, over his very long life he’d learned a great many lessons. One of which was that the best way to deal with problematic shit was to fling it at someone else and make them clean the ensuing mess up. (Truly Bobo Haha was the greatest of all my mentors.)

Damn… he missed that cranky old circus monkey. A monkey that was far more competent than any of the people bickering at this little meeting.

Hence why he missed the monkey that tried to castrate him with a broken beer bottle because of a little misunderstanding involving Bobo’s sister and mating season.

A misunderstanding that was why he had no regrets about sleeping with Bobo’s adoptive mother.

His reminiscing about kinky clown milfs was cut short as he realized both that his beer was empty, and that it was the last in the six pack he’d- (Actually, I only drank three of these. Where the fuck is the rest of my beer? You can screw a man’s wife but you don’t fuck with his beer damn it!)

“Figured that’d catch your attention old timer.” A deep voice chuckled.

He turned to the voice and glared at a muscular latin man with gray hair and a set of claw marks over one dead eye as the (dumbass idget) tossed his beer up and down in one hand.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

--- Reymundo Ochoa ---

“Little Rey-rey, been a minute since I seen you ‘round these parts.” Old Man Hendrickson noted, looking one step off from trying to skin him and mount his pelt on the wall as warning to all who would touch his beer.

“Eh, life’s kept me busy.” He shrugged, having had things far worse than a crotchety old alcoholic want him dead. “And when it’s not I try to keep my head down so I don’t have to deal with pendejos all day and night.”

Hendrickson took a look around the room at the various Arcane and Practitioners who showed up at these meetings before shaking his head. “Can’t blame you there.”

They both watched the scene of people bickering about what they’d figured out about the fucked up sky (nada) or whether or not they should reach out and try to collaborate with some of the cities other factions such as the vamps, wolves, and Sanctuary. (Which I’d love to see, but I’m not stupid enough to hope for.)

All of those grudges ran deep, and he wasn’t sure an apocalypse (which honestly this isn’t) would be enough to pull everyones’ heads out of their culos.

“Still don’t get how a bunch of magic nerds can be such idgets. Almost enough to drive a man to drink.” Hendrickson lamented enough that he was almost tempted to give the man his beer back. (But as they say, fuck him.)

Hendrickson watched him for a moment before leaning back in his seat. “So how’re those girls of yours?”

“Ah, they’re doing alright.” He grinned. “Harper, the shy one, has her first real boyfriend.”

The old man let out a laugh. “You’re going to terrify that poor bastard with your shovel talk aren’t you?”

“Eh, Harper ‘s a good judge of character. I’ll give him a chance.” He figured, having briefly considered going full ‘eldritch horror’ on the kid before realizing that the guy probably was just a kid. “Figure I’ll keep it low key, give him a decent sense of ‘do not fuck with’ with a few nightmares here and there. I mean, I’m not her dad so I’m not sure it’s even my place to give him a talk in the first place.”

“We both know her piece of shit father won’t.” Hendrickson scoffed as he failed to not so subtly steal the beers back.

“Sí.” He regretfully agreed, because while he could sympathize with the man for falling apart after losing his wife. He couldn’t sympathize with doing so for a decade when the man had a daughter who needed him. “Anyway how about your runts? You’ve alway got at least one niño on your payroll.”

It was honestly something of an open secret that the old man helped down on their luck teens over the decades. So much so that he was ninety percent sure there was some kind of divination or compulsion field on the place that led kids who needed an income to the front of Hendrickson’s diner, just like there was another that led the hungry and homeless to the back around closing time. (After all, once is chance, twice coincidence, and two dozen times a really obvious fucking pattern.)

He was once more tempted to give the alcoholic his beer back, but given how he felt an annoying little compulsion to leave from the spell that could very easily have an exception put in for the guy who’d been coming around for nearly thirty damn years, he decided, (Fuck his Mary Poppins ass.)

“Eh, this batch are good kids… though I’m like ninety percent sure one of them is possessed.” Hendrickson admitted. “But given how she sounded like a hot woman… Well, it’s his choice who he lets ride him. Props if it's actually a woman and their parts at least half way line up.”

“Right…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. (I don’t know why I expected something else from someone who tried to fuck a squid monster.)

“Oh, don’t give me that look, you hypocrite.” The old man scoffed, pulling a flask out of his pocket as he apparently gave up on recollecting the beer. “Don’t you fuck Death, as a furry?”

He gave Hendrickson the driest look he could. “That is a complete misrepresentation of the situation and you know it, cabrón.”

“Right, right.” Hendrickson nodded, scratching at the stubble on his throat. “She fucks you. You’re just her bitch. Tell me, does she call you a good boy while giving you head scratches?”

He felt his eyes flash gold as his vision cleared up. “You’re very lucky killing you would cause a civil war.”

“Whatever you say bitch boy.” Hendrickson smirked, taking another swig of his flask. “Anyway I’m getting bored of these dumbasses going in circles. Bounce ‘em for me will ya.”

“Sure.” He sighed, cracking his neck loud enough to make everyone in the room flinch as the world began to lose color. “It’ll be just like when I worked here.”