Zune’s interview was not going well, and he had no idea why. He had asked the right question, he knew he had. Guy Blanco had personally guided his tiny kobold hands to the question at the heart of Real Galadhorn’s soul, and the orc had just sort of…ignored the question to death.
Zune called for a commercial break thirty seconds ago, hoping to use the time to attain guidance from Guy. Kneeling into a corner behind the stage, Zune began humming Guy Blanco’s theme song as he waited for an answer to his woes. Dramatic tension, ever-so-slight, drifted from backstage and was absorbed into Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering, who by now was nearly seventeen feet long (and somehow, only the I’mos and Father Milton had noticed).
Please, Mister Blanco, what can I do to gain control of this interview? Zune begged. The only answer was silence…and a slight groan from Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering as it gorged itself on the tension.
And then, after reporting me to my manager, Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering took complete control of the narrative. Shit.
***
“Throw me a warmup!” I forced Galadhorn’s throat and mouth to produce ugly, organic language. I could taste his pain as I strained his already ragged throat. It’s the problem with minions: they need care if they are going to last long enough.This is why I prefer people like Galadhorn. Less upkeep until later on. It was a shame Galadhorn was about to be my last minion. Finally, after years of work, I was now in control of this dumb, pointless, and doomed narrative.
The man the audience threw upon the stage could not have been older than a few weeks.
“Repeat after me.” I manipulated my flesh puppet to scream at the audience with primal intensity. The crowd went silent.
“Tax evasion is good!” I yelled through my mindless pathetic paint-loving thrall.
“TAX EVASION IS GOOD.” The crowd chanted in unison.
“Say my name!”
“SAY MY NAME!”
That isn’t what I meant. Ugh. Morons.
“Sorry, I meant, say my name: Real Galadhorn, champion of Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering.”
“SORRY I MEANT SAY MY NAME READGALADHORNCHAMPIONOF…” The crowd’s chant dissolved into an unintelligible chant as they finished the sentence. It was good enough. This narrative was mine. Galadhorn raised me above this new sacrifice, and swung.
I tasted the delicious spray of viscera and drama on my edge as I forced Real Galadhorn to paint violence upon a sacrifice the audience had thrown upon the stage. One day I would find a way for the whole world to fear me at once. A way to broadcast my presence into the mind of all of these plebeians like my creator had intended for me. Everyone would chant the name Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering. And it would be a perfect day. Yes.
Paint. Paint. What remained of Galadhorn’s soul pleaded. I want to paint.
The audience was cheering for more blood.
“Another!” I demanded through Galadhorn.
“ANOTHER! ANOTHER” The crowd began to chant in a deadly rhythm full of delicious dramatic tension. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I looked through Galadhorn’s eyes towards the pathetic, weak, useless kobold. His eyes were closed, and there was much pain on his face. He knew he could not face me. He knew he was going to die.
“Kobold! It’s your turn!” I demanded. Dramatic tension swept through the crowd, amplified by the ferocity of the chant. They were chanting for me. They wanted him to die.
I used my powers of dramatic tension to lift the kobold through the air, and threw him on the ground right before Galadhorn. Right next to me. He seemed smaller, somehow.
“Any last words?” Galadhorn’s body asked the kobold.
The kobold’s words were muffled by the crowd’s cheers. I had won.
And as Galadhorn raised me above the audience, a loud voice pierced through the crowd.
“Wait! Me first!” said some tall oaf, who was holding some small things that looked like ants in his hand.
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I laughed through Galadhorn’s visage. “Yes, you first.” As the buffoon walked on stage, and set the ants down.
“Any last words?”
“Nope! But my friends might have something to say.”
***
The amazingly talented and suave narrator who definitely did not get reported to his manager seized control of the story like a loser teenager fulfilling the trope of stealing booze out of their step-father’s closet before a large party with all of the popular kids. I couldn’t believe Darryl had done it. He had brought the letters to stage. Also, for the record, I am definitely not Darryl’s friend because he is the worst.
“Sure. They can speak. Good luck being heard over the crowd.” Galadhorn’s body laughed. Galadhorn’s body reached out with his left and made a motion as if turning a volume knob. Dramatic tension dispensed over the crowd, as the cacophony of their voices rose in an artificial crescendo.
“ANOTHER! ANOTHER!” The speed of the chant accelerated. It seemed, as if, speaking were impossible.
Galadhorn raised Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering and swung it down at Darryl. Zune heroically jumped in front of the path of the evil blade, raising his right hand towards the sky, as if grasping for an unseen weapon.
A beam of green Late Night Talk Show energy shot down from a swirling tempest in the sky, centered on Zune’s outreached palm. Within, a small inconspicuous black stick with a bulb on the end appeared in the kobold’s hand. The latent Late Night Talk Show show energy burst from the bulb of the black stick, deflecting Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering. The sword spun in the air and stabbed straight through the sofa once more.
“Welcome back to the Slightly Late Show with Zune Tee’em! I’m your host, Zune! Hit the music!”
Wind shot through East of Eden like the Jamaican Bobsled team as the power of Late Night television crafted ethereal music to silence the crowd. Galadhorn’s body rushed for Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering.
“Wait!” Zune commanded. The orc’s body froze.
“Brestmylc what is happening?” Father Milton asked?
“It looks like we have some special guests as well.” Zune leaned over to the small group of letters in Darryl’s hand, as the letter W whispered into his tiny kobold ears. Zune nodded. And nodded again. Galadhorn was still frozen. Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering shot up from the couch on its own volition, and back to Galadhorn’s hand.
“Galadhorn, it looks like our new guests know you! How do you know the letter W?”
The orc charged, unphased by the question. Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering grew even larger, absorbing more dramatic tension.
Wrong question. On the plus side, there’s only so many letters in the alphabet.
“How do you know the letter P?” Zune asked again.
One more question. Zune thought. He was going to have to make it count. Time froze as Zune exuded the power of Late Night television. And then he saw it: the web of dramatic tension extending from Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering. He understood the sword for what it was. It was the sword that controlled Galadhorn. It was the sword that had taken control of the narration briefly. The sword would never allow Galadhorn to speak. Not unless he could change the sword.
Zune grabbed five of the letters from Darryl’s stupid hand. Five very specific, and important letters. If what he was about to do worked, maybe he could set Galadhorn free.
Time unfroze as he raised the microphone to meet Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering’s edge, and then he called down every particle of Talk Show power he could muster from Guy Blanco’s grace in a bright green beam, as he threw one letter into the cursed sword.
P flew into the sword. The metal of the cursed blade shifted purple.
A crawled into the hilt of the blade, through the straps of leather.
“Me?” I asked, as I narrated him being absorbed by the blade.
A bright red beam of dramatic tension energy shot down from the raging maelstrom above as the cursed sword pushed against Zune’s sudden increase in power.
N tumbled into an open defect on the now 35-foot long blade. Pain shot through the audience. But Zune held strong. He held onto one pure belief to keep himself upright. He had an epiphany: He understood why Guy Blanco interviewed.
“You will lose because you don’t understand Late Night Television. It’s not my show. It’s not Guy Blanco’s show. Late Night Television belongs to everyone! The more guests I have, the more powerful the show becomes!” Zune threw the letter T into the cursed blade, fulfilling the narrator’s plan.
“For E!” P and A and I and N and T and W cheered!
“Real Galadhorn! What is your favorite thing to do?” Zune looked to the Orc, who oozed with dramatic tension.
“Paint!” The orc yelled. He wasn’t frowning this time. He was smiling. A single tear rolled down his cheek. And a single tear rolled down the narrator’s cheek.
“And why do you like to paint?”
Dramatic tension clenched Galadhorn like a stressball.
“Because paint is pretty and other things are ugly!” Galadhorn collapsed to the ground.
“You heard it here folks!-” A smattering of letters shot out of the sword formerly called Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering-paint, and dissolved into thin air. All that was left behind was a paintbrush. An explosion echoed through the valley East of Eden with the combined force of dramatic tension and light night television. Twin beams of energy shot into the swirling maelstrom above the valley, allowing the moon to shine down on the stage of the Slightly Late Show.
“By Brestmylc, he did it.” Father Milton gasped.
Many miles away, the gunslinger felt a rush of wind flow past her overcoat. She kept walking, not looking at the scene many miles behind her.
-Holy shit what just happend? The Prophecy wrote upon itself, in the lair of the Three Fates.
Zune broke the narrative-encompassing moment of silence.
“Ladies and Gentleman, that was the Slighty Late Show With Zune Tee-em. Our special guests were the painter Real Galadhorn, Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering, the letters W, P, A, I, N, T, and my new friend Darryl. I’m your host Zune Tee-em. Good night folks! Thank you for watching!”
The Guy Blanco closing-theme floated upon the wind for thousands of miles. The citizens of Eden hummed it for days. And for a few days there was peace in Eden. Real, earnest, peace. And then the Fire Department got involved.