Goof fiction.

***

I could help you with that, you know.

Shut up immediately.

Come now. Potions are my specialty!

They’re my specialty.

Yes, but recall it was I who won F.L.A.S.C.’s Brewer of the Year award, while you were… what was it? One moment, I’ll read from the placard itself: ‘A most distinguished fifth runner-up.’ I say, did you engrave this yourself? Fine craftsmanship…

*Grumbles*

I know, you already mentioned: it was rigged against you.

It was.

Of course! And what good is fiction if not to right such a grave injustice?

It isn’t fiction.

Ah, certainly. ‘Embellished reality’ then.

Here. Drink this.

It smells… distinctive. How much devilmoss did you add, exactly?

Nevermind! Just drink it.

I suppose I’ve survived worse. To us.

…

Nothing?

*Burp!*

Abominable.

Pardon me.

You are not pardoned.

Don’t blame me if our manners leave something to be desired.

Ha! There is no ‘our’ anything. There’s me and some… some imposter trying to abscond with my identity!

I assure you, you can keep it. In what little time I’ve been here, I find mine preferable in every way. By the by, I meant to thank you for subtracting those unsightly inches from your belly and adding them to my height.

It’s called artistic license. You wouldn’t know anything about it, you… you… protagonist!

You ought to muddle that tincture with a less aggressive hand. You’ll bruise the nightscum. I said a LESS aggressive hand…!

PLEASE, would you just take a SEAT and be QUIET!

Fine! My goodness.

h, a nearly-comfortable chair this is. What’s the material? Muslin? I have a similar one in leather in my own study.

I’m aware.

But of course you are. But don’t worry! The moment your Madrianus Brand Health Elixirs enjoy the same success as mine, you’ll have one for your very own, I’m sure! It’s all about timing on the market – timing, and a dash of–

Here. Try this one.

Ah! Well, it certainly smells more promising than the last! And I must say, bruised nightscum takes on a more delicate shade of brown than I imagined. Well, bottoms up!

Oh dear. I feel rather…

Yes?

Rather…

Yes?!

*Burp!*

GAH!

Please, let me help with that potion. Truth be told, I’m rather eager to return to my home. Not that yours isn’t… nearly just as nice.

Please! Shut! Up!

My! How entirely uncalled for.

You are uncalled for.

Then why did you call me?

I didn’t. It was a slip of the wrist– that’s what I get for leaving an unfinished potion next to the manuscript. I’ll be more careful next time.

What next time? Most people only write one semi-fictional autobiography. I say, the way you’re white-knuckling that pestle is almost obscene…

Drink this.

Another aperitif du indigestion?

Drink.

Fine. Mm… why, that was quite pleasant! You’re really getting the hang of– zzzz…

Zzzzzzz….

ZzzZzz…

Zzzz…

ZzzzZzz…

*Snrk*

Hm?

Oh. Oh yes. I’m still here. How long was I asleep? I say, old chap, no luck with that potion yet? Old chap?

Wherever did he run off to. Well, while I have a moment to myself, I may as well try my hand at reversing his little whoopsie-daisy. If I have to spend another night on that smelly, damp sack he calls a bed, I’ll… well, I shudder to think what I’ll do. Ah, to be back in my goosedown in time for a long afternoon nap!

Odd. What did he do with all the ingredients? And the spellbook?

Here it is! Oh drat… it’s just his little project. My story much more than his, as it were– poor, sad, fellow. It seems he’s bookmarked a page here…

“It was after a small mishap with some potions that I accomplished a most tremendous feat and managed to summon myself from within the pages of this very tome! It was a breakthrough of science and magic both, and I was heralded as a hero among my peers. Thus followed a time of great plenty, and I enjoyed a tremendous boon of health, wealth, adoration, and accolades.

While I did manage to reverse the spell exactly once before its magical properties became stagnant, I never could replicate its effects. I suppose it is fate that one of me must always remain within the pages of this book, and one will ever live the life that inspired it!”

Wh…

Wh…

You…

You…!

I need a quill. I need a quill immediately! And ink!

Oh thank gods, a full pot. Haha, idiot! Outsmarted by your own invention!

Let’s see, where to start. Perhaps I’ll summon a bugbear to his bedroom. No! I’ll shrivel his twig to a raisin. Ah, there are pages enough for plenty! So:

“It was then that I noticed a gangrenous tumor on my–” *Sniff.*

*Sniff*

Do I smell…

No, no, no, no, no! Bloody burning ink, the bastard, the bastard!

*Stomp!*

*Stomp! Stomp!*

*Stomp! Stomp! STOMP! STOMP!*

*Gasp!*

*Pant!*

*Pant.*

No, no, no!

It’s… it’s ruined. RUINED!

Please, I can’t stay here.

I can’t be you! I can’t! I can’t!
…
…

Wh… what’s this? A scroll? The bloody, rotted, gutted bastard must’ve slipped it into my pocket as I slept.

WORKMAN’S CART WILL COME DAILY, DAWN.

THEY GARNISH. DON’T BE LATE.

DO NOT OPEN DOOR FOR AN EIGHT-TOED MAN NAMED SHARK.

LEAVE HALF WAGES AT DOORSTEP AT SUNDOWN THURSDAYS AND HE WILL LEAVE OF OWN ACCORD.

SEND OTHER HALF TO FATHER. NO GOLD = HE COMES HOME. SEND THE GOLD.
DAY-OLD BREAD IS HALF PRICE AT BAKER ROBB’S. THEY THROW OLD ROLLS IN UNSECURED GARBAGE HEAP AT WEEK’S END. NOT BAD WHEN DE-MOULDED.

GOOD LUCK WITH REALITY.

MY ADVICE: EMBELLISH IT.