13 Interlude with a Rotisserie Chicken

While she didn't appreciate how much she needed to use her back muscles to stay on the upper side of the wooden stake, Bolita could confess that she found the warmth of the flames under her rather convenient. Given the situation she was in, Bolita greatly preferred being warm on a rotisserie chicken spit to being cold like a cheesecake stuck in a freezer to harden, which she would've been if the wind's biting chill had gotten its way.

A particularly violent gust blasted her drills back and they ricocheted against the stone walls of the cave behind her with a dull 'plink.' From her vantage point on top of the chicken spit, Bolita squinted the best she could at the green near the mouth of the cave. The smoke was getting to her, but as her hands were tied up behind her, she was in no position to rub her visionary organs.

Another awfully convenient burst of wind blew past, perfect for a paragraph break. It cleared the smoke somewhat and Bolita was able to recognize that the green she had been scrutinizing earlier was actually a forest.

It was quite a ways off from the town streets that she had been in before, and Bolita had to admit she was the tiniest bit impressed. She had not expected the one-star graphic design rune circle she had been kidnapped in to actually function.

The jangling of a solid gold chain link necklace behind her reminded her of the cave's other occupant who was actually roasting fowl in what could have been a microwave oven.

Sarman D'Wite gingerly pulled a tray of buffalo wings from the oven with a pair of checkered oven mitts. The fragrant aroma of health problems and microwave radiation wafted over; only the finest of feasts for the finest of wizards. I'm luvin' it.

"Now then," Sarman began, rubbing his mitt clad hands together. "Let's get down to business."

He pulled out a box of latex gloves for dentists, and snapped one on each hand with a smack, before picking up a wing.

"So, ya know what's going on?" He nodded in the direction of the mouth of the cave, pushing his trailing mustache out of the way to stuff the entire wing in his mouth, bones and all.

"Absolutely," said Bolita while shaking her head no. She had deduced from her 0.3 second trip and her 47 second stay in the cave that she was going to be held for ransom. Her lightning fast detective skills were a fortunate side effect from watching too much Detective C*nan as a young lass.

"Then, since Mercury is in retrograde today," Sarman paused briefly for a second to check a magazine on the floor for his astrology chart and the daily horoscope. "I'll let you decide: how much you want to sell for?"

"Uh, sorry, what?"

"You know, how much coin you think you can generate?"

"Er…" Even if Bolita did understand what he was saying, she wasn't too clear on the value of the currency of the world she was in. In fact, most recently, she had dropped fifteen gold pieces on what was the fantasy equivalent of a fridge magnet.

"I'm saying, how much will your daddy dearest pay to get you back in his hands?" Sarman heaved a sigh and shook his head exasperatedly, his chains clanking together with the movement. He unceremoniously stuffed another wing through his mustache into his piehole.

"I don't know, 10 gold?" The last time she had seen the duke, he had been less than pleased, so she decided she wouldn't be too optimistic.

Sarman frowned and squeezed the buffalo sauce off of his mustache and beard with a brown paper towel. He discarded his gloves in a steadily growing pile in the back of the cave as he stood up.

"No lowballing."

With great effort, he turned the spit upon which Bolita rested to make sure that she was browned evenly.

"I think this side needs five more minutes," Bolita supplied helpfully.

"I think so too," Sarman agreed.

He sat down to wait again.

"How long until your buddies arrive to pick you up?"

"Soon?" she replied.

'If they ever do,' Bolita thought, though she was decently sure that at least Alfred would drag himself up a mountain to retrieve her body.

"Hmm," Sarman said, and that was that.

During the silence they waited in, Sarman took the time to further cleanse his face of buffalo sauce by wiping his mouth with his beard and then wiping his beard with another brown paper towel which he had pulled out conveniently from his beard.

Bolita was beginning to think that maybe this Sarman was actually a higher level mage than she had assumed, considering all the stuff popping out of his beard, until he turned to the side and she saw the roll of paper towels stuffed into one of the many pockets of his neon orange tracksuit.

They sat in silence for the next couple of minutes, save for the crinkling of paper towels and the clink of Sarman's bling. At some point during their meditation, he pulled a comb out of his beard and began fixing his perfectly coiffed mullet.

Then an airhorn blared, shocking Bolita's drills out of stasis and into aggression. They bounced around frantically, and it was all the poor duchess could do to keep them out of the fire lest she get cooked for real.

"Looks like that's five minutes," Sarman said, then proceeded to turn Bolita over on the spit again. "I think about fifteen minutes on this side will do."

Bolita shrugged best she could and imagined a nice chunk of steak roasting in her place. She was getting rather hungry and was even starting to miss the banal conversation of Alfred and Marie.

Next to her, Sarman poked the coals under her with a corn poker and added two branches to the fuel stock.

Another, third, awfully convenient gust of wind blew by, this time carrying with it the scent of avian feces and a small branch, which smacked Bolita in the face as it passed by, immediately killing her appetite.

At that moment, Sarman chose to pull yet another tupperware container out of his beard, this one filled with something that looked awfully similar to dumplings.

"You wanna take a dump?" He offered her a toothpick.

"Uhh," Bolita squinted at the toothpick. Normally, she'd have no qualms accepting free food, even from shady strangers, but when phrased so indelicately and pulled out of somewhere that didn't seem to be even remotely ventilated, thinking for a minute before accepting seemed like the safest option. "Sure, I guess. What's inside?"

"Shrimp and some other stuff, but I forgot what." He cracked open another jar of toothpicks and snagged a dumpling for himself.

She poked one of the less squashed dumplings, and it made a sad sort of squoosh as it deflated and drooped pathetically to the side.

She picked it up using two toothpicks, because some things were just meant to be eaten with chopsticks. It was lukewarm and a little dry, but wasn't too bad. She chewed for a moment longer. Maybe just a tiny bit salty. Hopefully there weren't any suspicious substances mixed in.

Sarman made a face.

"This batch's gone bad." He swallowed anyway.

Bolita swallowed too, but with more worry for the future of her bowels.

Despite his earlier complaints, Sarman finished the container of dumplings with uncanny speed. Bolita could only watch, fascinated, as he unhinged his jaw like a snake, shoved his hairs aside, and tipped the rest of the dumplings down in one swift move. She wondered at his clear allegiance to the porcelain throne.

In the distance there was a sinister honk. Followed by another. And another, until there was a chorus of horrible honks coming in quick succession, obviously spelling out their inevitable doom.

"Alright. I guess that's them," Sarman nodded, dusting off his hands and rolling to his feet. "I hope they brought money."

Bolita privately wondered when he'd even gotten the chance to send the ransom note because she hadn't seen him leave the cave once, not that she was complaining of course. The slowly cooking captive was more than ready to be freed from the spit and give her back a good crack.