Wanderlust Book 2:Gears, Grease, and Glory

Author’s Note: And welcome to chapter 2 :D I gotta say I fucking love this chapter guys :T It was so much fun to write! This is rly what Wanderlust is all about, Enoki getting into all hella kinda trouble. And also here we finally are introduced to one of my main players! The much anticipated worst Goblin in all of Azeroth as mentioned in the description of the fic. YEESH FINALLY!

Anyway! How's Enoki gonna get himself outta this one? Stay tuned to find out!


Chapter 2: The Worst Goblin in All of Azeroth

The Mirage Flats Raceway was teeming with grimy, tattered, seedy life, littered with garbage of all kinds, and reeked pungently of sweat, smoke, rubber, and grease. Throngs of patrons crowded raucously around betting cages where smug Goblins frantically scribbled the names of racers on towering chalkboards and scraped piles of gold into their own personal registers, more than likely never to be seen again. Announcers called out the starts of races and the odds over booming megaphones loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd while making the ground rumble with their authority. Racers screamed by on the nearby track that jetted off into the salty haze of the Shimmering Flats. Vendors wandered about with carts and trays filled to the brim with frothy beer, fresh popcorn, fragrant roasted nuts and a cornucopia of other foods Enoki had never seen or smelled before in his life.

It was the single most glorious sight Enoki had ever seen.

He stared, slack-jawed and in awe until a Goblin attendant slid smoothly up to him to take Zynn’s reins and stable him for his stay. He dismounted and handed his beloved raptor over, swiftly trotting off into the throng as if hypnotized without so much as thanks for the Goblin who scowled and muttered under his breath.

“Cheapskate…”

Enoki bid Zynn a loving farewell, and wedged his way into the sea of patrons who didn’t give the impetuous young Troll a second glance. Everyone at the Mirage Flats Raceway had much more on their minds than being bumped into in an already packed venue, and was already quite accustomed to it. For Enoki, he loved the feeling of being instantly assimilated as if he belonged and had been there a thousand times before.

The flow of the crowd carried him along the losing ticket stub peppered paths past all the various vendors and the carts filled to the brim with spare parts, tools, and rockets jutting out at jaunty angles. All along the pathways and the garages too stood the racers themselves where the carts filled with their corresponding accoutrements were headed. Gnome and Goblin style alike, the beautiful, powerful machines lay in eager, tense repose in their bays as their crews and pilots scurried about making adjustments and recalibrating everything; anything to gain an advantage and win glory for their team. Each grinning, laughing, smug visage painted onto the hood or rockets of each unique machine dared passersby to wager their money on it, promising excitement and glory.

Goblins barked the odds and the scores nearby to facilitate that dare, and Enoki paused to inspect the line of vehicles ready to tear up the tracks to see which one he wanted to place his first bet on. All of them seemed quite equally wicked, streamlined, and lightning fast. It would take much more thought than just looking at the artistry of them, for though he had never seen such contraptions in all of his life, even he knew he had to see them in action first. What little money he had lifted from Jyota had to last him a while before he found some kind of way to sustain himself, and while he felt comfortable wasting a little on frivolous and exciting bets he was not foolish enough to go slapping down gold coins on just any racecar that grinned seductively at him.

Perusing them was almost as good, not to mention as he broke out of the crowd a bit to get a closer look several Gnomes bearing treats in elaborate refrigerated trays scampered up all smiles to peddle their wares. Frozen delights and iced drinks glittered and sparkled in the frosty bins, beckoning the Troll to purchase and enjoy, and Enoki finally settled on a famed Tigule and Foror’s strawberry ice cream cone. Such things were unheard of in the Barrens, but with its ruby red fruit, sugary aroma, and rich pink color it was impossible to resist. The second Gnome so cheerfully insisted he couldn’t enjoy ice cream without a drink, he shelled out the silver to buy a tall glass of lemonade which he had never before tasted either. The pair of Gnomes thanked him kindly and scurried off to hit up other guests stopping to admire the racers.

The first tongue-tingling cold, sweet and creamy lick of his ice cream cone made Enoki shiver with delight and his mouth water for more. The taste was absolutely exquisite. Tart, yet sweet, rich and smooth yet light and refreshing all at once. It was no wonder the Gnomes portended it was world famous in their sales pitch. His angular, wildly yellow streaked, and expressive face lit up with his delight as he strolled along, licking his very first ice cream and giving every racer the once over thoughtfully.

There were so many to choose from it was a feat of intellect to even remember which was which, let alone the pairings for the drag races. Enoki decided it was better to just wing it, and since he really only wanted to watch the races and see the cars the betting could wait. Making his way over to the bleachers he noticed that near the actual spectator area there were several huge banners flying high overhead that announced in bright, bold letters against a background of a blazing rocket the imminent arrival of something called “The Twisted Wrench Grand Prix.” Every column and support beam around the seating sections had smaller flyers almost identical to the banners stapled copiously over them as well, only they had more information crammed into the same bold, excited script beneath the title. Enoki tore one off absentmindedly and scanned over it. Luckily Jyota had been insistent on drilling Common into his head in the Barrens, and having only just left the language of the Alliance was fresh.

“The Twisted Wrench Grand Prix!
One weekend only!
Come and see the best of the best of the wily Brassbolts Brothers and the indomitable Pozzik and Zamek face off in a rip-roaring, engine burning, pedal to the metal race to the finish!

High stakes betting, heart-pounding speed, and the bloodiest crashes this side of the Great Sea! Don’t miss this spine tingling battle of engineering that only comes but once a year!
Ample seating, luxurious venue, and free balloons for the kids. ”

Suddenly, the sheer level of buzzing excitement and the choking crowds gathered at the raceway made all the sense in the world. The Twisted Wrench Grand Prix was in only a week’s time according to the ad, and from the sound of the flashy poster it was not an event to be missed. Enoki looked up from the poster, intrigued, eyes darting around for someone nearby to ask.

A pair of Orcs were standing not too far away, thumbing their chins and inspecting one of the Goblin cars, gesturing to it and nodding their heads approvingly. They appeared to be knowledgeable, so Enoki scurried over, filched flyer in hand, to eavesdrop on their conversation and pretend to inspect the car as well.

“I don’t know…” one of the Orcs commented to his companion, “The Gnomes were usually a safe bet, but Pozzik and Zamek have really stepped it up this year for the Grand Prix with their new designs, I might have to let my hard earned coins ride on them.”

The second Orc laughed and punched his friend playfully in the shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to tell you that for years, idiot! You ALWAYS bet on a Gnome car and you ALWAYS lose,” he guffawed, the other looking playfully offended.

“I bet on Gnomes because they have a better ensemble team! You win more betting on individual races rather than the winner of the whole pot! You’re not seeing the big picture! And you always lose too,” the first Orc reminded the other with a snort.

“Well where the hell is the excitement in playing it safe? Tell me that! You have no idea how much more exciting that final heat is when you have half a year’s pay riding on just one car!” he retorted with a grin and a finger in the air.

Realizing they were indeed talking about the big event that was to take place the following weekend, Enoki perked up and inserted himself into the conversation.

“You guys talkin’ ‘bout de big race? What de hell is de big deal anyway? I ain’ nevah been here before,” the Troll piped up excitedly.

All too happy to discuss their favorite annual event, both Orcs immediately grinned and nodded.

“What the hell is the big deal? Try everything about it! The Twisted Wrench Grand Prix is only the biggest racing event of the entire year!”

“Yeah, teams from all over work year round on their racers and they bring them here just for the chance to be in it. It’s a match up of all the greatest engineering minds in Azeroth. A worldwide invitational, only the best get to set their wheels on the track. Goblins versus Gnomes, a showdown of brains and brawn all in one.”

Enoki bobbed his head excitedly in understanding.

“Ah! I get it! So it like… A racin’ tournament, like a fightin’ tournament!” he asserted.

“Yeah exactly! There’s a lot of smaller races, teams get eliminated, until finally it comes down to only two,” one of the Orcs said mystically, holding up two fingers with a grin.

“Winner gets their names engraved on the big trophy and a huge pile of cash, it’s the best! You ought to stick around, there’s all kinds of parties and events the week leading up to the Grand Prix, test drives, free booze, the works!” the other added with relish.

Decadent visions of fast cars, cold beer, and throngs of excited spectators united in the adrenaline rush of the races and cheering on their favorite side danced through Enoki’s head, and in that moment, he knew he would be staying to see the famous Twisted Wrench Grand Prix. He thanked the two Orcs excitedly and moved on through the crowds, hoping to find the inn and procure a room for that long. Though even if it was already full he was sure there would be room out back to camp, which he hardly minded at all. It was certain to be filled with people just like him; adventurers, travelers, and ruffians up to no good all gathered to watch a little rubber burning and maybe a crash or two while making a little extra gold on the sly.

The ice cream cone dwindled as Enoki made his way further into the raceway proper in search of the inn, though it was impossible to tell with the crooked, strange construction of the metal architecture. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, even in the Goblin port of Ratchet, though he supposed some of the alien design was owed to the Gnome influence. Every structure was tall, pointed, covered in pipes and gears and looked as if it could morph into some kind of vehicle and simply roll away at any moment. Enoki set to wandering through, fascinated by them, casually reading signs and simply enjoying the quirky huts and garages as he finished his frozen treat.

He pushed the bottom of the cone past his lips and munched on it thoughtfully as he passed a large, centrally located building that seemed a hub of activity. A strange, whirring mailbox on cogs and gears was posted just out front, and patrons carried large packs on their backs as they made their way inside. The place was clearly the inn, but he had to stop in wonder to inspect the strange thing with a huge sign painted like a post envelope bobbing and jangling on top. He reached out a hand slowly, fingers outstretched to touch it, and was promptly bumped into jarringly from behind by a gaggle of shrieking Goblins quibbling and snapping like junk yard dogs at one another as they sprinted past in a tizzy. Enoki pitched forward, slammed his face dead into the metal envelope sign and sent it springing backward with an indignant screech.

Reeling with the surprise and the pain, Enoki whirled around and bore his sharp teeth at the scurrying pack of short green creatures, sporting a bright stripe down the center of his face. Failing to notice or comprehend the concept of physics in perfecting his death glare, the metal sign swung cheerily back in the opposite direction and struck him neatly in the back of the head. The Troll dropped in a heap face first into the dusty salt, head spinning and points of light glittering across his field of vision. He recovered quickly, however, brushing off a few casual inquiries as to his state by a few nearby onlookers, and stood up. When the world was steady again and he had brushed off his leather jerkin, he promptly marched after his accidental assailants to exact his fiery revenge.

The Goblins were fleet of foot as they fled to what was clearly the Goblin side of town, obviously agitated about something. Enoki cared very little what it was, all he cared about was throttling the appropriate offenders for their transgression. The perpetrators twisted and weaved their way through garages and storage sheds, deeper into the maze of technology and machinery, Enoki close on their heels, until at last they reached the main garage and maintenance bay of the Goblin teams. Enoki saw them disappear behind the large building and moved to follow them, but the sound of raised and angry voices slowed his pursuit.

As the redhead approached he could see quite the gathering of Goblins, all of them surrounding a towering stack of wooden crates still strapped to the Kodo pulled cart they had arrived on. A bright red stamp of an exploding rocket was emblazoned with the words, “Caution: Highly Volatile Contents!” beneath it on the side of every one. Manning the arsenal of fuel, standing protectively near the cart and frantically turning a tattered delivery slip over and over again in his hands, was a rather small, wiry Goblin dressed in a bright red and crisply pressed workman’s shirt. The back of it proudly boasted the logo of a speeding racer trailing a plume of flames with the bold, block text moniker of, “Quikpiston Racing” but the wearer of it hardly looked as confident as the words of his company.

He was short, even for a Goblin, with a harried, thin face and a mop of dark blue hair pulled back into a short, hasty ponytail. His oversized and batty ears were pinned back against his head like a beaten dog and his forehead glistened with the unmistakable sheen of stark cold fear. Surrounded on all sides by angry, snarling mobs of Goblins and Gnomes alike, he was dwarfed even more so as he endured their verbal battery. Enoki frowned deeply, and pressed himself to the side of the building to listen in to just what all the commotion was about.

“Why is this even a damn question, kid? Pozzik sent in this order himself! Didn’t they tell you WHO the fuel was supposed to be going to when they loaded you up?” someone from the Goblin side snapped.

“Well he would have remembered if it was supposed to go to you! This order belongs to the Gnomes! Just like we’ve been saying!” a voice called in reply.

Jeers and slanderous insults flew as the mob snarled and snapped at one another, interrupted by a shrill, desperate voice.

“L-Look guys! I-I uh, well the original order’s gotta be here somewhere. J-Just lemme go look for it and I’ll-!” the delivery Goblin sputtered, only to be cut off by a smoothly grinning Gnome with a bright pink comb-over and a wax curled mustache.

“I’m telling you, it was us! The fabulous racing duo of Gazbolt P. Wirlijig and Betina Crankshaft who ordered this fine shipment of fuel from the world famous Quikpiston corporation! It rightfully belongs in our beautiful racer!” he proclaimed, one hand on his chest. Behind him, a sweet-faced female Gnome with sky blue pigtails and dressed in a flowery pink dress giggled and smiled.

One of the Goblins took a threatening step forward in reply, wrench in hand, and pointed it viciously toward the smug Gnome.

“And I call bullshit!” he growled, “Why the hell would the Quikpistons take an order from you mooks anyway? Everybody knows they got an EXCLUSIVE contract with the Goblin teams, ain’t that right?”

He turned toward the other increasingly terrified looking Goblin, who had taken to searching his pockets and every crevice of his body for the missing order, and brandished his wrench at him. He yelped and threw his hands up in the air as if at gunpoint.

“Whoa whoa! Easy there! I… Uh! W-Well I think so! It would make sense yeah!” he admitted, nodding rapidly, “S-So then, rightfully, it should go to…. You?”

He winced, looking at his accuser sheepishly.

“Well that’s nonsense! You’re a Goblin from a Goblin company, and Goblins don’t have exclusive contracts with anyone! Goblins deal with the highest bidder! And I’m telling you WE paid the highest price this time!” Gazbolt insisted, and grinned at the shadow of doubt that fell over the other’s face.

The hapless, confused little Goblin at the center of it all shrugged and rubbed the back of his head.

“Well… Th-That’s true too! So um, then it must be… Yours?” he asserted timidly.

“Definitely!” Gazbolt agreed, putting his hands on his hips with a wide, toothy grin, “And just as a show of good faith, the Gnome teams will give you an extra fifty gold a carton for the fuel, how’s that?”

The badgered creature in the center of the ring suddenly perked up considerably, copper brown eyes glittering.

“Seriously? You will? Fifty PER carton?” he asked eagerly.

“Absolutely!” came the delighted reply, followed immediately by frustrated groans and curses from the opposite side of the crowd.

“You idiot! Are you really gonna listen to the shit spewing out of this freak’s face?” an enraged Goblin voice called out.

“You sell Goblin fuel to that pink-haired, pansy ass, dimwitted MORON who couldn’t engineer a paper plane if his own damn life depended on it, and we’re gonna make sure no Goblin racer EVER burns Quikpiston lead again!” the wrench-wielding leader of the pack threatened.

The delivery Goblin visibly paled and his eyes went wide as saucers.

“Y-You can’t do that! That’s not fair! I-I mean, you’d sell to the highest bidder no matter what if you were me!” he shrieked, though his confident rebuttal instantly deflated, “W-Wouldn’t you?”

“You serious? Are you fuckin’ serious?! I’d sooner burn my schematics or formulas or whatever it was I had and never make a dirty COPPER on it than sell it to these bozos!” came the infuriated retort.

Soon after, the wrench whizzed through the air and narrowly missed clobbering the squeaking, harassed Goblin who ducked with a shriek. Nearby Enoki winced in sympathy and grit his teeth with his upper lip baring them fiercely. He hated seeing someone so obviously weak and probably a little dim bullied into a corner.

“Jeez! You trying to take my head off or something?! Look I JUST need to verify who the hell bought the stuff for the good of my company, if you can all just give me five minutes to look!”

“We already gave you five minutes! Then another five! Then we let you stall by giving that crappy little sales pitch, which by the way was meant for two salespeople, not one idiot switching positions and talking to himself! You lost it! We’re sick of waiting! The Grand Prix is in a week and we need this fuel!” the man who had thrown the wrench snarled.

The crowd began to close in on the poor soul whose blood they were out to spill, and he began sweating bullets and shrinking into himself.

“W-Well okay fine! I lost it! Big deal right? Uh… Someone then… Tell me something about the order only the person who ordered it would know! That’ll solve it!” he squeaked desperately, hands up in the air.

“That’s stupid! If you don’t know who the order is even supposed to go to, then how would you know something special about it?” Gazbolt cut in irritatedly.

Ripples of agreement and threats began to titter through everyone, nerves wearing thin and tempers running hot. The tension was rising, and it was clear to the Troll watching from the shadows that it was about to boil over and more than likely violently.

“One more lousy excuse and I’m gonna drive my ass through Tanaris to the coast so I can drop you in with the fishes to show them your brand new shiny pair of cement shoes, you get me?” the Goblin ringleader threatened in a low growl.

Looking more horrified, and his voice higher and shriller than ever, the delivery boy balled his fists and shut his eyes, ducking his head.

“No! No, anything but that! I hate fish! Seaweed gives me a rash! I-I’m allergic to drowning! And did I mention I have a PARALYZING FEAR OF DEATH? We can work this out! We can make it work without the uh- Whacking, right? M-M-Maybe we can s-split it? Yeah! Then everybody’s happy, see? Y-Yanno, fifty-fifty! Even steven! Right down the middle!” he offered, only to be snatched roughly by his collar and hauled to the very points of his boots in the salty sand.

He squeaked and opened his eyes, looking straight up into the blazing orange irises of his assailant as he held out his free hand for a tire iron which one of his compatriots happily offered.

“You just DON’T get it. Do you, kid?” he snarled.

The iron lifted into the air and cast an ominous dark shadow across the younger Goblin’s ashen face and petrified copper eyes. He gripped his attacker by the wrists and scraped and clawed against them frantically, but all around him wrenches, screwdrivers, even the occasional brass knuckle flashed in the bright noonday light and grinned with bloodlust.

Back behind the cover of his building, Enoki could finally watch no more. He couldn’t stand idly by and allow the pathetic little thing to be throttled, no matter how much he probably deserved it. With a loud, dramatic crack of his crimson cape, he bolted out from the shadows and onto the scene with a crookedly menacing grin. High aloft in his hand he held a tiny, but deadly plume of flame that flickered and crackled in the wind, and his free hand pointed at the angry mob accusingly.

“Hey assholes! Why doncha pick on someone yah own size eh?” Enoki bellowed loudly.

All eyes turned toward the loud, obnoxious voice of the meddling Troll, a sea of heads and furious faces all fixing their wrath on him instead. The original object of their vengeance opened one eye, and gasped in surprise to see the redhead who had come to his rescue.

“Mind your own damn business, Troll!” the Goblin that still had the delivery boy by the throat spat, “This is between all of us and him. You step in, and it’s gonna be all of us against you!”

Enoki twisted his fingers into the flame that flickered and coiled around them obediently and almost lovingly, snickering.

“Bet if I added all yah pipsqueaks up it’d amount tah me! At least half, anyway, tah be sure,” he jeered in reply with a cackle.

A chorus of angry, indignant voices answered him in a roar, but the Goblin ringleader merely spat on the ground and turned back to his original purpose. He shook the momentarily hopeful little thing in his grasp roughly, delighting in his pained, fearful yelp.

“You talk any more smack and we’ll be happy to test that theory out! Ain’t nothing to see here though, ain’t that right squirt?” he taunted him with a smirk.

“Ahah! Y-Yeah, yeah we’re all good!” he stuttered, looking over at Enoki with a shaky grin, “I got it all under control! N-Nothing to see, nothing to do, nothing… Nothing to do about it… Hopeless, really…”

He trailed off miserably, closing his eyes and looking every bit the part of a man about to meet his maker. Enoki quirked a skeptical eyebrow, unsure why he would deny his help, and made no move to leave or even extinguish the flame dancing around his hand.

“I givin’ yah onleh one warnin’, mon. Let de shrimp go an’ work things out all peaceful like, or else,” he continued, undaunted, grin widening.

“Or else what? You gonna make us all wait while you sit around makin’ little voodoo dolls and pour itching powder all over them? Buzz off, twerp! We got a business transaction to attend to here! One that involves payment in BLOOD.”

The Goblin ringleader twirled his tire iron once in preparation with wrenches, crowbars, and fists following suit. The Delivery boy squirmed and fought, sweated and kicked, but to no avail. The sound of knuckles cracking and Goblins and Gnomes pounding their weapons into their palms as they moved as one angry mob toward him filled the air, slowly closing in on him to swallow him whole.

“Wait wait! We can talk about this some more can’t we? Didn’t you ever learn that violence is NOT the answer? Use your words and all that good stuff? H-How about counting backwards from ten? Y-Yeah we can all count backward from ten! I’ll start! Ten, nine, eight, seven- No? O-Okay not your style! W-We could all sit down with some nice tea and cookies and talk about what we’re all really mad at? No? M-My cousin runs anger management workshops! I can get you coupons! Coupons! T-Two sessions for the price of one! Good any day of the week! I swear! I’ll get you anything! Name it! Just don’t kill me!” the delivery boy wailed, squirming and fighting as he looked in each and every face of his onslaught.

“Should have thought of that before you came here to screw us all up the ass. That’s not how we do things here, and especially not Grand Prix week! Lets send the Quikpiston Corporation a little… Token of our gratitude…” the ringleader growled with relish, grinning and showing all of his razor sharp shark’s grin, “I’m gonna enjoy this…”

“NO WAIT! I’M TOO YOUNG AND TOO POOR TO DIE!”

The delivery boy watched with wide, terrified eyes as the tire iron raised above his head, poised to come down, but behind him, the Troll that had promised him rescue let the fire on his hand burst into an inferno to make good on it.

“Don’ tell me I didn’t warn yah,” Enoki murmured to himself with a smirk.

His emerald green eyes shone with a faint white light as he shaped his deadly missile of fire. It grew effortlessly at his bidding into a blistering, crackling blaze, and once he was satisfied it would make his point he took a gracefully wild step forward and flung it straight toward the crowd. The concussive shock of flame roared through the air, parting the Gnomes and Goblins who screamed and dove out of the way, the shrill, clear voice of the delivery boy ringing out over it all.

“WHOA! HIT THE DECK!”

The ringleader turned just in time to see his vision fill with the raging conflagration. He bellowed in fright as he tossed his victim aside and dove to the ground to avoid being swept up in it. The fire kept on its merry, destructive way, and sailed in a swift, true flight to land right dead in the center of the towering pile of cartons holding the countless cans of the world famous Quikpiston racing fuel. Enoki’s eyes widened in the breathless moment of horror as he watched, he swore loudly, and the entire supply detonated upon impact with a deafening roar and a victorious plume of flame.

The shockwave of the explosion and the intense heat of the fire knocked every soul gathered there to the ground, bits of wood carton, cart, and metal shrapnel whizzing through the air and raining down upon them. Even Enoki found himself flattened back onto his rear by the sheer force of that much ingeniously engineered fuel all erupting at once. He lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the raging wind, smoke, and salt that buffeted mercilessly against him for the duration of the explosion that rippled over the entire Mirage Flats Raceway and left naught but a charred, smoking crater in the ground.

The moment the raging blast died down, Enoki was on his feet and sprinting through the destruction. All around him the ground was littered with groaning, flattened Gnomes and Goblins, all of them reeling from the blast and slowly getting up. A cloud of smoke settled thickly down around them and the hollow clattering of wood and metal still pattering down on the ground echoed through the thick air. They muttered, coughed, and grumbled deliriously as they checked to make sure they still had all their limbs and slowly began helping one another up. The delivery boy lay motionless in the center of it all, Enoki saw as he loped up, sprawled spread eagle on his back and covered in soot. His attacker was a good distance away, still out cold, and Enoki paid him no mind.

“Hey! Hey! Yah alright mon?” he called as he knelt by the delivery boy’s side and shook him gently, “Oy! Shrimp! Yah alive?”

The rattled Goblin groaned as he was jostled and a loud voice echoed painfully in his ringing ears. Slowly, his copper eyes peeled open, and he looked groggily up into the face of his rescuer with a frown.

“Wha…? Who? What happened?” he muttered.

Enoki laughed heartily and held up his two main fingers of one three-fingered hand.

“De name be Enoki, mon, an’ I jes’ saved yah sorreh ass. How many fingers I be holdin’ up?” he asked.

The Goblin frowned, focusing hard on the hand that spun and shifted in his dizzy vision.

“Uh… Three?” the little creature beneath him guessed blearily.

Enoki glanced at his hand, noting that he did only have three fingers on each, and shrugged.

“Good enough,” he snorted, gently propping his companion up, “Yah remembah yah name?”

His batty ears flicked at the question, a soft gasp escaped his lips and he sat proudly bolt upright as he recalled and pounded a fist into his chest.

“Of course I know who I am! The name’s Wikket! Wikket Quikpiston!” he huffed indignantly, “And I don’t need your help to-“

The angry tirade that was about to spill out of the Goblin was interrupted and forgotten in an instant as he looked over and finally saw the devastation his Troll savior had caused. His shipment of fuel was completely destroyed, every canister blown to smithereens and taking the delivery cart with it. The Kodos had taken off running, spared from the blast by their thick hides, and nothing was left save for the black burst of a char mark and the debris littered around the groaning, recovering mob. One singular wheel still circled the wreckage, but as the duo watched it wobbled and finally tipped over pointedly into a pile of burnt sticks. Enoki whistled through his teeth, impressed and a little pleased with himself. Wikket leapt to his feet with a blood-curdling scream, tangling his hands into his hair.

“I-IT’S GONE! IT’S ALL GONE! I’m RUINED! My parents are going to KILL ME!” he howled.

Enoki chuckled at his hysterics and shrugged.

“Eh, bettah den dat jerk ovah dere killin’ yah fah real anyway,” he said lightly, jabbing a thumb to the smoking pile of Goblin that had been the vicious ringleader of them all several yards away, “He’s a piece’a work ain’t he?”

He lay in a still, broken heap on his side, his tire iron twisted and bent beside him, green skin a dark shade of black, jet black and slicked back hair singed and mussed, and his tattered clothes still smoking. He had not budged an inch since the blast and as all the rest of his compatriots came to and came to his aide, it was becoming obvious he wasn’t about to. Cries of panic from the Goblins began filtering through the crowds, as well as for a medic. Wikket turned to look and immediately paled again, clapping his hands over his mouth in complete horror.

“Oh GODS. You KILLED him you idiot! You killed him! Do you even know who that IS?!” he wailed frantically.

Enoki blinked owlishly and tossed his head with a dismissive snort.

“Tch, no. Why de hell should I know who dat chump is? I ain’ nevah been here in mah life! Yanno, yah sure are an ungrateful little snot fah someone whose life I jes’ fuckin’ saved!” he retorted.

“Saved my life, my ass! At this rate I’m better off dead! That was Roddy Zilch you just blew up! Roddy Zilch! The STAR driver for the Goblin teams and headliner for the Twisted Wrench Grand Prix!” Wikket screeched, clawing down the sides of his face.

Enoki lifted his brows and looked back over to the crumpled mess that was the so-called heralded Roddy. His fellow Goblin racers had rolled him onto his back and were cradling him protectively, but his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and he was emitting some sort of hideously garbled sound of ire. The Troll grimaced in revulsion and made a gagging motion.

“Ugh, well… Don’ look like he dead yet, quit stressin’ yahself out!” he said lightly, laughing, “S’not like we’re doomed or nothin’!”

Though even as he brushed the situation off, all eyes began to turn on both Enoki and Wikket along with scores of accusatory fingers. Sirens blared and footsteps thundered as emergency crews and Bruisers closed in on the scene, all of them with murder in their eyes and spiked maces at the ready. They made a practiced circle around the duo, barking orders and demands in deep authoritative voices.

“No, Enoki,” Wikket snarled, deadpan, holding his hands obediently up into the air, “I’d wager to say we are quite doomed indeed…”


Stay Tuned for chapter 3: The Deal, coming soon! Comments are much appreciated X3 <3