A Market Day Disaster

A Market Day Disaster

It was a snow-crusted, wind-bitten day at the Human street market at the edge of GodForsaken City. Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, and GhoulSpawn were there selling goods under a pink silk tent.

The pink canopy billowed like a jellyfish caught in a storm.

Quaraun stood at the front of the booth, draped in layers of sheer pinks and embroidered silks that glistened like morning frost. He clutched his cane in one gloved hand and a vial of shimmering rose oil in the other.

“Two coins,” he said, voice cold and formal, his icy pink puplied eyes never meeting the peasant girl’s. “Not three. Not one. Two. Exactly.”

The girl dropped the coins into the crystal dish and fled, glancing back only once.

“Ya scared ’er,” BoomFuzzy cackled, seated on a pink velvet ottoman, gingerbread steam rising from the samovar beside him. “Stop starin’ at folk like yer got laser beams in yer nipples.”

“I DO have laser beams in my nipples,” Quaraun muttered flatly.

BoomFuzzy barked a laugh.

“Aye, aye, ya be the mage with The Flamboyant Nipples, fair. Still. Could smile once in a while.”

“I most certainly can not.”

“Aye ya can.”

“I do not smile. Smiling invites conversation. Conversation invites familiarity. Familiarity leads to annoyance. And I hate being annoyed. Humans are annoying. I detest the fact that I have to be on the same planet with them.”

Behind them, GhoulSpawn silently rearranged bottles on a display table. Every bottle contained something unpleasant.

One glowed.

One hissed.

One blinked.

“Uhm…” The Satyr nervously backed away from the table. “Quaraun?”

“What is it NOW, Glinta,” Quaraun demanded.

“There is a blinking eye ball in this bottle.”

“So?”

“It winked at me.”

“And?”

“Is it supposed to do that?”

“I am The Pink Necromancer.”

“Is that an answer?”

“I animate dead things.”

“Him does,” BoomFuzzy chirped cheerfully. “Just look at me. I died three hundred years ago.”

Before any of them could say anything else, a big burly Human man approached the tent and sneered at the trio.

“What’s this then? You circus freaks or witches?”

BoomFuzzy stood up.

“Bakery, dickcheese. Want a sample?”

He handed the man a cookie shaped like a screaming skull.

The man bit it.

And screamed.

Blood gushed from his gums — black blood. Beet juice, magically heated to sear flesh.

He vomited in the snow.

BoomFuzzy took a delicate sip of absinthe and smiled with all his teeth.

“Bit spicy, eh?”

Quaraun did not look up.

“You made the cinnamon batch again.”

“Of course I did.”

“I told you, that is not suitable for Human tongues. You burn them.”

“Aye, I like it hot.”

The Human staggered away, shrieking curses.

A few other customers backed away too. The scent of burnt blood lingered.

GhoulSpawn straightened, tilting his head at a child staring at the hovering silver orb Toobe occupied.

“Do not touch that.”

“Why?”

“It has lasers.”

“Why?”

“So it can kill Humans.”

Toobe blinked blue and added: “I also speak seven languages and have full control of every satellite over this region. Want to hear about microwave shielding? It’s absolutely fascinating! See, what most organics forget is that improper Faraday layering results in bleed-through — especially near oscillating ELF fields — so your average bunker ends up cooking your synapses like — “

“TOOBE!” GhoulSpawn snapped. “No brain-melting today.”

The child screamed and ran.

BoomFuzzy flopped down again and cackled.

“JellyLove, we ain’t sold shite. We’re scary.”

“Good.”

“Don’t you want money?”

Quaraun curled a gold coin between gloved fingers, held it to the light, and sighed.

“I have more than I could ever count. Let the mortals keep theirs.”

“I’m gonna eat one,” BoomFuzzy growled. “Next Human who calls ye a pink Faerie pansy — chomp.”

“You always say that,” GhoulSpawn muttered.

“I mean it this time.”

Quaraun exhaled slowly.

“You always mean it every time.”

And beneath the pink tent, the three monsters waited in still, dangerous silence, as the market slowly emptied of fools.

Hours passed and soon dusk set at the edge of GodForsaken City.

The street market was nearly empty.

Wind bit.

Snow gathered.

The pink silk tent was being packed away into the vardo.

The pink tent fluttered like a dying jellyfish in the wind.

Quaraun stood beside a wooden crate of rose oil, methodically wrapping each bottle in soft velvet before nestling it into straw. His gold-plated mechanical gloves clicked softly, precise in every movement.

BoomFuzzy yawned.

“Well. That was a colossal fuckin’ waste o’ time.”

“There were customers,” Quaraun muttered.

“Seven," GhoulSpawn said. "And two did not flee screaming.”

“Aye, aye. Progress.” BoomFuzzy grinned and started folding table linens into a red velvet sack. His tail flicked behind him, sweeping dust and stray leaves from the cobbles.

GhoulSpawn crouched by the far side of the tent, unscrewing the bolts that held the pink silk canopy to its brass supports.

“Toobe, lock the levitation clamps. The frame's coming down.”

“Affirmative,” Toobe chirped cheerfully. The hovering orb blinked blue and rotated in place. “Frame disengaged. Suggest folding along spine axis B-17 to minimize silk compression.”

GhoulSpawn folded the tent with surgical precision. He spoke without looking up.

“We sold three bottles of elderberry cordial, one animated carnivorous tea cup, two boxes of gingerbread skulls, and a sentient scarf that tried to strangle a man.”

“It was a hug,” Quaraun snapped.

"Hellova hug."

“The scarf likes people.”

“It likes constricting people.”

“It is affectionate.”

“You do attract murderous textiles, Love,” BoomFuzzy laughed, stacking his enchanted spice jars into a rosewood chest.

Quaraun glared, rose-scented steam hissing softly from under his hood.

“That scarf is better company than most of the creatures I have met.”

"Meaning me?"

"Of course I mean you."

“You married me, darling.”

“I was drugged. By you.”

BoomFuzzy smirked.

“So was I. Match made in a glittery hellscape.”

The tent collapsed with a soft fwump as GhoulSpawn tucked the last bolt into a pink velvet pouch and secured the folded silk behind the vardo. Snow flurried around them, pale and biting. The skeletal moose pulling the vardo snorted frost.

BoomFuzzy climbed into the vardo, grabbing his feathered chef’s hat and slamming the spice chest shut.

“It’s gonna freeze tonight. I vote we eat hot soup, drink hotter absinthe, and sleep in a pile of feral gremlins.”

"Where would we find feral gremlins?" GhoulSpawn asked.

“I do not pile,” Quaraun said, struggling to close a crate of polished seashells. “My spine is not designed for spooning.”

BoomFuzzy leaned over and helped him latch it.

“Yer spine ain’t designed for anything, fragile wee wreck that ye are.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I hate how correct that is.”

GhoulSpawn climbed into the driver’s seat beside the skeletal moose, then paused.

“We going to the tavern?”

“Aye,” BoomFuzzy called back. “JellyBrains here needs more blog poetry and I need to rob someone blind at cards.”

“Confirmed,” Toobe said, blinking green. “Tavern coordinates locked. Pre-warming seats with low-grade butt-heat.”

The vardo rumbled as the moose creaked forward. Snow flurries danced around them. Behind them, the market dimmed into silence.

Night had arrived.

The tavern was loud.

Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, GhoulSpawn, and Toobe sat in a quiet corner booth. Warm firelight, ale-stink, and Faerie music fill the air.

Quaraun sat curled in the corner of their booth, pink silk draped like curtains around him, shielding his journal from tavern noise. His gloved fingers barely moved, yet the pen scratched swift, elegant verses across the page.

Moonlight swallowed by glass lips—
A kiss of bloodied frost clinging to cracked dreams—
All I ever loved was illusion.

He paused, tapped the pen against his chin, then wrote another stanza.

Across from him, GhoulSpawn hunched over a clutter of circuit boards, bent wires, and melted copper coils. Toobe hovered above, a small spotlight shining down from the orb.

“Reverse the polarity on the right-side node,” Toobe advised. “It’s shorting because your ground wire is in the signal channel again.”

“I didn’t ground it,” GhoulSpawn said flatly.

“Well, it grounded itself. Spontaneous error. Possibly ghost interference. Highly likely in a Faerie tavern. Recommend exorcising the breadbasket.”

“The breadbasket isn’t haunted.”

“Everything is haunted, GhoulSpawn. That saltshaker has seen war.”

BoomFuzzy yawned loudly, pushed away from the booth, and sauntered toward the poker table.

“Where are you going?” Quaraun asked without looking up.

“Ta cheat at poker.”

“You always cheat.”

“Aye. Because I always win. Watch and learn, sparkle prince.”

BoomFuzzy slid into the poker table like a shadow. His fluffy purple tail flicked back and forth behind him, catching the eye of more than one distracted Human. He smiled wide, teeth glinting. A pile of chips built at his elbow within minutes.

Quaraun glanced up briefly.

“He is going to get us thrown out.”

“Again,” GhoulSpawn muttered.

Toobe agreed. “Odds of tavern ejection due to tail-based cheating: 93%.”

Quaraun returned to his journal.

“If he wins enough coin for absinthe and ink, I consider it a net gain.”

"You never spend your coins, you just give them all to that dragon of yours. And he makes his own absinthe. And you make your own ink."

"Glinta, I was trying to have a conversation with you."

"But what you said was inaccurate."

BoomFuzzy laughed across the room, cards flashing from his sleeves like magic. He winked back at Quaraun, then flipped a royal flush onto the table.

“I told ye, lads—I’m lucky, horny, and blessed by the Moon Goddess.”

Someone groaned.

Someone else cursed.

Quaraun sighed contentedly and kept writing.

This tavern is loud and my lovers are worse,
But the absinthe is hot and the world did not end today.
So I shall allow myself the luxury of existing.

And with that, the night went on—warm, bright, chaotic. Just as it always did.

Today’s story was brought to you by the letter M. More stories starting with M can be found here:

The Pink Necromancer Index: Part M - An Alphabetical Index of my 1k+ Drabbles, Poems, Kishōtenketsu, & Other Short Fiction on Medium

The Pink Necromancer, Moon Elf silk weaver & merchant: Quaraun on Noodle Beach. His master chef Phooka turned Lich husband: BoomFuzzy with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. And their on again/off again mad scientist Sheep Demon lover: GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. Time Travel setting swings back and forth between 40th century Maine after a comet hit the moon decimating the planet, and the 1970s, Maine. Quaraun in the main character, he and BoomFuzzy are a married gay couple. GhoulSpawn is their shared live-in lover. Art by Wendy Christine Allen.

BoomFuzzy

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Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post

The Pink Necromancer: The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane aka The Twighlight Manor Series

🌸🦄🌸 Furry Yaoi Fiction about Elves and Faeries and Satyrs and Demons and Unicorns and Technomancer Wizards and Liches living in a Lighthouse and surviving as Travelling Merchants and Food Truck Chefs in Cyberpunk Dystopian 40th Century Maine, and Zombie Apocalypse and Time Travel but it’s Slice of Life Vignettes of Mundane Daily Lives of The UnSeelie Court’s Royal Family trying to survive after a comet hit the moon and turned the Earth into a CyberPunk Ice-Age. 🌸🦄🌸

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