The Valuable Mystery of the Talking Saloon Door and How We Nearly Got Shot Over Stale Tacos

The Valuable Mystery of the Talking Saloon Door and How We Nearly Got Shot Over Stale Tacos

The Red Scorpion Saloon squatted like a sick horse at the edge of a dying ghost town, its faded red paint peeling in long, splintering strips beneath a crust of ice and grime.

“I hope they have tacos,” GhoulSpawn said.

Quaraun wasn’t listening. He was too busy scowling at the decrepit condition of the building.

Broken shutters hung at odd angles from the windows, and the entire building sagged as if it had just barely survived a shark infested tornado, a zombie outbreak, and maybe a small meteor strike — which it probably had.

The building leaned to one side as though it were slowly trying to crawl away from the rest of the town. The sign above the door, painted in a crooked, scrawling hand, had long since lost its red paint, and now just read Scorpion Saloon in a faded shade of dried blood.

Or perhaps it was painted with blood. You never could tell these days.

Quaraun stood beneath the warped saloon sign, frost gathering in his silver hair, his heavy pink robes billowing around his legs in the cold wind.

BoomFuzzy’s purple tartan flapped against his back as he squinted up at the crooked structure.

GhoulSpawn, standing a few feet behind them, brushed ice crystals from his golden fleece and frowned at the warped saloon doors, which creaked softly in the wind.

“Do you think they have tacos?” GhoulSpawn asked.

“Well,” BoomFuzzy grunted, rubbing his gloved hands together. “If they do I bet they’re stale. This place looks like a shitehole.”

“Unicorn,” Quaraun sighed. “Every place is a shitehole. The entire world has gone to hell and forgot to come back.”

BoomFuzzy grinned.

“Aye. But some shiteholes serve better booze than others. Of course, this looks like the type of place that’d serve ya shite on a shingle and try to pass it off as stale tacos.”

“I don’t like stale tacos,” GhoulSpawn said.

“No one likes stale tacos, Lad.”

“Will you two stop talking about tacos!” Quaraun yelled. “You have both been yaking about tacos for the last hour!”

“Yar Goat wants tacos.”

“I’m a sheep!”

“I am going inside!”

WOOSH! The door swung open as Quaraun approached it.

“Hmm. They have electricity here,” Quaraun muttered. “Better be on the lookout for Toobe.”

They pushed through the saloon doors — and that’s when the door spoke.

“Howdy, strangers,” it said. “Welcome to the Red Scorpion. Come on in — but only if you’ve got coin.”

Quaraun froze mid-step. His periwinkle eyes narrowed.

BoomFuzzy raised an eyebrow.

“Toobe?”

“Sounds, like.”

“Best be vigilant.”

GhoulSpawn’s jaw dropped. Being from the 1970s one only saw automatically opening doors in Star Trek. They had not yet been invented in his time. Talking robots, electric doors, and an deranged AI overlord, were things that existed only in SciFi shows. That they were now a reality of the 40th century, never crossed his mind. The concept of the door possibly being operated by a computer, one with voice capabilities, had not occurred to GhoulSpawn’s 1970s way of thinking.

In short, this was GhoulSpawn’s first time encountering a door that either opened on it’s own or had anything to say.

“Did… the door just talk?” GhoulSpawn squeaked.

“Ya heard that too, right?” BoomFuzzy asked. “Be mindful what ya say. Toobe hears all.”

“Do you suppose it knows where we can get tacos?”

Quaraun exhaled through his nose, his gold-plated fingers tightening around the edge of his robe.

“I am too tired for this.”

The old Elf slid into a cracked leather booth near the crackling woodstove, settling his heavy pink silk robes around him like a sulking jellyfish.

Inside, the stale scent of spilt ale and unwashed cowboy lingered in the air, mixing with the musk of rotting floorboards and the faint acrid tang of someone having thrown up in the corner. A broken chandelier spun lazily above the room, creaking with each breeze that slipped through the cracks in the walls. It was the kind of place that could have a shootout at any moment, and no one would even pause their drinking.

GhoulSpawn crouched by the door, his cloven hooves clacking softly on the floorboards. He ran his fingers along the splintered grain of the wood.

“This is incredible! Is it magic? Cybertech? Steampunk? Could it be an interdimensional portal?”

BoomFuzzy chuckled as he pulled his tartan up over his shoulder and strolled toward the bar.

“More like an enchanted nuisance.”

“I heard that," the door creaked.

Quaraun massaged his temple with two gold-plated fingers.

GhoulSpawn’s golden eyes widened. He crouched down, staring at the two creaky hinges on the saloon’s swinging doors. His long, clawed fingers reached out, tapping the weathered wood with scientific reverence.

“Fascinating,” GhoulSpawn said. “How does it work? Is it a magic door? Do you think it’s… an interdimensional portal?”

“It is a door, Glinta,” Quaraun said, sighing loudly. “It opens and closes. That is all.”

“But it talks.”

“Bet it also bites,” BoomFuzzy said.

As if in response, the door creaked loudly.

“Welp,” it said. “Looks like we got ourselves some newcomers. You gonna pay or just stare at me all day?”

BoomFuzzy laughed.

“Aye, that’s cheeky.” BoomFuzzy chuckled, flopping down beside Quaraun and stretching his short, stocky legs out across the floor. “Did ya no’ hear it, Love?”

“I was not paying attention.”

The saloon owner, a weathered-looking cowboy in a tattered brown duster, leaned over the bar. He had a face like a battered horseshoe and an expression that suggested he’d punched more than a few customers.

Nearby the bartender was serving drinks.

“Pay up if ya wanna stay,” the cowboy growled. “Otherwise, you’ll find yourself on your backside outside real quick.”

“I have not even ordered yet,” Quaraun said.

“That’s how it works here,” said the cowboy.

“Unicorn, go order something for us. I am too tired to get back up.”

“Right, Love,” BoomFuzzy said, eyes glittering beneath the thick gold rims of his cyber goggles. “On it.”

BoomFuzzy ambled up to the bar and tossed down a handful of rusted coins.

“I’ll take the strongest thing ya got,” he said, giving the cowboy a pointed look. “Got me a sleepy Elf to wake up.”

GhoulSpawn, meanwhile, was still crouched by the door, poking at its creaky hinges.

“Maybe I could turn it into a portal,” he muttered. “Or a taco dispenser.”

Quaraun raised an eyebrow.

“Why would you want a taco dispenser?” Quaraun asked.

GhoulSpawn was muttering to himself about how to turn it into a portal.

“Maybe it could be a door to a universe where tacos never go stale…”

“Why would you want a universe where tacos never go stale?” Quaraun asked.

“Have you ever tasted a stale taco?”

“Blegh!” BoomFuzzy made a face. “Terrible thought. Stale food of any type. It’s all one can expect from Humans. I should start a cookin’ school for Humans. No one better to teach ’em but the world’s greatest Faerie chef, eh?”

GhoulSpawn, meanwhile, was still inspecting the door, whispering to himself about alternate dimensions and whether tacos could exist in a perpetual state of freshness.

“Why would you want a universe where tacos never go stale?” Quaraun asked again, rubbing his temple.

BoomFuzzy chatted with a gang of wasteland bikers dressed like cowboy wannabes, about the best methods of preventing taco shells from going stale, while GhoulSpawn talked to himself about the possibility of making a portal that travelled to other dimensions in search of the best tacos.

Quaraun ignored them both and pulled a scroll and quill from the folds of his robe. His pink pupiled blue eyes darkened as he began to write. After a moment, BoomFuzzy leaned over his shoulder.

“What’s this?”

Quaraun slid the scroll away.

“A poem.”

BoomFuzzy snatched it up and read aloud:

“The sky bled grey beneath fractured stone,
 The hollow wail of dying bones.
 Soft cries lost to shallow graves,
 A world destroyed by foolish knaves.”

He stopped, wrinkling his nose.

“Gods above, JellyElf! That’s grim. If yer tryin’ to put the whole saloon inta depression, ya might as well serve stale tacos with it.”

“Why is everyone obsessed with stale tacos today?”

BoomFuzzy ignored him and continued reading:

“The earth once bright with silver light,
Now drenched in crimson, black with blight.
The moon, a broken widow’s face,
Her shattered heart, her fall from grace.

And mankind’s hand, so quick to kill,
Has left this world forever ill.
The frozen winds, the starving skies,
The ghosts that walk with hollow eyes.

The bloodstained dawn, the dying light,
The ceaseless wail of endless night.
A world undone, a barren tomb,
All lost beneath the fractured moon.”

BoomFuzzy snorted.

“Ach, Love, that’s depressin’ as hell.”

“I like it,” Quaraun replied, smug.

“Pfft. I can do better than that!” BoomFuzzy pulled out his own scroll and scribbled furiously. After a moment, he stood on his chair, dramatically clearing his throat and read aloud:

“Ode to Me JellyElf’s Glorious White Arse Which is Far Greater Than Stale Tacos”

“Oh, me JellyElf’s arse is a sight to behold,
Glitterin’ soft like treasure and gold.
Rounder than moons and brighter than stars,
Fairer than comets or flyin’ Mars.

A silky wee peach of celestial might,
Glowing pale in the soft moonlight.
Forget yer stale tacos — they’re dry and sad,
But me JellyElf’s arse makes a man go mad.

A lovely white treasure beyond measure or price,
I’d take it over tacos… or even fried rice!”

“What the hell is it with you two and tacos today?” Quaraun asked again.

“Oh, pearly cheeks of moonlit grace,
 Soft as silk and full of space.
 Not like those tacos, dry and stale,
 Your arse, dear Elf, will never fail.”

“Will you stop talking about my ass!”

“Round and bright, a perfect sight,
 Smoother than a Faerie’s flight.
 More precious than a golden jewel,
 Your bum, dear Elf, defies all rule.”

GhoulSpawn burst out laughing.

Quaraun’s eyes narrowed. He glared at GhoulSpawn.

“You are not helping.”

“I think it’s better,” BoomFuzzy said with a grin. “You know, when we get back to camp I’m gonna make tacos.”

Before Quaraun could respond, the door creaked.

“I can do one better.”

It cleared its hinges. Then it rattled off a new verse:

“Behind the bar, beneath the floor,
A map lies hidden — seek no more.
A treasure lost, a vein of silver,
The promise of gold to make you shiver.

Past the cliffs where ghosts still ride,
Through broken trails and shifting tide.
Seek the mark beneath the moon,
And treasure waits — but find it soon!”

“Treasure?” GhoulSpawn asked.

“Behind this bar, beneath the floor,
 Lies a map to a treasure, gold and more.
 Silver veins beneath the ground,
 Fortune waits, if it can be found.”

BoomFuzzy’s eyes widened.

“Treasure map, ya say?”

Quaraun sighed.

“Glinta. Go look.”

GhoulSpawn scrambled behind the bar, pried up a loose floorboard, and held up a yellowed scrap of parchment.

“Holy crap! It’s real!”

The cowboy narrowed his eyes.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“Finders keepers!” GhoulSpawn sang.

Suddenly, the barkeep reached beneath the counter and yanked out a plasma shotgun.

The cowboy pulled a plasma pistol from his duster.

“Thievin’ bastard!" The bartender roared.

BoomFuzzy shoved Quaraun behind the bar as the gun fired. A blast of blue plasma scorched the ceiling.

Glass exploded.

Gunshots erupted.

Quaraun flipped the table.

GhoulSpawn leapt over the counter, hooves clattering, as a pulse of searing blue plasma ripped through the room. The wall behind the bar exploded in a shower of splinters and ice.

Quaraun whipped his RainBow Wand from his robes and fired a blast of liquid nitrogen at the barkeep. He howled as ice crystallized across his limbs, locking him in place.

BoomFuzzy yanked Quaraun’s sleeve and dragged him toward the door.

“MOVE YER ARSES!”

They crashed towards the door as plasma blasts shattered the wall behind them. They burst through the saloon doors, skidding into the muddy, slushy street. Behind them, the bartender shouted.

“AND DON’T COME BACK!”

They sprinted into the frozen night, skidding through the snow until they collapsed behind a stack of crates.

Quaraun sat up, adjusting his pink silk robes.

“There is mud on my shoes!”

GhoulSpawn clutched the map.

“I got the map!”

BoomFuzzy flopped back into a snowbank, laughing breathlessly.

They stood in the frozen street, breath misting in the cold air.

BoomFuzzy looked at the map in GhoulSpawn’s hand.

“So… ya just had to steal from a sentient door?”

GhoulSpawn grinned.

“Yup.”

“How are you both the best thief I’ve ever known and the worst thief I’ve ever known at the same time?”

“I dunno,” GhoulSpawn said, unfolding the map. “So? We gonna find this mine?”

Quaraun rubbed his temple.

“We are going to get shot.”

BoomFuzzy grinned.

“Ach, aye. But not today.”

“Why do I always get shot at every time Glinta is with us?”

“Love, ya fine. No one shot ya.”

“They tried to! AGAIN! That’s the fourth time this week!”

“Eh, quit ya bellyaching. Ya didnae get hurt. Let’s go sit over there by the lamp and see what we didnae get shot for.”

The three of them sat on a trio of weathered crates stacked along the street. GhoulSpawn unfolded the map.

“Well?” BoomFuzzy said, breathless. “Do we got ourselves a silver mine?”

GhoulSpawn squinted at the map, tracing the faded ink lines with his clawed finger.

“Looks real.”

“Well, let’s head back to camp,” BoomFuzzy said. “Tell the others we got a treasure map to follow. Two of ya can study it while I make us all tacos.”

“Not stale,” GhoulSpawn added. “I hate stale tacos.”

“Not stale. I’m the world’s greatest chef. I donae make stale tacos.”

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

Quaraun

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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