Headshots 1 (Patreon)

I know you'll like this. Everyone like Sarsuk stories.

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Qyxxlyq picked Headshots for his meeting place based entirely on the name. He thought it a coldly ironic place to discuss a murder-for-hire but was immediately disappointed when he stepped inside. Unlike most bars on Ringeltec, it lacked a dance floor, dimly lit booths in back corners, or really any sort of place to talk privately.

Instead, Headshots was little more than a semicircle of forty bar stools arranged around a circular wall of glass. There was a jukebox in one corner, a darkened hologaming table in another, and some doors leading back—one labeled restroom and the other staff. Qyxxlyq glanced around for his contact, but he’d arrived early, so wasn’t surprised that none of the dozen seated patrons looked likely to be his hired killer.

Unsure who was working the bar, he hopped up on the center stool in a run of five empties. Behind the glass, something yellow moved slowly about, but he ignored it, instead looking furiously around for a bartender or waitress.

“Can I help you?” asked a deep voice behind him.

Relieved that he’d finally found someone—well, that the bartender had found him—he grabbed the wooden bar with one paw and pulled to spin his seat back around. But instead of finding a ringel—or even a geroo, those big clods—standing behind the bar, he faced only a wall of glass. His eyes refocused, and seeing through the glass for the first time, he spied the head of a mustard-colored krakun.

The head was huge! The gigantic lizard’s chin was roughly even with the bar’s floor, and that put his lower lip just above the top of the bar.

Qyxxlyq leapt backward from his stool, nearly colliding with the bar’s far wall. The other patrons erupted into laughter. But they settled back down quickly, returning attention to their own conversations, so Qyxxlyq suspected this was a common reaction among first-time customers.

Behind the glass, the krakun—pale green eyes, yellow horns with lime green highlights on the undersides—smiled patiently.

Qyxxlyq returned cautiously to his seat. “Whoa,” he whispered, his racing heart finally beginning to slow. Then, he stood up on his seat and leaned over the bar so he could peek down inside the glass. “Are you sitting in the basement, sticking your head up through some kinda sunroof or something?”

“I wish,” sighed the krakun. “No, what you see before you is more-or-less all that remains of Sarsuk the Traitor.”

“Sarsuk the … what?” burbled Qyxxlyq.

Sarsuk smiled. “Originally, the bar was going to be Traitor’s or maybe Traitor’s Roost or some such crap. But this was sixty years back, and the trendy thing at the time was establishments with puns in their name. So, Headshots it is.”

“Headshots?” laughed the ringel, his fuzzy ears sticking out straight. “Like your head is in a great big shot glass?”

“You got it,” said the krakun. “Kind of a dumb name, but all puns are pretty silly. Anyhow, what can I get you?”

“How… How… How can you mix drinks if you’re just a head floating in a jar?”

Sarsuk smiled. “You tell me what you’d like, I’ll tell the staff we’ve got working in the back, then they’ll send it out on that conveyor that runs along the back edge of the bar. Just grab it when it comes your way.”

“Oh, huh, weird,” grumbled the ringel. “I don’t suppose there are any private booths or rooms in the back? I was planning on meeting someone here and wanted to discuss something … personal.”

“I’m afraid not,” said the traitor. “My disability limits my motion, so the entire bar is based around where I can reach.”

“Your … disability?”

“Yeah, when my body was amputated.” Qyxxlyq started to ask more questions, but the krakun interrupted with, “So, a drink?”

“Oh, a… a finjizz?”

“Coming right up!” said Sarsuk. Then, with a well-practiced motion, the krakun began sucking in jar fluid through one side of his muzzle only to squirt it back out the other. This didn’t provide the disembodied head much propulsion, but as he floated weightlessly in whatever it was he was submerged in, this was clearly enough.

Ten other patrons placed orders as the krakun’s face drifted by the glass opposite of their seats, and Sarsuk interacted with each in a brief and courteous manner—asking if this drink should be on the rocks or if that one should be served with a sidecar. He continued to turn about until he faced the back of the bar, then Qyxxlyq could hear him relay all eleven orders in three different languages, splitting up the requests to different species of slaves all working out of sight.

The ringel went back to looking about the bar for the guy he’d arranged to meet, and soon the rotating belt between the bar and glass wall rumbled, different glasses clinking by until a finjizz stopped even with Qyxxlyq’s seat. He grabbed his glass and gulped at the cold beverage.

Sarsuk rotated back by some five minutes later to check in. “How’s that finjizz?” he asked.

“Strong, tasty, but a little thin, perhaps?” said Qyxxlyq.

“I’m sorry about that,” apologized what remained of the krakun. “Traditionally, one serves the drink ‘as thick as semen’. I know that, but none of my workers are ringel and you see that sort of thing varies a lot from species to species. I’ve asked them to compensate—”

“It’s fine, really,” said Qyxxlyq. “Not a big deal. Just thought I’d point it out.”

“Most appreciated,” said the bartender.

“This is quite strange for me,” the ringel said with a wink, “usually when I go to a bar, I end up going home with the bartender.”

“Not that I can prove it any longer, but I’m male, actually,” said Sarsuk with a tight smile.

“That’s never stopped me,” said the ringel. With a grin, he added, “But I suppose you could still give me head.”

“Did you remember to bring a big glass cutter?” asked the krakun’s head without missing a beat. Then, he rolled his eyes. “You would not believe the number of times I’ve heard that one.”

“I suppose there are only so many head jokes…” said Qyxxlyq. “Still, you must be doing well to have your own bar.”

“I don’t own the bar, mind you,” said Sarsuk. “But I do work here every day. The owner loves that I can’t skip work.”

“Oh wow, you don’t ever get a day off?” asked the ringel.

“A few,” said Sarsuk. “Headshots closes on various holidays, and I have the staff set up a video screen in the back so I can catch up on the year’s biggest blockbusters. I binge them all night and really struggle to stay awake when the bar opens back up.”

“That’s awful!” cursed Qyxxlyq. “No one should be worked so hard.”

“It’s not bad, really,” said the krakun. “And this is way better than telemarketing. The pay is okay, and you meet lots of interesting people. I really can’t complain.”

“The pay is good, huh?”

“Good enough,” he said. “As you might guess, my medical bills are pretty high.”

Qyxxlyq smiled at that.

Sarsuk’s eyes turned up, and he stared as far upward as he was able. “Besides, I’m still paying off the lid to my jar.”

Qyxxlyq tilted his head back so he could see the heavy and decorative glass lid that sat atop the krakun’s jar. “Well, that sure is fancy!”

“It is!” said the yellow lizard head with obvious pride. “Nearly beyond what I could afford, but worth every single gold.”

Sarsuk continued to stare up at the lid, and he sighed. “Oh, the things that ringel patrons would do in my juice back before I owned a lid… It was awful.” The ends of his mouth turned down in a frown. “I can still taste it.”

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Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dauq6J_iYcMPSywxhR_4zAT8J-im-UFXwPeqzfQ_63U/edit?usp=sharing

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