"You see, I, your bro, am a businessman of sorts, and you, as my human bro and savior from certain death, wouldn't want to rip you off; I pride my business on integrity and transparency." Toni sounded utterly sincere, his voice a low, confident hum as he made a casual adjustment to his spiked leather armor, the studs glinting. "I came to this place in search of a Boapede's egg and didn't know that it was from a colossal serpent/centipede, which I nearly paid dearly for my life, until, of course, my heroic human bro had taken the damned monster down and saved me from it. I waited for days, using lots of my resources, and thought that I was done for until you came." He cleared his throat with a sound like a furball-coughing cat, but somehow still managing to sound cool. "Boapede's eggs are an exquisite delicacy to underground dwellers such as I. You heroically struck down the mighty beast; thus, the eggs are yours to give, or shall I say... sell?" He used elaborate hand gestures to explain his thoughts, his three thick fingers splaying wide with an almost languid ease.
"Uh," my mind went utterly blank. I didn't know what to say. However, he was sincere, and he kept saying "brother," which, I admit, made me like him more than I probably should. He said he was a businessman, and I had something he needed, which I didn't have a use for anyway, so I might as well trade it for something that I could use. "Sure, bro, I'll trade you for it, but it looks poisonous, don't you think?" I raised the alarm, about the distinctive red-dotted eggs.
"Ah yes, the ever observant brother," he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound from his chest. "We Troglodytes have strong resistance to poison; it makes the egg taste tingly inside our mouths and, at the same time, savory." He was visibly, almost shamelessly, salivating as he spoke, his tongue flicking.
He hated my poison dagger and wanted to eat poisonous foods? He may use the poison dagger to cut meat and eat the poisoned meat—would it have the same taste or effect? My mind drifted off, trying to connect the bizarre dots of his strange physiology and dietary habits.
"Shall we go and see the goods then?" he said excitedly, snapping me back to attention with an easy grin.
"How about your weapon?" I asked, gesturing vaguely towards the hole he'd emerged from, where his own gear presumably lay.
"I can come back and take it later, and besides, I have my bro right here. The lone killer of the giant Boapede." He proudly pointed both of his index fingers at me—or whatever a three-fingered person calls them. Confusing, right? I know. We started to walk towards the nest, his gait a confident, rolling swagger.
He's doing it again, flattering me out of nowhere. If he only knew that I killed both the golem and the Boapede accidentally while nearly blowing myself with them out of existence, he might not be that way, I thought. Better keep the facade to get on his good side and get additional items. Though, I felt bad for my Troglodyte bro, but I needed to survive too. "Cut it out, bro, you're making me blush!" I said with a smile, trying to look modest while internally preening a little.
"Bro, what's blush?" he asked, his eyeless face tilted slightly in genuine, open curiosity as we sauntered through the rubbles.
Oh yeah, he can't see what blushing looks like. "It's when your face turns red, when you feel embarrassed, shame or confused," I explained, jumping from one boulder to another with a practiced leap, my tone surprisingly natural.
"Uh, what's red?" he connected, stopping dead in his tracks, his head tilting again as if processing complex data.
His question brought back unpleasant memories. I remembered one question from my very first interview from the three stoic-faced interviewers: "How can you explain the color red to a blind man?" I felt like I was shot, rolled in a rug, and thrown into muddled waters. I was like, "It's umm... The red color is uhmm... you know it's uhmmm..." Oh, the humiliation. It sounded like a simple question, but the technicality of it was crazy. After that interview, I went online and researched my ass off looking for interview questions and sample answers. This time I can answer the question my eyeless bro was asking. "The color red can be felt like a hot..."
"Gotcha, bro dude!" He laughed, a sound like a cat barfing mixed with a smooth jazz chuckle, but surprisingly melodious. "I know what it is, I told you, I was domesticated." He gave an almost imperceptible head shake, as if I should have known better.
I felt a fresh wave of embarrassment; this dude can make jokes too, good for him. "Alright, alright, you got me. About being domesticated, what's that about that, troglobro?" I asked, a grin fighting its way onto my face.
"Hey!" A fold on his forehead creased, making him look deep in thought, his non-existent eyebrows furrowing. "Troglobro, I like the sound of that." He smiled, that wide, unsettling grin showing his crooked teeth like a proud, happy little monster. "Well," he started, his voice shifting into a relaxed, almost campfire-storytelling cadence, and began to tell me his heart-wrenching and adventurous MMK story.
He said that since time immemorial, Troglodytes were tribal-like, cave-dwelling humanoids. They lived in burrows and in the perpetual darkness of their caves. They kept warring with other tribes for resources, territory, and spoils. It was like that for as long as their oral tradition narrates. Hence, no advancement in technology, language, or culture, but constant conflict until the giants found them.
At first, the giants gave them food, and they were nice. They said unity should be the priority of their race for the common good of their species. For the first time, their race had food, so they no longer needed to fight other tribes to acquire such a commodity. The giants taught them agriculture, so that even in the darkness, they were able to produce their food. For the first time, due to the abundance of food and resources, fewer and fewer tribal conflicts erupted, their numbers grew exponentially, and a council of troglodytes was created that was initiated by the giants to resolve disputes from the different tribes. Their elders called it the golden age of abundance. Then, for a while, there was peace underground, he said.
We reached the nest of the Boapede. Toni picked up a hookworm dog, borrowed my kunai, and gutted it like a master outdoorsman. He skinned it, cut it into bite-sized pieces while casually explaining the intricate process. He then asked me to skewer it on sticks, which I did in a kind of dreamy, compliant state. Wait, where did that stick come from? Then, with a snap of his fingers (or rather, a thud of his thumb-finger), he started a small, crackling fire. He reached for a bottle from his sack, telling me it was a home recipe passed down from his ancestors, giving me two thumbs up and a knowing, eyeless nod. He then dipped the skewered hookworm into the concoction. He began to grill the hookworm BBQ, which produced a surprisingly meaty, mouth-watering aroma, sizzling gently over the flames. He passed me a perfectly grilled hookworm meat. He smiled, holding a grilled whole hookworm dog skewered on a stick. Wait, I'm not going to eat this, right? I asked myself, a silent, internal scream. However, we did a cheers using our food, the sticks clinking softly. Then, I noticed that I'm not in control, but a puppet. I am in a cutscene once again. Of all that I could be right now, why a cutscene? Then, in slow motion, my hookworm BBQ went into my mouth.