#play 5

The fire was lit, and Vial placed a rough grill over the spitting flames. On the grill, Jessup placed two implements: A cast-iron skillet into which they cracked a pair of eggs and a kettle filled with water and coffee grounds. 

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never had campfire coffee before?” asked Jessup.

“Nah,” said Vial. “Mostly we drink tea, but when I’d go into town, I’d hit up some of the cafes around the city.” 

Jessup snorted and began to crush the eggshells in their hands before depositing them into the kettle. 

“You add eggshells to cut down on the acidity,” explained Jessup. “It also helps the grounds settle to the bottom so you don’t have nasty coffee.” 

“All coffee’s nasty,” said Vial. “It’s just about tolerance.” 

The door to the caravan opened up, and out stepped the two-headed monster that was their bosses stepped out into the campsite. They wore dark sunglasses to hide their eyes from the Sun Gods’ light. 

“Where have we set up camp today?” asked Glasha. 

“We’re a few miles outside of Chev City,” said Jessup. “Coffee?” 

“We can’t drink coffee,” said Ailuin. “Please, be a lamb and explain what Chev City is.” 

“Was a religious community a few years back started by zealots,” explained Jessup. “But it’s got brothels, theaters, and the like aplenty, so I’m sure we’ll find an audience there.” 

“Yes, but what is the makeup? What are the people? Elves? Goblinoid? Orc?” asked Glasha, stepping off the stairs and over to the little campfire. “Your eggs are burning.” 

“Dammnit,” muttered Jessup, who had to scrape the eggs harshly and flip them, rupturing the yolk in the process. “That’s the thing, it was mostly human at the beginning, but their bloodlines mixed with serpentine people…I think some kinda descendants of the Unpeople you talk about, but I can’t say for certain.” 

“So, it’s a den of reptiles?” asked Ailuin. “Not ideal, but I’m sure we can whip something up for the audience.” 

“If they’re religious, we’ll have a horrible time finding a woman for the show,” said Glasha. “Men might be swayed.” 

“I’ve kind of had my fill of men,” said Ailuin. “Glasha, beloved. How do you feel about taking the reins for a show?” 

“Delighted,” said Glasha. “Though that only half solves our problem. We still need a local, or at least, someone the locals want to fuck.” 

“You two are so damn cavalier about all of this,” said Jessup. 

“I mean, we’ve been at it for centuries; it’s difficult not to sort of think of the shows as a delightful chore,” said Ailuin. 

“Hands in the air and nobody gets hurt!” shouted a brand new voice. 

Everyone but Ailuin and Glasha raised their hands to the sky, but everyone’s attention was immediately drawn in the direction of the voice. Up on some ridge which overlooked the camp was some manner of unsavory character. He was a snake person, for sure and his rattle tail whipped around the air as he held twin pistols on the group. On his slightly scaley lip, he had the faintest pattern that reminded everyone of a pencil moustache. 

“I said hands to the sky,” hissed the rattlesnake snake man.

“He’d probably do,” said Ailuin, ignoring what the snakeman had to say. 

“He’s relatively handsome,” chimed Glasha. “How big do you think his dicks are?” 

“Dont talk about me like I'm not standin’ right here!” shouted the rattlesnake man. “I am Six-Gun Gypsum!” 

“We’ve not heard of you before,” said Ailuin. “How do you feel about a job? Big payout for a big job!” 

Six-Gun Gypsum’s face wrinkled as he considered things for a moment, then he holstered his revolvers. “Okay, I’m listenin’. What’s the job?” 

“How would you like to fuck my wife in front of a bunch of strangers?” asked Ailuin, who posed dramatically with his long arms to the side to present Glasha to the gunfighter. 

Glasha gave a friendly wave. 

“I…” Six-Gun Gypsum froze in place for a bit. Sort of stunned by how vapid these two were. A minute prior, he was just planning on murdering them and stealing their goodies. “Is she okay with it?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” asked Glasha. “I watch him get fucked by people all the time.” 

“And you said to an audience…Are you like a gang of perverts?” asked Six-Gun Gypsum. 

“I mean, after a fashion,” said Vial. “Coffee?”

“Don’t be nice to me!” shouted Six-Gun Gypsum. His head swiveled back to Ailuin and Glasha. “So what’s the deal with this operation?” 

“We’re a travelling theater troupe. We put on pornographie plays,” said Glasha. 

Six-Gun Gypsum brought his hand to his forehead to scratch at a bit of skin that was itching beneath the brim of his wide brimmed hat. 

“In my younger years I did fancy myself as somethin’ of an actor,” said Six-Gun Gypsum. “I don’t reckon I’ve ever been asked to fuck for money like a good time gal, but I think there’s a first time for everything, right?” 

---

Chev City was another one of those little towns that dot the western region of the continent. Populated by serpent people, vagabond goblins, and the occasional humanoid gunfighters. All were present in Chev City’s Glamour Theatre, which was situated between a pair of rival brothels. Ailuin and Glasha struck a deal to low key funnel the audience from the show to the brothels in exchange for not getting beaten up by the working ladies and gentlemen. 

“I just feel like my character is a touch flimsy,” said Six-Gun Gypsum. “I mean, you just cast me as myself, but I have a handful of lines.” 

“A handful of lines is all these people need,” said Ailuin. “You have to remember that the people are coming here to get horny so they can either go home and fuck themselves or go next door and fuck one of the kind prostitutes there.” 

Six-Gun Gypsum grunted. “Blatant favoritism.” 

---

Everything was in position and the curtains parted, revealing a mock desert landscape with a wagon and outcroppings of sandstone. Glasha was seated on the steps of the wagon. She had a violin beneath her chin and was strumming out a song that nobody alive could remember, beauty touched by untold sadness was the theme of the song when he was originally composed. She was dressed in a long skirt and a white button up shirt that was flared at the wrists. 

A whistling from offstage could be heard and then singing as Six-Gun Gypsum slithered onto stage. He wore the same hat as he had when they’d met him, but he was wearing a silk vest that was too small for him and could barely contain his toned, muscular torso. 

The two began to play together. Songbird strumming on her violin while the rattlesnake belted out the lyrics to a song he didn’t have the context for. Glasha tapped her foot as the rattlesnake man rose up, getting taller than her and all so he could look down and get her face. 

The violin music ceased.

“Can I help you with something, stranger?” asked Glasha in an overly sultry tone. 

“Dunno, can you be so kind, ma’am?” asked Six-Gun Gypsum. 

Glasha’s eyes ran down along his body and she nodded. She then placed the violin aside and began to undo the buttons on the vest, revealing his defined pecs and abs to the audience. The orc vampire licked her lips in a kind of new hunger, divorced from her desire for blood. They’d had him cover his body in slippery corn oil so that his body would glisten and shine beneath the glow of the magical stage lights. 

The audience and Glasha were delighted. Ailuin felt ambivalent, but then again, the fun part hadn’t started yet, so there was plenty of time for him to get hot and bothered. 

Gradually, Six-Gun Gypsum’s slit opened up and a pair of twin pistols revealed themselves. They were roughly six inches long, pink, and had a ridge that ran along the underside of them. 

Glasha made a face like she was suddenly second guessing herself, but then Six-Gun thrust forward, working one of the cocks into her mouth. Eagerly, she gripped the other one and began to jerk it in time with the bobbing of her head. 

Six-Gun’s body gradually wrapped around Glasha’s body, but despite his strength, she was stronger and heavier so his efforts to move her off of the stairs were null. 

Glasha pulled her face away and immediately, both of the cocks blasted her in the face with their respective loads. Glasha’s tongue extended out so she could taste it. She shivered slightly at the mildly acrid taste of the snake-man’s seed. She wasn’t sure if it was just because of her nosferatu dietary pallet or if the snake man just simply didn’t have enough fruit in his own diet. 

“That better not be all you’ve got, I’d hate for this encounter to be so brief,” said Glasha. 

Six-Gun Gypsum released her and allowed her to reposition herself. She removed her skirt, revealing that she was wearing nothing beneath and parted her muscular green thighs. 

He entered her immediately, working both cocks inside her with vigor. Glasha shuddered and pulled the rattlesnake man in close. Six-Gun proved himself to not be wholly selfish, his hand moved between her legs and circled her clit as he thrust harder and harder. 

The audience saw Ailuin standing on top of the fake wagon, crawling in a lizard-like fashion. He was dressed just in a white button up shirt so they saw his fat ass bounce as the vampiric elf fucked his own hand. 

*wonders if Matteo might have been right and there is some kind of fate which just decided that they couldn’t be together and things just had to be as they were* *wonders how it will be when they see each other at school eventually, if they might get closer again even if only as friends, and if time and fate - if there is such a thing as fate - might has something else in store for them* *laughs quietly at the thought that he is willing to accept fate as long as Matteo and him would get another chance* *sighs quietly and pulls out his sketchbook* *draws Matteo and him at their date, as they are sitting at the Spree* *remembers a quote he read not long ago and googles the exact wording* *writes in the water of the Spree: “I wonder if things can happen too early or too late or if everything happens at exactly the right time. If so, how sad and beautiful”* *adds in small the author (Simon van Booy) and thinks about adding the title of the book as well (The Secret Lives of People in Love) but decides against it when he thinks about sending Matteo the drawing* *hesitates because he might annoys or overwhelms Matteo with the pictures he is sending him* *gets ready for bed and thinks about it again in bed* *thinks that Matteo deserves more clarity than all these ambiguous drawings but he just isn’t willing to tell him the truth - the fear to cause even more damage and harm is too big* *pulls out a book when he realizes that he gets lost in his thoughts and begins to read to distract himself* *decides the next day at noon to send the picture to Matteo anyway* *forces himself to not stare at his phone forever but sees that the check marks turn blue immediately* *he takes a deep breath and pockets his phone* *grabs his jacket and scarf, leaves the apartment and gets on his bike* *needs some exercise and to exhaust himself, hoping to clear his head*

^town near Fürstenberg/ Havel (around 100 km away from Berlin)

*fragt sich, ob Matteo vielleicht doch Recht hatte und es sowas wie ein Schicksal gibt und dieses Schicksal für sie eben vorgesehen hat, dass sie nicht zusammen sein können und ob die Dinge vielleicht einfach so kommen mussten, wie sie gekommen sind* *fragt sich, wie es sein wird, wenn sie sich zwangsläufig in der Schule wiedersehen werden, ob sie sich wieder annähern können und wenn es nur freundschaftlich ist und ob die Zeit und das Schicksal – wenn es denn sowas wie ein Schicksal gibt - noch irgendwas für sie vorgesehen hat* *lacht leise bei dem Gedanken, dass er sogar bereit wäre, sowas wie das Schicksal zu akzeptieren, wenn Matteo und er noch irgendeine Chance bekommen könnten* *seufzt irgendwann leise und zieht sein Skizzenbuch aus seinem Rucksack* *zeichnet ihn und Matteo bei ihrem Date, wie sie an der Spree sitzen* *fällt dann irgendwann ein Zitat ein, was er vor kurzem gelesen hat und googelt nochmal den genauen Wortlaut* *schreibt dann ins Wasser der Spree:* I wonder if things can happen too early or too late or if everything happens at exactly the right time. If so, how sad and beautiful. *schreibt in klein noch den Autor darunter (Simon van Booy) und überlegt kurz, ob er den Titel des Buches (The secret Lives of People in Love) auch noch hinzufügen soll, lässt es dann aber, als ihm der Gedanke kommt, dass er das Bild Matteo schicken könnte* *zögert jedoch, da er sich fragt, ob er Matteo vielleicht damit nerven oder überfordern könnte, dass er ihm Bilder schickt* *macht sich erstmal bettfertig und denkt dann im Bett weiter darüber nach* *denkt sich, dass Matteo eigentlich mehr Klarheit verdient hätte als ein paar zweideutige Bilder, aber dass er einfach absolut nicht dazu bereit ist, ihm die Wahrheit zu sagen – dass die Angst, noch mehr Zerstörung und Verletzung hervorzurufen einfach zu groß ist* *zieht irgendwann ein Buch hervor, als er merkt, dass seine Gedanken nur wieder kreisen und fängt an zu lesen, um sich abzulenken* *entscheidet sich erst am nächsten Tag gegen 12, Matteo das Bild doch zu schicken* *zwingt sich, diesmal nicht wieder ewig aufs Handy zu starren, sieht aber, dass die Haken direkt blau werden* *atmet einmal tief durch und steckt dann das Handy in die Tasche* *schnappt sich Jacke und Schal, verlässt die Wohnung und schwingt sich aufs Rad* *braucht jetzt Bewegung und muss sich auspowern, in der Hoffnung, den Kopf ein bisschen frei zu bekommen*

Charlotte slept the restless sleep of the cursed. She felt the wound Stitcher had patched up as best they could manage with their magics ache just as it had when she received it. It was like lightning shooting along her leg. Her fingers scratched at the spot where the wound had been until it bled, and she kept on scratching and scratching as if she could find something new beneath it. Beneath the skin, she felt as though she would find something new. Peel away the layers of everything, and there would be a whole new being. Something bigger and more bestial.

---

All that’s important, but hardly the point. The caravan had once more stopped outside of one of the smaller towns. It was Warren-Burrough. Or as the locals just called it, The Warrens. It was a vast network of caves that were dotted along the hills. The caves formed homes for the local goblin population.

The mayor was a rotund, bespectacled goblin stuffed into a cream colored set of trousers, a blue floral-patterned shirt, and an unbuttoned jacket that matched his pants. The only thing that didn’t fit his ensemble was the thick brown boots that he trudged around in.

“And everything will be cleaned up afterwards, right?” asked the Mayor.

“Absolutely,” said Glasha, who had to take smaller than typical steps so she didn’t outpace the little mayor.

“That’s good, that’s good,” said the Mayor. “You know, this is just fantastic. I’ve been looking for some sort of spectacle that brings the older folks out. The kids love it when carnivals and festivals come about, but we’ve been lacking in the 20-and-up crowd. That and the returning soldiers from the front love to see their little smut books reinacted.”

“From the Mazelands to Glasstown,” said Glasha. “We bring the crowds.”

“That’s good, I love to hear it,” said the Mayor. “There is something I must request.”

Ailuin, who had been walking with them, felt as though he was projecting his soul out of his body.

“Well, we’re open to plenty of requests, your mayorship, what’s your special request?” asked Glasha.

“The town council wants you to incorporate a local lady in the production,” said the Mayor.

Of course they did, thought Ailuin.

“We can accommodate a local lady,” said Glasha.

“Well, that’s superb!” said the Mayor. “Is your friend there okay?”

“Husband,” muttered Ailuin. “I’m her husband.”

“Oh? My apologies…It’s just when we heard that you’re kind of the…well you might say stud, we assumed you two were more like business partners or something like that,” said the Mayor, desperately trying to cover his ass.

Ailuin made a weird little hollow screech noise that started loud and grew quieter the more he drew it in.

“Forgive him, he’s an artist,” said Glasha. “Y’know, difficult.”

The conversation drifted on, flowing through the logistics of the play to the casting call that they were going to do. That was the portion he found himself dreading the most. How many goblin women would turn up and then be harshly turned away, all for the chance to be the star of the stage for a handful of nights?

Glasha took Ailuin aside when the mayor took his leave. Her expression was severe, but not hard.

“What’s the matter? You’ve been in a dark mood since we concluded the run of shows with Slime? Knife ears, what troubles you so?” asked Glasha, running her knuckles down along his cheek.

Ailuin shivered but held firm. “I’m…I’m tired, beloved. I’m just so very tired of it all.”

“I’ll see about pushing the first play back by a day…” began Glasha.

“No,” said Ailuin sternly. “It’s not just the play. I’m sick of these women.”

“But there will be a new one soon,” said Glasha.

“Glasha,” said Ailuin. “Please do not play at being dense, I know you’re not…I miss you.”

Glasha’s eyes were focused on his. Hers were a light green like brilliant emerald, his were solid black from pupil to iris. She couldn’t conjure up the words that would act as a salve for this particular wound. Instead, she decided something physical was needed. She rested her hand on his hip and hiked up his robes, revealing the unerect length of his elven cock to nobody in particular. She gripped it hard and began to vigorously stroke it, causing a moan to escape from her husband’s lips.

She was shocked when he placed a hand on hers to stop her.

“What?” asked Glasha.

“I…I know you’re only doing this out of obligation,” said Ailuin, his face was dark with blush so intense she could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

He pulled away from her and readjusted his clothes to hide his erection. Ailuin then walked off, away from his wife. Glasha was consequently left confused.

---

Cisex stepped onto the stage with her script locked in a death grip. Despite this, she refused to be hit by kudoclasm. The judges sat in the rows of chairs set up for the play and were composed of Glasha, Iole, and Ailuin. The last of which was taking sips from a bottle of wine that looked too heavy for him to hold casually, so it just hung limply in his hand in between him taking lingering drinks from it.

She knew that would be the man who would fuck her if she got the part, but he didn’t seem as jazzed about the prospect as she did. He was handsome…well, handsome as far as Elves went. She supposed pretty would also work in a kind of unapproachable goddess-like way.

If she was going to fuck a big’en, she’d prefer someone who was more proportionally big, like a dwarf or a hobgoblin.

“Hello, my name is Cisex Shelly and I’m reading for the part of the princess,” said Cisex.

Iole, the minotaur, had a kind of odd look about her. It wasn’t the first time Cisex had seen a minotaur, but the woman resembled a bull that she’d once taken care of for a summer. A sweet thing, he had the biggest, dumbest eyes one could imagine. He also tasted delicious when cooked up for the winter.

Cisex read her lines; she dictated properly. The audience of three kept silent and scribbled down notes with their quills, and finally, at the end of the scene, right before the part where the characters would get down to business, she was asked something:

“Are you the last one in?” asked Glasha.

She looked down the stage and didn’t see any other girls at the entrance.

“It seems like it, ma’am,” said Cisex.

“Perfect, you’re hired, you get the part!” said Glasha.

Cisex’s comparatively small heart leapt. “Really!”

“Yes, really,” slurred Ailuin, speaking for the first time to her. She hoped he’d sober up a bit by opening night. He did not look at her.

---

Opening night was attended by another vast crowd, this time of goblins and the few humans who lived in the houses surrounding The Warrens. Shell-shocked veterans on leave in their hometowns sat in folding chairs and drew in deep breaths from clay pipes.

Iole was on stage, taking on the role of the comedian once more, sweat would have been beading on her forehead if she was capable of sweating under the harsh glow of stage lights.

“So dating is hard when you’re somebody like me,” said Iole. “You get chasers when you’re a transwoman minotaur. Frankly, I can’t tell if it’s endearing or upsetting when a woman says she wants to climb you like a tree.”

“Context!” shouted someone from the crowd.

“Show us your udders!” shouted someone else from the crowd.

“Oh look, one of you is in the audience. I manifested you into existence,” quipped Iole.

Glasha stood at the edge of the stage, naked, but shrouded by shadows. She glared at Iole and whisper-shouted, “Hurry up! They’re getting mean!”

“Anyways,” said Iole. “Tonight, we present for you a romance between a princess and her loyal knight.”

Iole rushed off stage, her hooves clacking hard and scuffing the stage as she joined Glasha in the darkness just out of reach of the godlike glow of the stage lights.

The curtains parted and revealed a facsimile of a royal court, complete with a set of thrones, the majority of which were empty, save for the last throne which was occupied by Cisex, She was done up in a big elaborate gown that was cut very low at the neck to expose her generous cleavage and flaired arms that hid her clawed hands from the audience. Though, why this was was a complete mystery to the jaded goblins, some of whom were returning from upwards of eleven different warfronts.

Along the wall were a series of fake windows in which artificial sunlight shone, generated by our thing, Stitcher.

Ailuin entered the stage, decidedly not stinking of booze. He was dressed in shining, silver painted armor that authentically clattered as he walked across the stage and bowed before Cisex.

“You may not bow before me, sir knight,” said Cisex. “We’ve known each other long enough that you need not debase yourself like this.”

“Forgive me,” said Ailuin. “Force of habit.”

The elf knight rose to his full height and stood over the princess on her throne. The difference between them seemed staggering, with the frail elf almost seeming mountainous in comparison to the woman who was only four feet tall. Idly, Cisex wondered if there would be this strange attraction if they were of the same species. Or if their roles were reversed and he was a goblin and she an elf.

“Shut the curtains, I don’t want the gods’ light to shine inside,” said Cisex.

Ailuin marched down the length of the stage again and extinguished the light of the artificial sun with the curtains, but then the magic stagelights had to work harder and grew brighter, blanketing the set in glorious white light to expose everything as powerfully as they could.

“Are you wearing your ring?” asked Cisex.

“I am your majest-sorry, I mustn’t use such formalities when we are alone,” said Ailuin. “Yes, I’m wearing the ring still, Cisex.”

He didn’t bother to name the knight or the princess in the play, figuring it would just be easier to use their real names.

“Show it to me,” commanded Cisex.

Gradually, the elf peeled off the armor. The image was as if one were to see a lobster shelling itself. Pieces of metal armor fell, clattering to the ground until the elf was left in his knightly robes. Those were quickly peeled off too until he was naked, revealing that the only thing he wore was a golden ring around the base of his cock. The member throbbed, and it seemed to be a size too small for the width.

This was Cisex’s first time seeing the elf’s cock in person. She wasn’t a very worldly person; everything she’d had was contained within The Warrens. But few of the goblin men measured up to Ailuin. She imagined that this was very atypical of elves as well. Some kind of freak of nature or mutant with a pendulous tallywacker.

“It’s always nice to see the sword you wield, my knight,” said Cisex.

“I thought we were avoiding formalities, Cisex,” said Ailuin.

“Take up your sword,” she commanded once more.

Ailuin took the length of his cock and began to stroke it.

“I didn’t say for you to do that,” said Cisex, with shocking venom that crept into her tone.

“You ask me to take it, but not wield it?” spat Ailuin, matching her tone.

“Disobedient damned knight, are you not my servant?” asked Cisex.

Ailuin ceased stroking, but it was too late. The thing was already turgid and straining further against the bind of the ring. Cisex wondered if the piece of sexual jewelry was cutting off circulation.

“I am…I’m your servant for as long as my long life permits…I should like it to be longer, but I know not how to extend yours, your majesty,” said Ailuin.

Actual tears began to form in the corners of his eyes and he wiped them away with his wrist. This was not the place for crying. Cisex noticed and for a moment, she allowed her angery expression to vanish. But she took it up again and began to strut to wards him.

Cisex took the elf’s cock in her hands and it was heavy like a weighted kosh.

“You forget that this is not too different from you; it’s a royal weapon to be used at my leisure. By my will,” said Cisex.

She spat on her hand and began to rub her saliva-slicked appendage along the length, forcing moans from her co-star in this randy production.

Ailuin closed his eyes, and she broke character, snapping at him, “Do not close your eyes, focus on me and think not of anybody else!”

The elf acquiesced and focused on the goblin who stood before him. She undid the lace of her dress, allowing her generous cleavage to spill out. This only served to further arouse him. She could feel veins in his cock twitch. She hiked up the considerable skirt of her dress and began to furiously masturbate, rubbing herself with the same speed she had previously reserved for stroking Ailuin’s cock.

“Gl-Cisex!” cried Ailuin. “Fuck…You wield the sword like an expert. Should I be jealous of some other weapon of yours?”

“Never you mind,” said Cisex before taking the head of his cock in her mouth.

She quickly found this was a mistake, it was like shoving an entire dinner roll in her mouth, but if said roll had a whole extended loaf attached to it, desperately waiting to be eaten as well. Would she be able to take it without getting hurt?

The elf seemed to notice this issue and took his length from her, pulling the head free from her lips with a pop. He then seized her by the hips and raised her up to his head before pressing his face against her dripping pussy. His tongue wasn’t even a little hesitant as it slithered and snaked inside her, forcing moans from her lips this time.

She grabbed handfuls of his long white hair and tugged as if this would puppet him around to search further within her. His nose pressed and rubbed against her clit while her hips ground against his slender face.