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It’s only Nettie’s third day on the job when the trio bursts through the doors of the Build-An-Owlbear.
(Nettie knows that this gig is beneath her – She’s a skilled healer! Halsin’s trusted apprentice! – but Kagha’s been icing her out ever since her poor master went missing, and gold is growing tight. Besides, business has been pretty manageable, considering the lack of adventurers willing to both brave the dangers plaguing the area’s backroads and interrupt their adventuring to make a stuffed animal. Some of the tieflings have brought their children, who shove the little plastic accessories into their pockets when they think Nettie isn’t looking. An old woman who called Nettie condescending names like sweetie and petal stopped by during her first shift, expressing disappointment when she learned that the shop didn’t actually offer the chance to build a living creature from scrap parts.)
“Welcome to Build-An-Owlbear,” Nettie says, springing up when the bell above the door chimes. “’The most fun you’ll ever make.’ How can I - ”
“Give me the toy,” says the woman at the front of the trio: a pissed-off githyanki with war paint smeared under her eyes. “Now.”
“Lae’zel,” warns one of her companions, a beefy tiefling woman with one horn. Nettie’s seen these three around the grove before. They ask a lot of questions. “That’s not how this works. We’re supposed to make the owlbear together, remember? Like a proper team.”
“Have you ever made something, gith?” asks the third woman. Black hair. Sort of emo. “Or did your space school only teach you how to destroy?”
“I’ve made a lot of things,” Lae’zel says, glaring at the emo girl. “I’ve made the mothers of my enemies weep. I’ve made the earth beneath my boots grow sodden with istik blood. I’ve - ”
“We’d like one unassembled owlbear, please,” the tiefling says to Nettie, holding out a small pouch. Nettie nearly drops it; the fabric feels like burning coals. “Shit,” the tiefling says apologetically, digging in her pocket and flipping Nettie a few extra coins. “Sorry. I run hot.”
“You don’t want to each make your own?” Nettie asks. It’s both an upselling tactic and a genuine question. How are three grown women supposed to share one stuffed animal?
The tiefling’s jaw drops. “Abso-fucking-lutely we do,” she says, heat crackling off of her skin. “How much is it to do three? More, right? Shadowheart, give the nice lady some gold.”
“Let Lae’zel pay,” Shadowheart says, which is probably for the best. Her outfit is practically painted on; Nettie can’t imagine where she could possibly store a coin pouch. “It would mark the first time she’s contributed anything for the good of the group. We should throw a parade.”
“I propose we make the toy for free,” Lae’zel says menacingly, fixing Nettie with her lizard-like eyes while reaching for the giant sword strapped to her back. None of this was anywhere near Nettie’s job description.
“For fuck’s sake, you two,” the tiefling says exasperatedly. “This whole field trip’s only happening because you’ve been acting like a couple of kobolds tussling over a scrap of hellhound meat. We’re gonna make a new friend, you’re gonna learn to kiss and make up, and then the rest of us can stop worrying about waking up to see one of you gloating over the other’s corpse. Sound good?”
“Chk. To think that we could reconcile such bone-deep differences with the assembly of a child’s plaything - ”
“’Kiss and make up’?! Karlach, I know you mean well, but you can’t possibly expect - ”
“Enough.” A ripple of fire flickers over Karlach’s form. Nettie is reminded of how incredibly flammable the contents of the cloth-based shop are. “’She looked at me funny,’ ‘She made fun of my god.’ Blah, blah, blah. Not interested. You’re getting Nice Karlach at the moment, mind you. If you’d prefer to go the Blood War Karlach route, just say the fuckin’ word.”
The other two exchange a glance. “We’ll do the owlbear,” Shadowheart says, resigned.
“Three owlbears?” Nettie says. “If you want to look at the other options, there’s - ”
Karlach briefly becomes a blinding blaze. Nettie doesn’t even think the shop has a fire extinguisher. “There’s other options?”
CHOOSE ME
At the Choose Me station, Guests are introduced to all the furry characters in the store and then select one, which soon becomes their new friend.
“Children enjoy these flaccid husks?” Lae’zel says, dangling an unstuffed owlbear plush between her thumb and forefinger.
“Once you get the fluff in there, yeah,” Karlach says. “Give ‘em a hug whenever you’re feeling down. Gods, I’d rip off my horn for a good hug.”
“What did you play with as a child, Lae’zel?” Shadowheart asks, examining a squirrel plush. “The severed heads of your enemies?”
“Play is for those with weak hearts and frail minds. Even in my youth, my focus was on my training. To become worthy of wielding a silver sword – to one day command a red dragon.”
“We’ve got dragons,” Nettie says timidly. With the three women’s constant quipping, it’s hard to find the right time to cut in. “You want a red one?”
The gith’s eyes widen. “I – suppose, if – ”
Nettie digs in the bin of unstuffed dragon plushes, extricating one with red felt scales. It’s got a cute snaggletooth and big, loving eyes.
“A fine specimen,” Lae’zel says, holding the dragon up to the light. “You’ve done well, druid.”
“Thanks,” Nettie says. She wonders if it’s considered uncouth to give two weeks’ notice less than a week into a job.
“Aww, look at this!” Karlach almost grabs a bear plush from a bin, thinking twice when heat waves ripple off of her fingers. “Look at the little ears! And the nose. Fuck me, that’s cute. I’ll take it.”
“One dragon, one regular bear,” Nettie confirms, plucking up the bear plush before Karlach can incinerate it. “And for you?”
Shadowheart is staring into space, her eyes unfocused. Following her gaze, Nettie spots the stuffed wolf propped up by the front window; from their ‘big kid’ collection, it’s less cuddly than most of the other toys, its lips curled in a snarl. “Hm?”
“Make your choice,” Lae’zel says, crossing her arms. The dragon plush is crooked in her elbow, its stubby arms sticking up. “Our time in this ramshackle establishment already grows too long.”
“Ha, this guy looks familiar,” Karlach says, pointing to one of the imp plushes crowding the store’s least popular display. The kids really aren’t as into imps as Fantasy Corporate seemed to think. “Avernus was crawling with them. Annoying bastards.”
Shadowheart pokes at an imp plush’s beady button eyes. “It’s kind of sweet. Can’t you just see it in a little hat? Maybe a bowtie?”
“We sell accessories at the Dress Me station,” Nettie says. They have a variety of little hats, each for a steep add-on price.
“Has Shar’s darkness rendered you blind?” Lae’zel asks, regarding the imp plush with disgust. “That…thing…is devoid of sweetness.”
“You’re only getting the pre-stuffed picture, Lae,” Karlach says. “Once we’ve done all the stations, the imp’ll be sweet as pie. Same as your dragon.”
Lae’zel blinks. “’Lae’?”
“Yeah,” Karlach says, shifting from foot to foot. “Is that alright? I can stick to The Indomitable Lae’zel of Creche K’liir, if you want. It’s just a mouthful.”
“This is a nicked name,” Lae’zel says pensively.
“Nickname,” Shadowheart corrects, cradling the imp plush like a baby.
“What she said.” Karlach gives Lae’zel an encouraging grin. Nettie gathers that the gith hasn’t been on this plane very long. “Sometimes we shorten people’s names when we like them. Our realm doesn’t make a lot of sense, I know.”
“You shorten names as a sign of respect,” Lae’zel muses. “I will call you…Karl.”
“Nope! Nixing that one. Let’s stick to Karlach.” Karlach almost pats Lae’zel’s shoulder, wincing when her hand glows red-hot. “Good thought, though. You’re gonna master this plane in no time.”
Lae’zel strokes her dragon’s ears absently. “I like you as well, Karlach,” she says. “I hope you comprehend the rarity of my approval. For example: I don’t like her.”
“What’s that, dear imp?” Shadowheart says, holding the plush to her ear. “What a surprise! He says that neither of us can stand you.”
Nettie checks the time. The shop is scheduled to close in half an hour. “Are we ready for the next station, ladies?” she asks, her customer service smile hanging on by a thread.
“Please,” Shadowheart says, purposely stepping in front of Lae’zel on her way to the Hear Me station. Lae’zel mutters a gith word under her breath. Nettie doesn’t know what it means, but it sounds nasty. She makes a mental note to add it to the arsenal of things she calls Kagha when she’s out of earshot.
HEAR ME
At the Hear Me station, Guests may select from several sound choices to place inside their stuffed animal to further personalize their new friend. Pre-recorded sounds include giggles, growls, barks, meows and other animal sounds, as well as messages such as “I Love You.”
“Must we make it speak?” Shadowheart asks. “If I activate it by accident in the middle of the night, I’ll give myself a heart attack.”
Lae’zel’s eyes narrow. “You plan to sleep with the imp?”
“We’re doing sounds,” Karlach says firmly. “How about you say something that you want to keep in mind? Some words of encouragement.”
Lae’zel thinks before leaning toward the floating orb that’ll record their voices and trap a soundbyte in their stuffed animal. “Do not grant your foes the gift of a quick death,” she says fiercely.
“Fucking hell – okay. Sure. We’ll call that a first draft.” Karlach nudges the orb towards herself. “Lemme do one. Uh – ‘Hey, Karlach. It’s Karlach. Hope you’re doing well. I wanna remind you to keep your chin up, even when the shit hits the fan. I know it’s tough to keep a positive attitude with your heart on the verge of exploding, and the rest of you on the verge of more metaphorical exploding if you don’t find a way to hop in the sack with someone soon, but – ”
“It needs to be shorter,” Nettie says, restarting the orb’s recording. “And please don’t talk about ‘hopping in the sack.’ This is a store for children.”
“I’ll be by the next station,” Shadowheart says, playing with her rope of hair.
“What? No!” Karlach pushes the orb in Shadowheart’s direction. “Your imp can’t be silent. That’d be so sad.”
“Sending oneself reminders isn’t exactly in the Sharran tradition,” Shadowheart says. Nettie’s eyebrows shoot up. The Lady of the Night doesn’t have a lot of worshipers around these parts. “We’re more focused on forgetting.”
“Perhaps you should embed the imp with thorns so that hugging it becomes one of your holy punishments,” Lae’zel says. It’s hard to tell, with githyanki features, but it looks like she’s suppressing a laugh.
“I don’t remember asking for your input.”
"Well, you wouldn’t, would you? Thanks to the Sharran tradition?”
“You know what? Input’s good. We’re officially asking for each other’s input,” Karlach says, swiveling the orb towards Lae’zel. “Lae, say something nice about Shadowheart. Then she’ll say something nice about you, and we’ll put it in your dragon.”
Lae’zel scrunches her already-undersized nose. “I’d sooner compliment a ghaik on the length and girth of its tentacles.”
“Fine, you’ll go second. Shadowheart, say something nice about Lae’zel.”
Shadowheart gives the gith a once-over. “Your throat looks to be the perfect shape for my dagger.”
Karlach shakes her head. “Boo. Bad. Try again.”
“This is absurd,” Shadowheart says, stalking toward the Stuff Me station.
Karlach blocks her path, towering over her. “Not so fast, soldier. I’ll throw you over my shoulder and drag you back here if it comes to it, and no one wants that. So let’s make things easy, yeah?”
Shadowheart’s cheeks go a little pink. “No, no one – no one wants that.”
“Shadowheart, your ability to mend wounds is a valuable trait,” Lae’zel says into the orb. “There. Put that in the imp.”
“Better,” Karlach says. “Can you make it a bit more personal? We’ve been traveling together for a good while now. There must be something you’ve noticed about our lovely cleric that doesn’t fill you with rage.”
Lae’zel thinks. “Shadowheart, you’ve demonstrated bravery in your dedication to your Lady’s mission. Lesser women would have shied from the challenge.”
“It can’t be that long,” Nettie says through gritted teeth. Her shift is supposed to end in ten minutes.
Lae’zel gives her a withering look. “’You. Brave.’ Does that fall within your precious time limit?”
“We’re making progress!” Karlach says, clapping her hands together. “Shadowheart?”
Shadowheart clears her throat. “You’re a skilled warrior.”
“Personal,” Karlach reminds her.
“You’re brave, too,” Shadowheart says grudgingly. “Setting out in a new plane. Forced to earn your way back home by claiming your enemy’s head. It can’t be easy.”
“Far from it,” Lae’zel agrees. “But you may be able to empathize more than most. Your path to becoming a Dark Justiciar is not unlike the tests of mettle that I must face before becoming kith’rak.”
Shadowheart does a double-take. “You know what a Dark Justiciar is?”
“You have discussed the title at length, have you not?”
“I have. I didn’t think you paid attention to what I talked about at camp.”
“I listen. Your voice is quite pleasing to the ear.”
“Ah, damn it,” Nettie says loudly, casting a quick spell behind her back. The orb flickers out of existence. “Blasted thing is on the fritz. We’ll have to skip the recording.”
“Shame,” Karlach says, glancing between her two companions with a knowing look. “Felt like we were just getting somewhere.”
STUFF ME
At the Stuff Me station, Guests fill their new friend with stuffing for just the right amount of huggability. Each Guest selects a small satin heart and adds to it their own love and wishes, and carefully places it inside their new furry friend.
Nettie speeds through the process of pumping each plush full of stuffing. Her shift should be over; she should be setting off on her mountain-side walk back to the grove. All she wants is to continue her research on that drow who died with a mindflayer tadpole stuck in their eye. (…Lae’zel had said ‘ghaik,’ hadn’t she? Isn’t that the githyanki word for mindflayer?)
“More,” Lae’zel says as Nettie gives her dragon a stuffing infusion. The plush is practically bursting at the seams. “It looks underfed.”
“It’s going to pop,” Shadowheart says, snuggling her imp. She’s got Karlach’s bear tucked under one arm; they’d come to a group decision that Karlach shouldn’t risk singeing the thing. “I’m not sharing my new friend if you ruin yours.”
“So we’ll stitch them up, you can buy some accessories if you want them, and then we’ll be nearly done,” Nettie says. “Tips aren’t required, but if you feel like you were given an exceptional experience today – ”
“Hang on,” Karlach says. “Isn’t there another step? Don’t we put a heart in ‘em?”
The Oak Father is certainly testing her. “That’s something the kids do, yes,” Nettie says pointedly. “Our grown-up guests tend to skip that part.”
“Aw, what a bunch of party-poopers. Lucky for you, you’ve got fun customers today.”
“Goody,” Nettie says tiredly, reaching for the bag of satin hearts.
The ‘heart ceremony,’ as her boss explained it during orientation, is a way to help the (usually ten-and-under!) guest bond with their furry friend. It’s up to the employee to decide on the details, but most ceremonies involve promising to love the toy forever, giving the heart a kiss, and sticking the satin organ into the thing’s chest. Thankfully, both Lae’zel and Shadowheart declare this ritual inane, allowing Nettie to heart-up their stuffed animals without the bells and whistles. Karlach, on the other hand, demands to hear the full speech.
“Karlach,” Nettie says, hoisting a satin heart into the air like she’s coronating a king. “You are now entrusted with the care and safety of this little bear, who’s been waiting for a kind soul like you to come along. Do you swear to give your new buddy all the love they deserve?”
“I do,” Karlach says. Her eyes are like saucers.
“Do you swear to treat them with gentleness and respect, just like you would another friend?”
“Of course. Gonna respect the shit outta my widdle guy.”
“Do you swear to hug them and snuggle them and try your best not to let them fall off the side of the bed at night?”
Karlach’s grin falters. Nettie should’ve taken that bit out. “That’s part of the pledge, huh?”
“Not always,” Nettie lies. “Forget I said it. So I’m gonna put the heart right into the bear’s chest, and then – ”
“I can’t hug him,” Karlach says softly, gazing forlornly at the bear still hitchhiking under Shadowheart’s arm. “If I snuggle him, he’ll be ash before I can say ‘I love you.’ What the fuck kind of life is that? Sitting in the corner of my tent and gathering dust?”
“You’ve upset her,” Lae’zel says to Nettie, once again reaching for the giant sword on her back. Nettie doesn’t even think she’s gonna give two weeks. Her boss can deal with a one-hour’s notice.
“Please don’t despair, Karlach,” Shadowheart says. “Tav said there’s a tiefling at the grove that might be able to help, remember? The blacksmith?”
“Fat chance,” Karlach sniffs. Tears form and evaporate in the corners of her eyes. “I’m gonna be untouchable until the day my ticker does a Gale and goes kaboom. You should take the bear home, Shadowheart. You look like you’d be a great snuggler.”
The half-elf gets pinker. “Well – I mean, thanks, but – ”
“You are the Fury of Avernus,” Lae’zel says, gesticulating angrily with the hand clutching her dragon. “The breaker of your own chains. You clawed your way out of the Hells by determination alone. If you want to snuggle the bear, you will find a way to make it so.”
Karlach wipes her nose with her forearm. “You really believe that, Lae?”
“Yes,” Lae’zel says. “You will touch again, I am sure of it. When you do, if you are in need of ‘hopping’ in a ‘sack,’ you know where I set up my bunk.”
Nettie erupts in a coughing fit. What the fuck is up with these three. “I’m guessing you don’t want to kiss the heart?” she says loudly.
Karlach’s jaw had dropped at Lae’zel’s invitation; it takes her a second to scrape it off the floor. “What?” she says. “Oh. No, I wanna try. Gimme a tick.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, concentrating hard. The flames curling off of her body dull and die.
“Quickly, now,” Karlach says, sounding strained. “I can’t kill the heat for long.”
“Here,” Shadowheart says, snatching the satin heart from Nettie’s hand. She holds it up to Karlach’s eye level. “So you don’t have to risk holding it.”
Her face still screwed up with concentration, Karlach gives the heart a delicate kiss. When she pulls back, a lip print is singed into the fabric.
If one of those pickpocket-prone tiefling kids were here, they’d have no trouble separating Shadowheart and Lae’zel’s gold from their pockets. The two women are watching Karlach like their lives depend on it.
STITCH ME
At the Stitch Me station, the last seam is neatly pulled shut, nearly completing each new best friend.
“You were coming on a bit strong back there, weren’t you?” Nettie hears Shadowheart say to Lae’zel as she stitches up the three toys. Karlach is wandering the store, scoping out potential accessories for her bear.
“Elaborate,” Lae’zel says curtly.
“Hop in my sack, Karlach,” Shadowheart says, rasping her voice in a pale imitation of the githyanki.
“I saw no reason not to make my interest known.”
“In a toy store? In front of the druid?”
“Are you made that uncomfortable by the concept of physical attraction?” For once, Lae’zel doesn’t sound taunting or vindictive. “Noted. I will avoid such matters in your presence.”
“No, it’s not – ” Shadowheart sighs. “I just didn’t know you viewed her like that.”
“Why shouldn’t I? Witness her on the battlefield. She could tear an orc in half without the aid of her axe. Besides,” she adds fondly, “she gave me my first Nick Name.”
“Great,” Shadowheart says. Nettie’s got her back turned, but she’d be shocked if the half-elf wasn’t rolling her eyes. “Wonderful. Will the wedding be in Avernus or on Creche K’liir? Either way, spare me an invitation. I’ll be busy that day.”
“Ah,” Lae’zel says. “I see. You also favor Karlach.”
“I didn’t say – ”
“If it will solidify our truce, I am willing to seek my enjoyment elsewhere.”
“You can do whatever you want, Lae’zel.” There’s a brief silence. Nettie completes the stitching on the imp plush. “Not that either of us can do much, while the infernal engine rages on.”
“No,” Lae’zel says. “For the time being, I suppose we’ll both need to look for other conquests of equal challenge and excitement.”
“I suppose,” Shadowheart echoes.
Nettie finishes up the dragon’s seams. The only sound in the store is the occasional shuffling of feet.
Shadowheart clears her throat. Barely audible, she murmurs, “Karlach’s not the only one who knows where you set up your bunk.”
“Is that so?” Lae’zel says. She sounds like a cat with a mouse in its paws.
“Guys,” Karlach says excitedly, returning from her trip to the accessory stand. “They’ve got bowties!”
“Praise to the Nightsinger!” Shadowheart says. “Joyous news. Soon, darling imp, you’ll be the pinnacle of fashion.”
FLUFF ME
At the Fluff Me station, the Guest brushes the animal to make sure his or her new friend is well groomed and pawfectly huggable!
Nettie is now certain that the githyanki had said mindflayer earlier in her brusque language. Hadn’t she said something about tentacles, too? When had all of these horny idiots arrived in their neck of the woods, anyway? …Had it been right after the crash of that mindflayer ship?
“This is a station dedicated to pantomiming the act of grooming?” Lae’zel says, flicking the side of the fake bathtub where kids can pretend to give their plush a bath. “Istik children are taught how to actually groom themselves, yes?”
“Yes, but most of them aren’t very good at it.” Focusing again on dimming the fire, Karlach grabs her bear with the tips of her long nails, tossing it under one of the magical jets of hot air that simulate a sort of blow dryer. The bear’s fur poofs up. “You really never gave a toy a spa day as a tyke?”
“I was given no toys,” Lae’zel says, awkwardly running one of the oversized kiddie brushes over her dragon’s fake scales.
Shadowheart pokes at her imp’s horns. “If I did, the memory’s lost to me.”
“Zariel’s tits, that’s so fucking sad.” Karlach tries to scoop her bear up from the fake bathtub; a spark from her fingertip makes her reconsider. “But,” she says, seeming to remember the mission of today’s outing, “it’s something you have in common.”
“Yes, we’re finding that we have more in common than we realized,” Lae’zel says. Nettie’s never seen anyone try to brush one of the stuffed animals seductively, but by god is the gith going for it. “We must set aside some time to continue exploring these similarities.”
“That’s the spirit!” Karlach says. She doesn’t seem to notice the half-elf’s face reverting to the tomato it’s been for a good half of the evening’s excursion. “Oh, something else you share: you’ve both got bangin’ hair. I’ve been meaning to mention that. Once my hair isn’t a bajillion degrees, you’ll have to collaborate on giving me a makeover.”
“I would love that,” Shadowheart says, pulling her massive ponytail over her shoulder. “You would look nice with some of Lae’zel’s little braids.”
“Where’d you learn to do fancy styles, anyway?” Karlach asks, finally managing to pick up her bear and hot-potato it back to Shadowheart without setting it on fire. “Your Creche doesn’t seem like the kind of place to be big on salons.”
“No, many of my kin prefer to keep their hair sensibly short.” Lae’zel touches one of her braids. “I learned from some of the other women in my unit. It was one of the few forms of individualistic self-expression that wouldn’t be met with a harsh admonishment from our teachers.” Her expression darkens at some private memory. “Most of the time.”
“Well, the look is quite becoming on you,” Shadowheart says. “As becoming as anything can be on a toad.”
Nettie senses an opportunity. “Did you say toad?” she says. “We don’t have any toad plushes available, unfortunately. Nothing of the sort. Not even a tadpole.”
The three women exchange a worried glance. There’s a long silence – as if they’re communicating without moving their mouths. Nettie fucking knew it.
“Ready to pick out some clothes for your new buddies?” Nettie says cheerily, no longer annoyed that she should have been home a good twenty minutes ago. She wonders if she still has that vial of poison buried at the bottom of her bag.
DRESS ME
At the Dress Me station, Guests may dress their new friend in the owlbeary latest furry fashions.
As promised, Shadowheart finds a bowtie and tiny hat for her imp. He looks like the world’s most improbable doorman.
“I think my guy’s gonna rock the nudist lifestyle,” Karlach says, gazing sadly at a little sweater with smiley faces on it. “No point in adding more potential kindling.”
“Don’t you have anything that isn’t a shapeless lump of cotton?” Lae’zel says, tossing mini t-shirts and dresses on the floor. Nettie restrains herself from instigating initiative with the thought that, very soon, her unwanted guests and their tadpoles will be nothing more than data points to add to her research. “Something with some straps, maybe? A bit of leather?”
Nettie’s customer service smile must look like a ghoulish mask at this point. “We don’t make bondage gear for the stuffed animals. So sorry.”
“How about this?” Karlach calls from across the store, pointing at a collection of plastic weapons. Each weapon has a small ring at its base that can fit a stuffed animal’s paw.
Lae’zel joins her, eyes narrowed. “Crude approximations,” she says, selecting a sword and giving it a twirl. “But this will suffice. Well spotted.”
“Yeah, you got it.” Karlach shuffles in place. Closer to the front door, Shadowheart is laser-focused on browsing a selection of vests, holding her imp up to a full-length mirror as she makes him model each one. “Um – about what you said before? The bunk…thing? I know I’m a bit of a charity case right now, but if you just said that because you feel bad, you don’t have to – ”
“If it were not for your temperature problem,” Lae’zel says, “I would repeat the offer for this very night. I’ve imagined that your horn would make a fitting handlebar to hold onto. I hope to learn if my theory is true sometime soon.”
Karlach makes a sound that’s ill-suited for someone who’s supposedly the Fury of Avernus. “Cool,” she says. Her voice has climbed multiple octaves. “That’s – yeah. Fuck.”
“Once your heart is fixed, I’d ready yourself,” Lae’zel says, jabbing the fake sword forward like she’s fencing. “I gather that Shadowheart may want to test the same theory.”
“Fuck,” Karlach says. The floor around her starts smoking.
“Next station,” Nettie says quickly, rushing over to stamp on the smoldering carpet. “Almost there, ladies. Almost there.”
NAME ME
At the Name Me station, Guests answer several questions about their new furry friend, including the birth date and of course, its name.
Nettie thinks she’s got it figured out. While the trio finishes with their plushes’ birth certificates, she’ll surreptitiously lock the doors. Then, she’ll invite them into the back room, citing some extra special accessory that she forgot to mention earlier. Maybe a magically fireproof firefighter’s outfit for the bear? She can’t see how Karlach could pass that up.
“I think this fine young man’s gonna be named Clive,” Karlach says. “Rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?”
“Cute,” Shadowheart says. “I’m having trouble thinking of something that would suit the imp. Do you have any suggestions, Karlach? Any words in Infernal come to mind?”
“Eh, I dunno. Infernal’s a real phlegmy language. I think most real imps name their babies after what it sounds like when they sneeze.”
Lae’zel signs her name at the bottom of her dragon’s birth certificate with a flourish. “I could give you the githyanki word for ‘garbage,’ if you like.”
In her haste to pull the front door completely shut, Nettie accidentally activates the bell that chimes when new customers walk in. Bing-bong!
“Apologies,” she calls to the tadpole-addled crew. “Just doing some closing tasks. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Hm,” Shadowheart says, staring at the still-ringing bell. “I may have an idea.”
“My dragon will be called Ch'r'ai,” Lae’zel says proudly. “’Faithful.’ I trust that he will earn the title, guarding my bed.”
Shadowheart adjust’s her imp’s hat. “So you plan to sleep with the dragon.”
Nettie sticks one of the plastic swords into the pocket of her uniform. Once she’s got them all in the back room, Nettie will dip the sword into her wyvern poison. She’ll have to be quick – an all-out fight surely wouldn’t lead to a pleasant outcome for her. But if she lets the women leave, they’ll be mindflayers by morning. She has to try. For Master Halsin, if not for her own moral compass.
“Would you sign Clive’s certificate?” Karlach asks Shadowheart, eying the quill in Lae’zel’s hand. “Someone ought to.”
“Gladly.” Shadowheart takes the quill from Lae’zel. “Does this mean I’m his co-parent?”
“Yeah! …If you wanna be.”
“If it means spending more time with you,” Shadowheart says shyly. Walking back from the now-locked doors, Nettie sees the half-elf draw a heart at the bottom of the certificate.
TAKE ME HOME
Finally, Guests conclude their in-store owlbear-making experience at the Take Me Home station.
“Thanks for visiting, you lot,” Nettie says, gripping the plastic sword in her pocket so hard she fears she might break it. “Like I said, tips aren’t mandatory, but they’re certainly appreciated.”
“So!” Karlach says, putting her hands on her hips. “How do we feel? Less inclined to kill each other?”
“Somewhat,” Shadowheart says, gently bumping her imp against Lae’zel’s dragon.
Lae’zel nods. “A successful venture. Thank you, Karlach.”
“Oh!” Nettie says, as if the idea is just now coming to her. “There’s something in the back – could I take one more moment of your time?”
The three women look at each other, undoubtedly tadpole-talking. “Can’t you bring it out here?” Karlach says quizzically.
“That would ruin the surprise,” Nettie says. Silvanus damn it all. She’d really tried to plan, too.
Lae’zel steps toward the doors; Nettie backs against them. “I don’t care for surprises,” Lae’zel says.
“Yes, that doesn’t surprise me.” What would Halsin suggest she do? Seeds sprout into predictable blooms, he’d once told her after one of Kagha’s nonsensical meltdowns. People, too, can be anticipated if you learn what they’re made from. “It’s a test,” Nettie blurts out.
“A test?” Shadowheart repeats. “Testing what?”
“Whose new furry friend is superior,” Nettie says, thinking of the three women’s obsession with proving themselves – their fabled happy endings waiting at the end of arduous trials of strength and skill. “Out of every group, there’s always a clear winner, determined by a device in the break room infused with druidic magic. Don’t you want to know which of your creations rises to the top?”
Another silence glance between the three of them. Those tadpoles must be working hard. “I guess we’ve got another few minutes to spare,” Karlach says. “Just enough time for Clive to be officially crowned Best Boy.”
“Unlikely,” Lae’zel says, brandishing her dragon. “Clive does not even wield a sword.”
“Lead on,” Shadowheart says, balancing her imp on her shoulder.
Nettie tries to take slow, steady breaths as she leads the group toward the back room; her bag should be just inside the door, the vial of wyvern poison mixed in with the fresh potion ingredients she’d gathered that afternoon.
It was a real shame the mindflayers had chosen these oddballs to tadpole, Nettie thinks as she readies the plastic sword. She almost could’ve seen the three of them making it work.