Hello and welcome to meet as pod episode nine. Well, folks, we
are back. I had to put the show on the back burner for a while
while I trained for a new day job. But now that I'm settling
into that, and getting back to a somewhat normal schedule, I got
the podcasting itch again. Plus, I have all these great stories
burning all on my Google Drive. These stories need to be heard.
So let's get to it. Our first story comes to us from AF
Grabbin AF grap and resides in Tennessee but not on purpose. He
spends his days either dealing with words and stories or
preparing for the zombie apocalypse he doubts will ever
actually come. AF is an avid wearer of shoes, not creating
characters to torture. He is the host and producer of the melting
podcast or writing variety show. The melting podcast is similar
to meet his pod. And if you like fiction and the craft of
writing, you should check it out. They have sent over a promo
for us to play. Stay tuned after our second story to hear it.
Links will be in the show notes. I'll be narrating for you
tonight. Without further ado, here's our first story.
I didn't brew it by AF Grabbin. It shouldn't have had bubbles.
That was the main problem. It was one of the more cryptic
things that had happened in the lab that day, which was saying
something. So I demonstrated it. Pot and all and defund
straighted to throw out the window. Yes, fine. I could have
just said I threw it out the window. But no, I'm not just
trying to sound smart. No, I'm not trying to insult your
intelligence Peacekeeper, I'm answering your first question.
Look, if I'd have known the URL of Steve Austin was passing by,
I wouldn't have thrown it. But those bubbles were frightening
me a little. I've never had a potion react that way. I know,
not all potions bubble. That's a common misconception put out by
the Yes. The people out to obliterate the fantastic. Poof.
They call themselves which is silly. If you asked me if they
want to destroy sorcerers they shouldn't emulate us by using
that silly acronym. No peacekeeper. I didn't. It was
four measures of black assault, not 14 Whoever took that
statement must have misheard me. Yes. Well, sometimes but no, I
hadn't realized, though. Come to think of it. I had heard the
Earl of ski Euston was a founding member. Is he the one
who was offering rewards for the sorcerer's heads on pikes peak?
Ah, well, that makes sense. Like I told the other man before I
panic, I had already thrown the bubbling concoction out the
window and gone back to reattempt the brewing when I
heard the scream. By the time I heard it, I already had the new
mini cauldron in my hands and we're starting the process over
again. The peppermint oil and Griffin skin flakes had just
begun to warm up. I had to stir it constantly, you see, and I
thought that might have been where I entered and the first
batch. So when I heard the scream I went to look but I kept
the cauldron with me so I could stir while I looked. And when I
reached the window to look down and see what the cause of the
commotion was, I slipped and the new cauldron tumbled out of my
hands. The Earl hadn't moved from beneath the window and in
fact he was looking up when the new concoction hit him spilled
everywhere from what I could see. Yes, I know Griffon skin
flakes are highly corrosive. I hadn't realized that eat through
such thick wool that quickly though. In seconds I noticed the
URL was naked, his clothes eaten completely away. And right as
the Queen's entourage passed by to horrible timing. Lucky for
him one of the soldier escorts offered his cloak to cover the
URL. I couldn't hear what they said. But the URLs face was
awfully read by them. No, I had no idea who was allergic to
peppermint. Oh, so he is dead than not from allergies I trust
I'm sure I can't think of why else you would be here
questioning me. I thought you were a customer when you came
knocking. Sure there's the threat of poof putting me out of
a job but I don't hold a grudge against the Earl himself. Not
really. He's a bit of a Rutan but he's always been civil to
me. I just don't do magic while he's around. Ah, so it wasn't
allergies. Spontaneous combustion, you don't say. And
the court physician says it was because of some mystical
chemical reaction. Did he say what he thought it might have
been? Really? Salt and toadstool tears. I heard they produced a
violent reaction, but I had no idea. Well, perhaps I did have a
little bit of an idea. Although I've heard black salt makes more
fire while green salt is more smoky. Of course, I have a
supply of toadstool tears. I'm not an amateur. And before you
ask no, the potion didn't have toadstool tears in it. But it
would take at least five measures of black salt to create
an explosion like that. My first potion only had four. No, I
already told you the first Peacekeeper misheard me there
weren't 14 measures of black salt in it. Only four.
And I don't think he wrote down the last thing I did either. He
didn't seem particularly gifted in the mental area. I was
shocked. He was able to write it all honestly. Fine, fine. Yes. I
suppose the fact he was covered and my black salt could have led
to the combustion end. And yes, it was my peppermint oil that
caused the allergic reaction. But do you really think I threw
that third cauldron of toadstool tears on him on purpose? Yes.
Oh, and do you think I tossed an extra measure of black salt into
that cauldron on purpose do I see? Okay, then. Yes, I'll go
quietly.
Our next story paying the tab which originally appeared in
daily science fiction in July 2011 comes to us from a fan
favorite Brian K. Lo. You remember Brian from episode five
of me this pot when we aired a full cast production of his
story dead guy walking. Brian has had published stories and
Orson Scott Card's intergalactic medicine show, daily science
fiction, Buzzy mag and more. Check out his work The Invisible
city, a swashbuckling adventure of Earth's distant future,
available now on amazon.com and other major platforms. He blogs
at Brian K low.wordpress.com. The links in the show notes.
I'll also be narrating this tale. Here's our second story
paying the tab by Brian K Lo. I guess it's true than Santos. All
things come to he who waits. I sniffed and wrapped a claw like
hand around my glass and took a healthy sip. It burned going
down and I inhaled and surprise. But they didn't say I'd have to
wait this long. I replied. I've been trying to kill you for
almost 45 years. I was having trouble catching my breath
better than you're used to? He asked, ignoring my comment.
There was a sense of affection and irony in his question, but I
suppose he could afford it. You're not drinking. His glass
was still full. His drink was blue over yellow with a little
umbrella in it. Most guys will be too self conscious to order
it but apparently not Bernard. it jives with what I knew of
him. He toyed with the glass. I was just remembering. We've had
a lot of good times. A lot of adventures. Only the fact my
fingers could barely grip kept me from smashing the glass in my
hand. You probably remember them better than I do. I said in a
controlled tone. 45 years might as well be 45 months to you.
Bernard nodded. True. I was running circles around hunters
when you were a baby in your mother's arms. Look at us now.
You're an old man whose fingers can't even hold a gun and I have
an age today. I glanced sideways at him speculating what? What's
on your mind? I thought I might as well ask him. I wasn't going
to get another chance. I had no illusions that he wasn't going
to kill me before that was over. Is it worth it? The wolf bite
the curse. The turning into a beast every month. I turned to
face him at on. The bartender who looked near retirement age
himself refilled my drink automatically while distancing
himself with professional indifference. Is mortality worth
all the people you've killed? Rather than answer he drained
his drink and signal for another. I was already fuzzy
around the edges but he could go at it until closing time and
feel nothing. He was silent. For a long time until his new drink
was sat down in front of him, it's what I do. It's not like I
have a choice. They call it a curse for a reason. I snorted.
Don't give me that. Don't bullshit an old man. You love
the chase. It's all a game do you used to hang around the same
town until somebody like me came looking for you? Then you either
leave your kill where we could find it or line wait for us. You
can blame the curves for what you did on a full moon, but not
for all the others. Bernard shrugged. We are what we are
about you. You and I have been dancing around each other for
almost half a century. But this is the first time we've ever
laid eyes on each other, let alone tucked. Where are you in
this business? My wife was killed by werewolf in San
Francisco in 1962. It was surprising how easily the words
came now. I lived in San Francisco in 1962. The way he
said it, you might almost believe he thought it was a
coincidence. So why did you put out the word meet me here old
man. You know how dangerous it is? My drink was gone. I raised
my hand to signal the bartender. He looked our way. alertly but
then I dropped my hand and shook my head. I think two is enough.
Yeah, that should do. I squinted at him but let it go. It didn't
matter. I wasn't even sure you'd come. I wanted to ask you a
favor. I'm done. I'm finished haunting. I wanted to tell you
that and asked you to leave me alone. I'm retiring. Yuen.
Bernard put his hand on my shoulder. Well, then, Son, your
luck, because I've already done you a favor. I stopped in here
earlier and persuaded our bartender to here to spike her
drinks. In about five minutes. You're gonna be too dizzy to
stand up. By the time we get to the car. You'll be out on your
feet. And by the time I cut your throat and leave you in the
woods, you won't feel a thing. Already he was helping keep me
up right? Don't worry. I'll cover your drinks. You can pay
me back later. I tried to keep my eyes focus as the bartender
swam into view. Here you go. Bernard said to him handing over
a bill Keep the change. Looking at him. Bernard did not notice
my face as I caught the eye of the bartender. The man who had
recruited me days ago to play my part. The man who had laced
Bernards fruity drinks the silver salts, the man whose name
unlike mine really was Santos. My tongue was too thick to
speak. Too bad. Although I'd lied about being Santos, I
hadn't lied about my wife. I wanted to tell the bastard I had
already paid him back everything that was owed.
I'd like to thank our senior producer Jay Wolf and producer
Andy Holman for their continued support. If you'd like to
support the show, monetarily, please visit meters
pod.com/donation We have a monthly support option as well
as one offs. We also accept Bitcoin. Here's the promo for
the melting podcast.
Correct. To plot points into a large mixing bowl, add one cup
oil of protagonist. Add a few drops of dialogue. Sift in three
tablespoons of antagonists, mints a few action scenes and
make sure fully incorporated. Sprinkle liberally with minor
characters. Stir vigorously, drizzle in warm buttery calm or
into a nine by 13. Notebook. Fake at 325 degrees. Done.
writings as easy as cooking, right? Yeah, right. Writing is
not easy, and you need a break. But if you're taking a break,
and you're not up for cooking either. Come hang out in the
disaster kitchen of the melting podcast, the melting podcast, a
writing variety show featuring a little of everything from
everyone everywhere. micro stories, interviews, flash
fiction stories back to back based on the same writing
prompt. And most importantly, bad food puns. Because food
makes everything better right? Come Dine at the melting
podcast.com Right
the music comes to us courtesy of odd Sprite. You can check out
their work at odd sprite.com midis pod is released under a
Creative Commons Attribution non commercial no derivatives
license. That means you can share it all you like just don't
change it or sell it. We'll see you next time folks.