Petty's Pretty Bad Day

Petty's Pretty Bad Day.




It was midday in Forumshire. The sun was up, the grass was green, but it was too early for the Duck n' Muck to be open therefore Petty slept deep in his barrel under the oak tree on the hill.

-BANG-BANG-BANG-

Petty snorted in his sleep and rolled over pulling his unravelled plaid kilt over his head and ignoring the hammering on his front door.

-BANG-BANG-BANG-

Went the fist on the door. Petty turned again and instinctively clutched his sporran close.

-BANG-BANG-BANG-

Petty opened an eye and glanced at the clock. Petty's clock was self made. It was a strategically placed skylight which, when the sun was high enough
would send a shaft of light through the dusty air, two-thirds of the way up the curved wall there was a porridge stain, when the shaft of
light fell on the porridge stain it was Opening Time.
The shaft of light was not even above the skirting yet. Petty growled in disgust and determinedly scrunched his eyes closed.

-BANG-BANG-BANG-

Petty covered his ears.

Silence.

Petty sighed satisfied and uncovered his ears and snuggled back down for several more hours solid sleep.
With a sudden frightening whoosh his front door, at considerable speed hurtled across the room and and smashed into splinters against the far wall.
Petty sat bolt upright and reached for the bottle of buckie he always kept by the bedside.
A figure loomed into the room. It filled the entire space despite being hunched almost double. Petty stared at it, it was a troll, complete with a wispy
lichen beard.
“Mr Muirdoch wants to see you” the troll declared in a rumble like a land slide in a quarry.
“Ahh,” Petty replied, and stared distractedly at his shattered door, “I'll pop along soon as possible,” he said eventually and took another gulp of buckie.
“No soon,” the troll said then frowned and added , “no possible.”
“Ah,” Petty remarked again and put the bottle to his lips. The troll extended a slab-like hand and took the bottle, which shattered in his grip.
“And no buckie,” the Troll growled, “Mr Muirdock said so.”
“Fine!” Petty declared throwing his arms up in the air, “I'll come now.”
He expertly arranged his plaid out on the bed, lay in it, rolled in it, wrapped it and tucked it and was in the twinkling of an eye dressed in his everyday
kilt. Although his bed was now missing a blanket.
The troll, who was to large to turn round in the barrel backed slowly out putting his elbow through one wall and one foot through the floor in the process.

There was a carriage waiting outside. It was one of Pure Publications. You could tell because it been subtly painted with the words Daily Purist down the sides in bright red lettering and on the back of the carriage was a busty suggestive Hobbit Lass of the Day with the words, 'Make sure
you're getting it 5 times a week. I do!” in a speech bubble.
A grumpy looking dwarf was driving it. He glanced at Petty then immediately turned away as if Petty was something the horses might leave behind.
“In. Now,” the troll ordered.

Petty sighed. He glanced up at the horribly bright midday sun, squinting into it andcursing under his breath. Across the field below the oak tree was the
Duck n' Much and he had a strong longing for his own specially shaped barstool and the friendly aroma of buckie, sawdust and the squawking of duckie-drinkers. But even if he could go there now he would only find it closed. Midday, when had he last seen it without coming at it from the other side?
“Now!” the troll warned him.
“I'm going,” Pettym retorted angrily and clambered into the carriage which drove him
away.

Pure Publications Forumshire office was on the slope below the Tower of Lore. It was along building and its roof was adorned with a huge News of the Pure billboard which could easily be seen from Needlehole in the valley below.
The carriage pulled up outside and Petty exited. He adjusted his kilt, patted his sporran for luck and as soon as the carriage had driven off broke out his emergency buckie supply from within a tartan fold and took a long swig. Then he entered.
The receptionist was called Susanna, although ten years ago she was Sexy Susy Hobbit Lass of the Day. Now she was mainly a mass of bleached hair, too much red lipstick and so much eye shadow she resembled a panda with a bad hangover who had lost a fight with Popeye. She looked up as Petty
entered and rang a small hand bell. A hatch opened in the wall behind her revealing what looked like a dumb waiter. There was a dwarf in it.
“Petty Tyrant is here to see you Mr Muirdock,” the receptionist said to the dwarf who nodded in response.

The hatch slammed closed and was followed by the clanking, squeaking sound of something being winched along a rope.
Petty followed the noise as it moved along behind the wall and eventually, after what seemed an eternity, into the adjacent room.
There was the now muffled tinkle of a bell again and just audible through the wall the dwarf saying “Petty Tyrant is here to see you Mr Muirdock,” there
was a reply to this but it was such a deep rumbling voice Petty could not pick it up.
The clanking resumed again and moved slowly along behind the wall. Petty tapped his foot impatiently. Eventually the hatch shot back up.
“I am just about to have lunch. Tell Petty he will have to wait here until I send for him.”
The hatch closed again and once more the clanking resumed as the dwarf moved slowly back to Mr Muirdocks office.
The receptionist turned to Petty, “Mr Muirdock is having his lunch,” she began but Petty waved a hand at her, “I'm drunk not deaf,” he said.
Petty glanced about, there were no seats except the one the receptionist was in and she looked like she was settled in for the day. So he waited. And waited.
Eventually a huge roar came from the office, “Send him in!”
The receptionist, who was doing her nails, nearly leapt out of her skin. She glanced at the hatch and then said in apologetic tone to Petty, “That's the
problem with the latest office technology. It is always breaking down. Go right in.”

Petty opened the door to Mr Muirdocks office, just in time to see the troll sweep a pile of something from his desk top and into the drawer, which he slammed shut. Petty thought he saw a small helmet among it. Mr Muirdock was wearing a bib.
Petty glanced over at the wall, there was an open hatch there but no sign of the dwarf.
Petty gulped and stepped in closing the door behind himself.

To be continued.......(I hope)

I'm extremely fond of the self made clock. Brilliant.

Only drawback is I sleep in on cloudy days.

specially shaped barstool

I think I know roughly (though I hope it is smooth) what it looks like. Does it have a bucket underneath?

Mrs Figg once posted a picture of it I seem to recall- it has every eventually accounted for I can assure you and is suitably adapted for the comfort of kilt wearers.

I like the intercom/lunch! And I thought MY job was bad!

Yes its amazing dwarves keep coming to work for him-must be very grim down pits!

Pettys Bar Stool

*shudder* Yeah, that's the one.

And then what happened, Petty?

Petty tried to ignore the itching in his fists as he stood before the desk of Bear Muirdock. Of course fighting Mr Muirdock was pointless on two counts. Firstly he was a troll, made of stone and it would be like trying to punch a small mountian to death. And secondly, and far more worryingly to Petty's mind, there was Pure Publications team of Lawyers who seemed to materialise out of nowhere when needed. A fight Petty could deal with, that was on his terms, lawyers were not so.
Indeed offices were not really Petty's thing and he was uncomfortable in this one, made all the more uncomfortable because Mr Muirdock was just staring at him saying nothing. Petty despretly felt the need for a strong drink.
Eventually Mr Muirdock opened a drawer in his desk and took out an issue of the News of the Pure. He put is very delibretly on the desk and said, "Do you know what this is?"
Petty frowned, was this a trick question? But before he could answer Mr Muirdock took a second edition out and put in with the first, "Or this one?" he rumbled at Petty. He took another issue out, and another, and another. "Well?"
"Um," Petty said swallowing, "they are editions of the News of the Pure."
"Yes they are," Mr Muirdock confirmed, he piucked up the top one, "last weeks," he said and suddenly and violently threw it at Petty, "the week befores" he went on doing the same with the next issue, "and the week before that."
Petty got a sinking feeling as Mr Muirdock went on through the pile throwing each issue at Petty until Petty was knee deep in copy. Had it really been that long since he made a paper delivery?
"You have not made a single delivery in months Petty!" Mr Muirdock roared, "What am I paying you for?"
"It's not my fault," Petty grumbled, "I was very, very drunk."
"Well," Mr muirdock grinned at him, his diamond teeth glinting disconcertingly, "you will be glad to hear I have a solution to that."
"Oh?" Petty said full of suspicion.
"Yes," Mr muirdock said rising up from his chair and blocking out the light from the window behind so he became a dark looming silhoutte, "YOU ARE FIRED!"
Mr Muirdock roared this with such volume and verve that Petty was blown backwards out the office door. He ended up in a pile next to the reception desk with his kilt over his head and his white arse in the air.
The receptionest leant over her desk, her years as a Hobbit Lass of the Day ensuring she was unfazed by the sight of an unpturned Scotshobbit, and handed a dazed Petty a piece of paper.
"What's this?" Petty asked dazed and unable to focus on it.
"Your P45," the secretary said, "and I am obliged to tell you if you ever set foot on Pure Publication Premises again Mr Muirdock will invite you in for lunch, immediatly," she smiled at him, "have a nice day!"
Petty staggered out into the horribly bright day. His head was pounding and he was out of the only job he had and worse, his main supply of buckie was now gone.
"Bugger" he murmered under his breath and set off to see if the Duck and Muck was open yet.
It was not. Petty decided the best thing to do would be to go back to bed and hope the world was a better place when he woke up again. Unfortuntely it was not.
He had barely snuggled back down in his barrel (after first making a temporary new front door out of some old buckie crates) when there was a thumping on his barrel.
"Bugger off!" Petty shouted with real emotion. The hammering continued. Petty cursed under his breath and got out of bed and answered the door. Murdo Burrows, proprieter of the Duck n' Muck was on his door step, there were several other hobbits with him.
"Are you open?" Petty asked eagerly.
"No," Murdo replied in serious tone, "its about your bar tab."
"Ahh," Petty sighed.
"Sorry Petty, but I heard you'd been fired and I need the bills paid," Murdo explained.
"Fine", Petty said resigned, "where's the bill?"
"Lads," Murdo said to the other hobbits who one by one came forward and handed a thick , heavy sheath of bills to Petty until they were teetering in his arms so high Petty could no longer be seen behind them.
"You must be kidding," Petty said from behind the wobbling stack.
"No," Murdo replied, "I am pretty sure I am not. And I am not kidding when I say you have 24 hours to pay or else either."
"24 hours!" Petty exclaimed.
"24" Murdo confirmed, "Right lads, back to the cellars," Murdo said to his entrouge and they trooped off.
Petty wobbled about trying not to drop the huge pile of bills.
A trumper rang out.
"Oh no!" Petty thought, there was only one resident of Forumshire whose arrival was announced with a fanfare.
"Petty!" Queen Tinuviel angrily yelled at him.
Petty peered round from behind the pile. Queen Tinuviel with a face like fury was standing before him.
"What is this?" Tinuviel demanded and waved to Beren who was behind her. Beren was holding up, several feet off the ground a squirming kilted figure with a moustache like a sick walrus who was trying to kick and lash out at Beren, who was oblivious to the attempted blows.
"That," Petty said, "Is my Paw your Majesty."
"And what was he doing in my Rasberry Juice Cellar?" the Queen demanded.
"Paw!" Petty said.
"Git this big yin aff me Petty lad," Paw called, "If he hudnae got me unawares wi yoin big dug a wi o' hud the bastard."
"I thought you had gone back to Scotsdale, ages ago?" Petty demanded of his Paw.
"He has been hiding in my cellar," Tinuviel went on, "and he has drunk almost all my Rasberry Juice supply," she added coldly.
"Bugger," Petty commented.
"You are supposed to be the Keeper of Her Majesties Rasberry Juice Petty," Tinuviel went on.
"I am," Petty insisited.
"Not any longer," Tinuviel replied.
"What?" But your maj," Petty pleaded.
"No, my mind is made up Petty, you have had more than one chance, and lets face it this is not the first time my rasberry juice has gone missing. Enough is enough. I'm sorry Petty but you are fired," she said and turned to Beren, "leave, that, here," she said indicating Paw whom Beren dumped unceremonously next to Petty.
The Queen put her fingers to her mouth and let out a piercing whislte and an ornate carriage with white horses drove up. Beren and the Queen got in, Petty heard Tin say, "still enough time to get to the golf course. Drive on."
And the carriage pulled away in a cloud of dust leaving Petty, his pile of bills and Paw, still drunk on the Queens buckie.
"Bugger," said Petty.

Two revenue streams lost in one day! I hope Petty has a few others left. He seems resourceful, in a way.

Newspapers, bar bills and Paw! Oh my!

It's just the start believe me!