Do Humans Dream of Organic Sheep (With Lame Names)? (1)
1020 Words
The hooded figure doesn't seem to be bothered too much by the consecutive defeats of the monsters they have created.
“All I wanted was to have some fun – fun that can't be found anywhere else. But I do feel bad that some people were harmed indirectly by my actions. But yeah... there will come a time when this thing will bring out its fullest power, and... oh, why am I waxing poetic? It's time for me to create another monster.”
She then pics up a piece of discarded wool, and inches it close to the object.
The energy easily gets absorbed into the wool; and seconds later, the wool becomes a humanoid sheep creature with a rough manly voice that certainly doesn't match the sounds actual sheep usually make.
“Baaah! I'm alive! But I don't have a name yet.”
The hooded figure replies...
“Well then... shall I call you Sheepbrat?”
“Sh-Sheepbrat?! That's a lame name! I very much prefer the name 'Sheep Overlord'!”
“Ah, whatever. I really don't care what I should call you. Just have your fun.”
“Very much obliged, my master. Baaahhh!”
The sheep monster then goes on his rampage (well, not quite), as he tries his best to look amicable to everyone. He wants them to think he's just doing some cosplay.
At Riperton Shopping Street, where small mom-and-pop shops dot its length, the sheep monster is walking casually, trying to blend in naturally with the crowd.
He gets so many stares from people due to his appearance, but he doesn't mind them.
He gets so many whispers from onlookers behind his back, but he doesn't mind them.
But what he minds are apparent targets against his appearance and identity.
Right in front of a shop that just closed its doors due to its owner filing for bankruptcy...
...the monster now hears his very first insult squarely aimed at him.
“Whoa! Look at how that sheep-looking hobo dresses! He looks so dorky!”
This comes from a teenager who fits the classic 90s definition of a punk – with a backwards baseball cap and a face full of “attitude” and all.
The monster angrily answers back: “Don't you call me a hobo!”
He then summons a small cloud from his horns, and the cloud instantly hovers over the teen punk's head.
From the cloud, lightning immediately zaps the poor boy down, knocking him unconscious.
This makes the other people in the immediately area scared and running for their lives.
The monster appeals them, “Come on! Don't run away! I won't harm you unless you insult me!”
But his plea falls on deaf hears; and thus Sheepbrat (the name he doesn't want) sets off for another place in Rain Marginal, continuing on his quest in zapping hapless citizens who would dare insult his name and looks.
It's time once more for lunch.
For a change of pace, I won't go to the usual cafe.
Instead, I will be heading towards a popular pizza parlor in Riperton Shopping Street.
The parlor is the go-to place for authentic Italian dishes; and it helps that several generations of an Italian-American family run the place for years.
And before one asks, Berenice recommended the place to me yesterday.
It's a nine-minute walk from the hospital to the shopping street, but savoring the atmosphere is worth the trouble.
Despite the number of customers going in and out of the pizza parlor, I am able to place my order and get it in just ten minutes. I even get to see how the cooks freshly prepare the pizza from behind a glass window.
“Here you go, sir. One personal-sized Siciliana pizza and cold-pressed apple juice.”
Now I'm savoring authentic Italian cooking.
Pizza in itself has many variants due to the wave of Italian immigrants in different cities in the United States. Soon, non-Italians came to learn the techniques from their Italian brethren and put their own spin on things. Thus, we get to enjoy things such as deep-dish pizza today.
In just five minutes, I've consumed everything on the plate and the glass, feeling full and satisfied.
I pay the tab, tip the waiter, and prepare myself for my return to the hospital when...
“Hey! I've witnessed some boy being zapped by someone dressed like a sheep a few hours ago. Heard the boy insulted him and thus that guy retaliated.”
“And what happened to the boy?”
“Well, he was immediately sent to the hospital, and I hear he got away with some minor burns.”
“But still...”
What? Yet another monster attack? I'd better ask around.
In the midst of talking to townspeople for some nice juicy info I need, I can spot some other people who are covered in soot and are broadcasting their pain, languishing on the sidewalks.
“That sheep creature... ugh... doesn't deserve any respect! He's just plain too sensitive about his looks!”
“Nooo! I shouldn't have slandered him like that! He can press charges in court since I have the money to pay him off... but he can't charge me with freakin' electricity that hurts my loins! Owie!”
After five minutes of asking the people here in this shopping street, I'm able to pinpoint his next location: Alphonse Forest, which is barely outside Rain Marginal's eastern border.
Here, I come face to face with the humanoid sheep monster.
He starts to speak.
“Oh! It's another human! Well, can you please bow down to my glorious appearance to yours truly, The Sheep Overlord?”
“The Sheep Overlord? Really? You look more like a lowly grunt aspiring to get into the highest rank in no time. You deserve the name Sheepbrat instead. Or should I call you Sheeppunk? Or maybe even... uh... Sheepanzee?”
I can sense his blood boiling as he proclaims...
“AAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!!! You took two of the greatest insults known to me, and packed it into one! This is it! I'm zapping you with great prejudice. Open wide, fool!”
He charges his horns with lightning, forms the lightning into a small cloud, then leads the cloud onto me, hoping to zap me with thousands of volts from the cloud itself.
But I certainly know better.
“Gjallarhorn... Gjallar-form!”
I transform once more while dodging, which leads him to quip the following.
“Ah-ha! You're a cheating fool, trying to hide your pathetic skin underneath that armor!”
“Hmph. You like to insult others, but you don't want to be insulted? If that isn't hypocrisy, then what is?”
“Enough talk! Have at you!”
- Writer
