The Good, the Bad, and the Elf

Chapter 7: The Good, the Bad, and the Elf

"Why are we hiding in this coffee shop?" asked the muse, sipping her espresso and watching the sun try to poke through the morning clouds.

"Rodney says the girls planned revenge, but it got out of control."

"Rodney?" asked the muse.

"That's me," squeaked the office-elf.

"Of course, revenge got out of control," said the muse. She smiled. "I sense a good plot coming."

"Yes, but the deus ex machina caffeinarum is coming for us," said Biff.

"Aren't you scared?" asked Snorri.

She snorted. "Who do you think created the deus ex whatevers?"

"At any rate, in return for his warning, we told Rodney we'd produce a tale for him," said Biff, addressing the muse. "We could use your help."

The sky outside darkened, the air inside the shop crackled, and the espresso in the muse's cup exploded into steam. "You loaned me out? I honored your invocation only to find you have no use for me?"

"No, no," said Snorri. "It's not like that, not like that at all. We have great use for you. We need you. Without you, words would fail us on an elf-story, and we would be shamed by not keeping our agreement."

"I see. I misunderstood," said the muse. "You would expend part of a divine gift to pay a debt. That is honorable."

Biff signaled the waiter to replace the muse's scorched and cracked cup with an undamaged one of the house specialty.

"We can toss a few elf-ideas around and see where they lead us," said Biff. He looked at Rodney. "What themes do elves use?"

"Elves no write."

"Let's try another tack," said Snorri turning to the elf. "What would you like to see in the story?"

Rodney grinned. "Elf is hero."

The elf grinned again. "Sex."

"We'll let that last one percolate," said Biff. "Meanwhile, our illustrious muse has been most inspirational, and we need to get a load of good stuff down on paper."

A smile played across her face as she sipped an inspired latte.

The stranger came out of the night like a prophet whose word was the gun and whose soul was on its way to a place unthinkable. His form filled the door to The Horse and The Duck before crossing the room to where the bartender automatically placed a bottle of the finest and a shot glass on the counter. His coal-black eyes flecked with red swept the occupants before settling on the poker game in the corner.

"Mind if I join?"

"Haven't seen you before, stranger," said the one with a star.

"Biff, Buffalo Biff."

"Wyatt Elf," said the one with the star.

"Doc Severson," said the gent on his left.

"They call me 'Calamity Cho,'" said the lady on his right.

"Lovely name for a lovely lady," said Biff, to the approval of the others at the table.

"Welcome to Runestone," said Calamity.

After several rounds, Biff noticed that Calamity Cho was trying to keep her eyes off the sheriff and she was playing poorly, as if distracted. He wondered how Wyatt could ignore such a noble and obviously interested lady.

"Seen the schoolmarm, today?" Wyatt asked the Doc.

"Passed by her outside the General Store and said 'Howdy,'" replied the Doc.

After several rounds, the sheriff was dealing when he glanced at the saloon door and momentarily paused. Biff inched his hand unobtrusively closer to his six-speller. He moved his head as if to stretch his neck but could only see that a primly dressed lady with a decent figure had entered and was walking toward them.

She stopped behind the Doc and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Care for some luck?" she asked.

Biff noticed that Wyatt gave a small start, and then Biff noticed that the lady was looking at him. He stood. "Buffalo Biff, ma'am."

She shook his hand. "Pansy Pinkerton." She gave the stranger a sharp look. "It's a time of change and trouble. Some types can make a lot of money. Or get themselves killed."

"Just here for a friendly game of poker, ma'am," said Biff.

"Are you telling us that you're just passing through?" asked Pansy.

"Now, Pansy," said Doc. "There's already enough turmoil in town without you interrupting our evening game."

"Lots of turmoil," said Calamity and Wyatt together.

"And out there, somewhere, is Chief Sitting Riddle," said Doc Severson.

"I never could figure that bloke out," said Pansy Pinkerton.

After a number of rounds in which Wyatt and Calamity played poorly and Miss Pinkerton beamed with the luck she was bringing Doc, Biff announced he had had a long day, gathered his winnings, and walked across the street to the hotel.

The next morning, Biff was sipping his coffee and waiting for his ham and eggs when Doc appeared.

"I think I riled up Miss Pansy last night," said Biff. "And isn't the sheriff going to join us."

"Miss Pansy is always getting riled, and Wyatt had to ride out early to settle some trouble between miners up in Death Hallow Gulch," said Doc as the waitress brought Biff's breakfast and Doc's usual.

Doc cracked his first egg, dropped it in the first shot glass of whiskey, and tossed it down. He paused to enjoy the morning eye-opener and repeated the performance.

"Efficient," said Biff, "and it contains all the nutrients known to sustain life." He took in some ham and biscuit and sipped some coffee. "Death Hallow Gulch doesn't sound all that propitious."

Doc nodded in agreement with both statements. "I would have ridden with him, but I'm due down south, fowls and babies. Death Hallow Gulch is easy to find. Head West on the road out of town for two miles until you come to an abandoned shed with a dry water pump. Turn right and follow the trail. It's another three miles to the gulch."

"Might take a look," said Biff, finishing his coffee.

While he was saddling his horse, Biff saw Pansy Pinkerton talking to Doc. She intercepted Biff on his way out of the stable.

"Care for some lemonade, stranger?" she asked. Several buttons of her blouse had been undone, and the top of two mounds were visible. "Mite cooler inside," she said, "although it could get warmer." She propped her boot on the water trough to check its lacing. There was a flash of calf and white thigh.

"Maybe later, ma'am."

Four hours later, Biff rode back into town leading the sheriff who was slumped in the saddle. Calamity ran screaming out of the saloon, yelled at people to get a stretcher, and had Wyatt carried to her room. She insisted that Biff ride south and get the Doc. Biff fought off as unworthy the thought that he would almost be willing to change places with Wyatt.

Calamity, Doc, and Biff tended the sheriff the next three days. Biff was amused that the Doc and the dedicated lady regarded him as nearly an errand boy to send to the store for supplies. He was purchasing some bandages and canned peaches when a severe lady approached him and said, "I hear we have you to thank for saving our sheriff."

"Twern't nothing ma'am," he said.

She gave him a full, shiny eyed look. "To hear some people say it, you merely rode out and brought him back, but anyone with sense knows that outlaws don't just bushwhack a law officer and then leave without finishing him off." She paused. "Are you that good that you can rescue someone from an ambush and remain unharmed?"

"You give me too much credit, ma'am," he said.

"I don't think I give you enough. I'm the local school teacher, by the way, and if no one else here appreciates what you've done, I certainly do."

"You surely are the best looking school teacher I've ever seen," he said.

She gave him a warm smile. "Well, don't make yourself a stranger. Stop by, and help me clean the blackboards."

After that, the schoolmarm always smiled and waved to Biff whenever she saw him in the streets.

Biff was in the room when the sheriff regained consciousness and asked, "Pansy?"

"No, it's me, Biff."

The sheriff slowly nodded in recognition. Feeling as forlorn as a coyote without a moon, Biff thought about Cho and lamented how emotions played every man false.

The next day, Wyatt was well enough to talk, and Calamity, Doc, and Biff were asking if he had recognized any of the ambushers. He hadn't.

"The turmoil and trouble has begun," observed Doc.

"And out there, somewhere, is Chief Sitting Riddle," said Wyatt.

"I never could figure that bloke out," said Calamity.

"Wait till friends see this," exclaimed Rodney. "All other elves jealous." He grabbed the manuscript and vanished before the others could say anything.

"Time for a break," said Biff. He looked at the clock. "It's either late tea or early lunch."

The muse looked disappointed. "Aeschylus would take us to a wine shop after a morning of writing. Of course, he got up much earlier. But he was still a favorite among the muses."

"All we've had is coffee," said Snorri. "I'm twitching. Do you think we can find one of those non-wizard places that serve those fancy late breakfasts?"

Biff and Snorri noticed the latte in the muses's cup was boiling.

"Just one more round," pleaded Biff. "Then we can go to my place. I stocked it with some burnt-wine, grapes, olives, and goat cheese."

"I think your bad climate dampens the human spirit," mused the muse.

Pansy Pinkerton knew she was evil and had come to terms with it, which allowed her a great freedom of action. Now, by come to terms with it, we do not imply there was an epic inner struggle for her soul, nor do we imply there was any soaring moment of epiphany, but merely a realization and acceptance combining the subjective and objective parts of her being. As unexpected as it may be to the more innocent sojourner, the major manifestation of this freedom was a natural sereneness, kindness, and sense of responsibility, and this must not be mistaken for the ruse of honey drawing more flies than vinegar, but must be interpreted as a soul in cohesion flowing through life. In an effort to describe her accurately, we mustn't over-interpret this and assume she was all sweetness and light. Oh, no, she had a finely developed and strict code of ethics, and those whose crudeness or cruelty caught her eye certainly received an earful. Thus it was that she was universally admired by the better part of society who knew that adherence to rules was the best hope of mankind.

Surely, only those blessed with harmonious evil manage great achievements with the aplomb that we often believe only the idle rich have. She required the two men working in the Pinkerton Security and Arms station to be well turned out at all times. Arriving at work unshaven or with less than crisp linen earned a scolding and the directive to return to the boarding house and not return until presentable. Of course, this placed a burden on the laundry services of the boarding house, but so strict and admired were her standards that the staff of the boarding house took delight in the extra effort. Were they not contributing to the much-desired spread of civilization? Even when running contraband to the surrounding tribes, the rule was that the two men be sober, somber, and polite. The natives – not being the uncouth savages of popular prejudice, but being possessed of nobility equal to the common lot of men everywhere – thought the repeating rifles they received to be more powerful because of this.

(The comment about the nobility of the natives seemed sophisticated when it first popped into mind, but mature reflection reveals it to be lame. Nevertheless, it will not be struck out but left to remind the reader that the writer tries to be clever but fails. This attempt at honesty is pathetic, but it, too, will be left in.)

So deeply was harmoniousness ingrained in Pansy's being that even in what is often termed the most private of moments, she held true to her lofty standards even though in these later, and more enlightened times, not all of her criteria would withstand scrutiny, but certainly she deserves to be judged according to the views of her day. The modern lady and gentlemen might disapprove that she regarded an elf as an animated peg, but she would certainly regard the current practice of the woman herself moving the instrument of pleasure as uncouth. The properly bred member of the fair sex would no more condone self-stimulation than she would agree to couple on the steps of the village church. Yes, she adhered that strongly to her ethical standards, which can make one doubt that we have improved despite our conceited opinion that our views are better. Moreover, in accordance and in harmony with her public self – how little we manage that these decadent days – the elf had to appear freshly bathed and bearing a flower. Many an hour was spent by many an elf finding a blossom in that harsh climate, but it need not be spectacular. No matter how humble the offering, it received its own vase between two candles on the mantel in the bedroom. With the honored flower and the subtle candles conveying grace, her integrated being then enjoyed the most luxurious and passionate evening possible before the invention of batteries.

In contrast, Doc Severson did not accept his mean-spiritedness, which made him cantankerous. He took some pride in the fact that he was a good medical man and had saved horses and men that others would have lost. If he saw this assessment, however, he would snort, yes, snort, at the praise, and his first impulse would be to scratch it out, but he would not, you see. He would leave it to let everyone know he was guilty of vanity, and he would nurture this secret sin as it gnawed at him.

In his own assessment of himself, he regarded his persona as critical to a fault, but he did not regard this as a fault, not in the least, since he was equally critical of himself. He sometimes thought others did not acknowledge this and failed to see that he was a fair man struggling to fit into the society of others. And possibly, the key to his temperament lay within this secret judgment, which he would never admit to others and only to himself when his resolve faltered and the pain of flagrant misunderstanding provided the strength to contend. He kept silent, you see, out of spite, even when he thought a confession might make him acceptable to a kindred soul. Indeed, when others criticized him, usually for a misperceived superior attitude, he made no reply because he silently acknowledged that the fault must be his although he was thereafter cold to his accuser for some period since he himself knew of the fault and assumed it obvious to others which meant his accuser had only pointed it out to him in order to attack and ridicule him for not being like others which pained him greatly since he would have given almost anything to be able to join the camaraderie of his fellows and he regarded the jibes at his being an outsider the major reason for his avoiding others.

Naturally, his relationship with the fair sex was terrible, or it would have been terrible if he had had any at all. He noted every defect a woman had while simultaneously placing her on a pedestal as a creature above him, which is the opposite of the correct strategy of ignoring her defects while treating her in a casual manner, which can be done with style only if the male has a cavalier attitude toward all females. Paradoxically, this increased the ardor of the few women who were genuinely attracted to him. And, yes, there were such ladies, for he was superior in many ways, and is there not someone for everyone? Their augmented attraction for him did no good, however, since his past experience had taught him that he was not attractive to the opposite sex, and by the time he began to wonder if the girl really was interested and had decided to be receptive, she had given up and his decision to let himself be attracted broke his heart once again.

The schoolmarm, even though criticism was essential to her profession and often turned upon herself and hence able to grasp his nature, was halfway to despair over him. She had immediately noticed him upon her arrival, and soon tiring of the empty conversation of the other townsfolk, had engaged him in discussions about his work and background. But perplexity had set in since she was certain he was as interested in her as she was in him, but he made no move to seek her company. She had begun to wonder if she had faults that only his higher level of discernment could fathom, and this caused considerable distress as she concluded that those she thought worthy were the very types to reject her – a distress that was turning to anger and criticism as she reminded herself that no one was perfect and she was willing to overlook his lapses in sociability. But if anyone had put the problem to her, she would glare, yes, glare, at her would-be benefactor, for she had no intention of appearing so weak as to acknowledge a rejection, and then the interloper would be treated to her cold anger although it would be with a breaking heart since she yearned to return the kindness.

"What's this shit?" asked Harmony.

The editor recalled her course in Comparative Literature and shuddered. "It's Snorri Seversonovich Vodkaninski, and he thinks his liver is diseased."

"Are you telling me the muse confused the cowboys and the Cossacks?" asked Harmony.

The editor nodded. "I have this image of Buffalo Biff thundering across the Ukrainian wheat fields with a Winchester repeating rifle in one hand and a bottle of Smirnov Clear-Eye in the other."

"We thought it was bad when the boys were tanked on cappuccino," said Harmony.

What a burden an honest chronicler assumes when she sets out to relate the tale of a virtuous girl who, when fighting against all odds, did occasionally perform those deeds which some believe better untold even though readers not given to unfair judgment would regard these questionable acts as evidence of the depths of despair to which our heroine had been driven and would acknowledge that these seemingly sordid episodes when viewed in proper perspective illuminate the position to which our doughty lady has climbed by her own efforts and then justly view the writer as one attempting to capture the height, depth, and breadth of the human experience as she takes up the story of our distraught schoolmarm strolling through the lonely night with her will torn between inner urges and outer constraint – the desire to weep openly about her mistreatment but restrained by a sense of decorum and the desire to confront the man who has slighted her but bound by her profession not to enter the tavern where he sits brooding – and it is in this state of mind that she met Wyatt Elf on patrol, who, trying not to think about Pansy Pinkerton at this very moment in the tavern fawning over Doc Severson, literally walked into the preoccupied schoolmarm with enough force to give them both bruises, whereupon our heroine, out of both politeness and a desire for company, invited the sheriff to her cabin for a spot of tea and crumpets, which, unhinged by his own misery, he accepted with a gallant air that did lighten the heart of a fair maiden who escorted him to her dwelling, offered him a chair, put on the pot, set out the crumpets, and settled herself on the sofa as she asked him socially about his coming to this town while slowly and reluctantly admitting that she was coming to see her move here as a noble gesture that was exacting too high a price from a constitution not conditioned to rough society, and so moving was her plight that the elf could not help but move to the sofa in an effort to comfort the lady who was doing so much to bring civilization to this god-forsaken outpost, and this comforting did include his embracing the girl to which she responded with so grateful a hug that she pulled him into her lap where he was able to embrace her more comfortably as silent tears rolled down her cheeks while he made the soothing noises that any decent individual would provide, and it was during this interlude of commiserating that, despite his desperate attempts at virtue, he could not but notice the soft and firm mounds against his chest and the promise of the shapely lap under him, and this caused him to began a gentle nuzzle, which, in her current depressed state, was soothing enough to our noble scholar that she sighed, wrapped her arms around him, and began a slow weave with her torso that brushed her hardening nipples against the accommodating companion in her lap until her breathing became noticeable and her head tilted back and she did not really notice that his hands were now cupping her breasts as her breathing became heavier, and she did not mind as his lips brushed over her blouse-covered nipples and his fingers undid the buttons, and she was moaning with the pleasure of it as he removed her bra and fastened upon her lovely breasts with a wild hunger until an ache built that caused her to guide his hand down to the juncture of her thighs where she felt his hand continue of his own volition down her wool covered leg and under her skirt whereupon he slid off her lap in order to inch his fingers up the inside of her knees, which were slowly parting as she arranged herself on the sofa so that he could lift the lady's skirt and let her present him with a view of the soft and warm flesh of her thighs which she let him spread until his eyes fairly popped out as her legs opened to reveal a smooth expanse of satin filled to roundness by a human female and his nostrils flared as he caught the whiff of her female need which sent him so quickly beyond rational control that she barely registered his quick removal of her impeding garment and an equally quick placement of his member at her heretofore secret place although she heard his, "Is Missy ready?" which she was not able to answer because the shock of his impaling the most unsightly and most compelling entity ever viewed by elf caused her to arch her back and moan with heretofore unknown desire, a desire she knew was caused by the Devil himself, that nevertheless grew and grew as she wiggled for the earnest elf between her legs until it seemed that no mortal frame could bear this hellish bliss, and indeed, none could, and as the male of the hour gave full measure to a species of female notorious for both its ugliness and its enthusiasm, she fulfilled all expectations with a busyness that belayed her normal stern demeanor and grew in intensity while her benefactor reveled in the fulsome feel of the grotesque-looking creature whose soft body strained against his in the throes of copulation until the ill-favored but still irresistible lady gave the lust-graced elf a smile as helpless as her writhing, which was followed in quick succession by her becoming slimy slick, her crying out, and her rhythmic clenching as her spirit soared, her world blanked out, and her ravisher grinned from ear to ear as he savored the much-sought convulsions of a human witch until the reek of her surrender filled his nostrils, and that, as generations of elves could have told him, caused his small body, wedged between her ample thighs, to jerk uncontrollably and have its moment deep in the luscious abundance of the now doe-eyed scholar, and their combined release oozed out of the schoolmarm's sin, flowed over the schoolmarm's still-contracting pucker, and ran like the river to Hades down the crack of the schoolmarm's bum as two tattered, lonely, wild individuals made the wet spot of lust on a tattered sofa in a lonely cabin on the wild frontier.