Rynan never felt more free and exposed in his life...
"Are you ready, Mr. Yorksman?"
"Ready?" Rynan asked, looking down at his pink flesh, glowing like a lobster after a boil. "I don't think ready is the right word."
The man chuckled, placing his hand against his chest. His mustache twitched, "I believe you do have a point, young man."
Man? Rynan ears wiggled. He'd never been called a man before. By the end of the day he hoped there would be a gentle before the man.
"Let's go," he smirked.
They marched through the room of flesh, steam swirling around, being produced by women carrying pitchers of water, pouring over smoldering coals.
"How are they doing that?" Rynan asked, while a grayish-moist cloud swirled around the woman's pale skin, shielding her nudeness from all eyes.
"The eternal-searing stone," the man said, squeezing between chairs with lounging men, puffing on their cigars.
Rynan was less nimble, bumping each man as he passed, "my apologies," he said to their moans, groans, and threats. "What do you mean, eternal-searing?"
"Just as it sounds," the dapper man said. "The stone is a type of coal found in the volcanoes far to the west; never losing its heat."
"Further than Merry's point?"
"Oh, yes. Across the Westward Ocean."
Rynan scratched his head, always curious of what was beyond the borders of Texionya. He knew many tales from his own country, almost all of them Rynan believed. He had Boone to thank for that, and Ma Jean who'd tell the tales often; tales of the Great War of Nations and Lawless Pete. And the Barrador which was his personal favorite. Maybe because the Barrador reminded him much of himself.
The story goes, the Barrador was once a Dravodovian named Pedrios Marcaro who resided in Texionya, living in the city of Druahgo. He was the best bullfighter in the world. Killed many bulls in the ring until one day he was bested by the beast Barrador. Before Pedrios was slain, he used an alchemy spell called Binding Espírato, linking their spirits together, their souls bound as one; they became half man, half bull with the ability to speak to animals as well as man. Rynan always believed he was a descendent of the Dravodovian. I have to be, he'd often tell himself, how else could I hear the thought of beasts?
"This way," said the man, waving two fingers.
Rynan kept his eyes down as they passed around bodies, trying not to stare but his peepers seemed to have a curious mind of their own. He'd never seen so many odd and beautiful shapes. Women who were slender with thick hips and breast small as raisins and some large as melons. Then there were the larger women; tall as trees and girthy as a pig. Their breast caught his attention the most, floppy and sagging like two rotting fruits slamming together. Gross, he thought, grimacing at the sight.
When his eyes discovered their loins there was nothing there...only a bush of hair, a patch, or more bare skin. Weird... He shook his head, confused.
The men he took less interest in, but their bodies were anything from slender as twigs to a shape he couldn't quite describe: skinny and thick in all the wrong places. Some men were hairy as bears while others sat like sparkling statues, groomed to dapper perfection. That didn't bother him but their genitalia nearly had him blind; some thick as trunks while other were snails hiding away in their shells. By the time he reached the lounging area he was sick to his stomach.
"May I present to you, gentlemen, Mammoth Yorksman-grandson of Rudolph Yorksman."
Rynan hadn't heard his introduction. He was focused on a bowl of grapes sitting on a table between the men, standing hunched, apeish.
"Ehem," the dapper man gave the giant boy a nudge.
He jolted upright, arms at his side like an obedient soldier. "Much obliged," he said though not exactly certain why he said it.
His nose caught a smooth, soft, and feminie fragrance. Not one Rynan would expect to find on a man. He followed his nose, pointing downward on a pear-shaped man, with curled black chest hairs, slick black wavy hair, a curled mustache, and black beady eyes.
"Mammoth Yorksman?" the man sounded intrigued while he looked him over twice.
The four other men whispered between themselves and Rynan neither worried nor cared about their words. He felt exposed under their watch, looking at him like the be behind bars, a freak.
"Oh, yes," The mayor chuckled, "I remember. You're the one who invented the Turnbuckle, is that correct?"
Rynan raised a caterpillar thick eyebrow unsure how to answer,"Y-yes, Sir." He grinned uneven and slightly drooling then slurped.
The mayor waved a hand to an empty chair outside the circle. The gentlemen were hesitant, still mumbling, then spread outward allowing the dapper man to slide the chair behind Rynan's legs. He fell with a loud thump, sitting inside their circle.
"Your as big as an ox, yet have the face of boy," one chuckled.
"Weebert, all you see is brute strength or dull weakness in a man." He was grayer than the other man with a triangular-shaped patch of hair beneath his lower lip. "Yorksmen are much more than that, creating the Turnbuckle and all. I admire a thinking man. I Do say, how'd you do it, Chap?"
Rynan scratched his head, "do what?" He felt relieved that they were more interested in Turnbuckles than his exposed torso.
"Do what?" The man chirped with laughter, "Create the Turnbuckle, you silly man." He turned towards the other man, "Weebert, I do say, he's quite funny for a Huskman."
Huskman?
Rynan heard of the people in the mountains. The red men they called them. Their hair like fire and skin pale-pink. It was said that they worshiped the white witch: a woman who had the power to create fire out of snow. An alchemy only she knew.
"I'm no Huskman..."
"Sure you are," Weebert said with a chuckle. "All the Yorksmen were, isn't that right, Drajorik?"
"It certainly is. And why would you think not...You must know you lineage, do you not?"
"I do," Rynan was fooled by his question. "I'm a descendant of a great Dravodovian bull fighter.
Both man pet their V staches. Even the mayor perked up.
"Who?"
"The great Barrador," he said "I'm certain you've heard of him."
The two men looked at each other, speechless. After several seconds Weebert spoke, "You've descended from the Dracodovian God?"
The two men chuckled bringing tears to their eyes.
"He's much too much. A fine bit of company, indeed. One cocktail for Mr. Yorksmans." The man waved to bare maiden and she was off through the steam, to a bar near the back.
The two men lifted their own cocktails from the table and clanked their glasses together, taking a sip that'd barely fill the beak of a chicklet.
Weebert smiled, "you're much better company than scrooge here."
Rynan forgot that there was even a fourth man: Scrooge was a tall fellow, though sat hunched over, making him appear shorter than he really was. With a dour look across his face and droopy eyes, almost like he was part hound. Rynan couldn't decide if he was older or younger, or maybe somewhere in between. He didn't seem to notice their words.
After a few drinks that made Rynan's head spin wildly and talking about gentlemen stuff, or so he believed, he found himself alone with just the Mayor who looked at him curiously. Since he told him to have a seat The Mayor had been quiet, only listening which was odd Rynan thought because he'd always heard the man speaking. Never could really get him to shut up.
"How's your sister?" The Mayor asked.
Rynan spoke without dwelling on the question, "Leslie? She's asleep. Took us to a great place called Blazers...I mean Baxters." He chuckled, "forgot they'd change the name."
The mayor waited for him to realize what he had said; hands folded neatly, resting on his lap, smiling with his mustache though the boy just kept speaking. Rambling about a talking bear and a large man with a furred cape. There was one thing the Mayor realized quickly, Rynan couldn't tell a story very well.
"And then there were these men with bear heads, well, their heads weren't bear heads, but they had bear heads on their heads. Do you follow? So the bear asked me to warn the bear head tribesmen..." Rynan bottom lip trembled. "But I couldn't...I couldn't help her."
"All very fascinating. Tell me, has your sister spoke of being vice Mayor?"
"Vice Mayor?" He shook his head feeling dizzier than before. "Nope. You mean to tell me you're going to make her vice Mayor?"
The mayor was about to answer when he noticed Rynan's sunken eyes. The boy hadn't meant to stare, but he'd never seen a man without...genitals. Only flesh and hair. The mayor was a eunuch he realized.
In a bout of haste, the mayor crossed his legs. "Why don't you relax," He waved his hand and a woman with pale skin and tattoos of twisting veins and green lizards walked over.
"Howdy,"
"Shhhh," she hissed, sliding a finger up his arm; his skin tingled and she squeezed his shoulders, massaging soft and sensual.
"Make remember the good moments, and forget everything else," the Mayor stood to his feet. "You tell the Sheriff good things about me."
Rynan was closing his eyes, groaning like the whine and whimper of a mule, "I sure will, Mayor...I sure will..."