I think it’s about time we Gnomes established a listening post in this thread.
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Flashbang Exports is in the process of expanding our business to catering. From eating chocolate cookies that make you 1000% feel better, chocolate cake that has fireworks, to Pandarian cuisine.
That’s right pal! As Chef I’m hunting down all the recipes I can get my money grubbing hands on.
Always in need of more chefs. Roll a gob today and join Flashbang, or if green isn’t your color, you can always join Flashbang Associates.
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Catchpenny could hear a terrible screeching coming from the back room of the office. It sounded like a vulture having a fist fight with an oversized tarantula. After a moment, as she saw a disheveled mass of blue hair and green skin emerging through the door and rubbing its eyes, she realised it was just Flywheel.
“Ugh! Penny. I fell asleep at my desk and just had the most horrible dream. No, it was a NIGHTMARE! We had raised an army to dispense with that witch Jaina Proudmoore (and take all the glory for ourselves)…when we sprung a trap that turned us all into HIDEOUS GNOMES! I ran around for hours trying to find the reverse poison remedy, but instead all I found was a stash of gems and a huge pile of coins!”
Flywheel broke for a moment, sobbing into her hands.
“I thought the torture would never end! In my heart, all my lust for gold was gone, and not to mention ALL MY GADGETS WERE BROKE! This has to be a lesson for all of us, to always remember that goblin engineering is superior. I can’t imagine my daily life without rocket boots. I just…can’t!”
Flywheel’s voice became less erratic as she took some deep breaths and tried to calm down. “Phew, I’m glad that’s over. Someone get me some COFFEE!!”
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Catchpenny was taking out a batch of chocolate cookies when she heard Boss Flywheel scream.
A gnome nightmare? That could only mean one thing. Catchpenny looked around the kitchen and spied a brown paper wrapper stuffed in the trash bin.
"To Flashbang Exports
c/o Flywheel Mahoney
A special treat for your Boss. Enjoy the fish!
signed,
X"
Gnomes! who else could have given her boss Haunted Herring? No wonder she had nightmares. Eating that will scare you.
Catchpenny brewed up a cup of her Starfire Espresso along with a plate of chocolate cookies and placed them on the table in front of her boss.
“No wonder ya had nightmares Boss. I found this wrapper in the trash bin. Wasn’t Rakdurm lookin into something or other about a sulking stranger around the storage warehouses?”
Catchpenny had been traveling back and forth between Outland and Northrend these past several weeks trying to improve both her Outland and Northrend cooking. She had no idea who was in and out of the kitchen.
“I’ll be in the kitchen most of the day. If ya need anything. I’ll send for supplies and whip up a batch of one of my latest recipes I found.”
Catchpenny went back to the kitchen and looked at the vegetables she needed. That farm in Pandaria better have a new shipment of carrots, red blossom leeks, and striped melons coming soon.
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Flywheel snapped her fingers, and then pointed at Catchpenny to acknowledge her brilliant idea. “Rakdurm…that ORC! But I thought we could trust him? Oh, what if it was HIM that was skulkin’ around, and all that talk was just some clever ploy to deceive us?”
She began to pace, hands clasped behind her back. The wearing on the rug at her feet indicated that this behaviour had been performed many times before.
“What if Rakdurm is X? Who else could have left this mysterious brown paper wrapper? Someone who knew I was the boss, that’s who!”
Flywheel plucked a suspicious fishbone out of her sharply pointed teeth and examined it carefully. Unfortunately, it provided no further clues. She flicked it at the wall, but it missed and speared itself into one of Potlatch’s feathered hats.
“Hmm. We’re gonna have to bring this up at the next guild meeting. And if Rakdurm doesn’t show up we’ll KNOW he is guilty. Let’s keep this on the quiet now. We don’t want any GNOMES to know there has been a lil’ chaos in our ranks. I mean, they might take advantage of it. I know I would.”
“Oh, is this Starfire Expresso? AND cookies? What a doll. Here’s a raise. An extra 50 silvers per week, with a free ticket to Gallywix’s auditorium presentation on ‘How to make everyone love you and still get rich!’ It’s okay, thank me later. Cheers!”
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Mekgrim staggered into Flashbang Exports office. Bracing himself upon the doorframe with his eyes barely open, he made out some familiar voices and shapes. It had to be the boss and Catchpenny. Bringing his free hand to rub his eyes he ecstatically calls out, “Thank the greedy goblin. You’re both you!”
He turns to look at his bracing hand, “Green!!!” He lowers his hand, walks a bit further into the offices, and takes a knee. The sight of familiar goblins and smell of grease and burning oil brings him fully back to reality. “I’m not a gnome. I’m me! What in the sludge field was in that food? I had the worst nightmare. You wouldn’t believe what happened.” He shudders as the imagery flashes through his brain.
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A Goblin male casually walked into the office- although ‘walked’ might have been a bit of an overstatement. It was more like a drunken stupor, or he’d had a stroke earlier and had fled the medical tent. The most striking aspect, however, was the heavy, reeking stench of burnt coffee that hung about him as though he’d been sent through a washing machine that used coffee grounds rather than water.
Unbidden, he made his way toward the nearest refrigeration unit as though he were a regular, and promptly raided it for a drink that he seemed to pick at random. Even as he went, he kept muttering heretical gibberish and short quips such as, “Gnomish engineering is the future,” “We really should have an occupational health and safety council,” and “Worker’s unions bring higher degrees of productivity and profit.” Clearly, he’d seen something horrific, but it certainly had little to do with coffee. Well, hopefully- if coffee could be that terrifying, the world was probably about to be in a crisis.
His appearance, however, was the biggest clue. With little more than rags, he might have just come off the street, but his head had been shaved bald, there was a large incision along the crown of his head, his eyes were dilated, and there was a smell- besides the coffee- that just barely wafted off his breath. An alchemist would probably clue into it almost immediately as the scent of a very heavy tincture that involved gross amounts of sedative and narcotic. Was this fellow some kind of escaped prisoner? A conditioned spy? Was the Alliance involved somehow? Or was it…
Gnomes?
In any case, unless halted, he’d simply egress the office the way he came- drink and all- as if he’d just briefly visited a friend’s apartment that he was shamelessly bumming off of for sustenance.
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“What the fel is going on in my kitchen?! first Boss Flywheel and now Mekgrim?”
Catchpenny blows a strand of hair that has curled down out of her eyes and starts to mumble to herself about gnomes. Getting out a black marker and pad of paper begins to write a note. Satisfied, she gets some heavy duty tape and begins to layer the note to the door.
"IF YA AIN’T SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE KITCHEN
STAY OUT! THIS MEANS YOU!
P.S. DON’T MAKE ME GIVE YA LAST WEEK’S MAMOUTH.
YA KNOW HOW THAT ENDED! ![:nauseated_face:](https://d38bqls1q93fod.cloudfront.net/en/wow/images/emoji/twitter/nauseated_face.png?v=6" ":nauseated_face:")
Signed,
Chef Catchpenny"
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Flywheel strolled up to the kitchen door, thinking that some watermelon creme puffs might go down well as comfort food. It had been a rough night, what with all those nightmares about being turned into a gnome. As she spied Catchpenny’s note pinned to the door, she paused and read it aloud.
“Humph!” Flywheel snorted, somewhat amused by Catchpenny’s newfound authority. Pulling out a marker pen, she added a doodle stick figure picture of the angry chef in the top right corner, wearing a chef’s hat, apron, and brandishing a wooden spoon. For extra effect, she drew in Catchpenny’s hair as if she’d just stuck a fork in the toaster.
As Flywheel stepped back to admire her handiwork, she noticed a raggedy goblin scampering down the hallway in the other direction. She noticed that he was bald , and had a bad chemical smell about. She presumed he’d spent the week inside the explosive potions laboratory, so that was nothing unusual.
“Hey! Hey you.” Flywheel quipped, barking like a rottweiler. “What’s with this terrible garb ya wearing, pal? I expect all my employees to adhere to a strict dress code, and that means stylish, tailored, with a modest amount of bling! When was the last time ya looked in the mirror, buddy? Ya not fit for work. Besides, it’s not free haircuts day until next month!”
Flywheel waggled her finger at the strange man’s disappearing back, seeing if he would stop. She was unlikely to give chase however; as that might involve exertion. Instead, she pulled out her goblin radio, tuned it quickly to the correct frequency and pushed down a red transmission button. “Hello? Hello? I need uniforms department…pronto!”
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The ragged, wet-dog of a Goblin halted suddenly in the hallway, and slowly turned his head to peer vacant, wide, unblinking eyes back at Flywheel. He gave off a questioning groan when he seemed to notice Flywheel for the first time. In the distance, the lubricant in a nondescript machine had spontaneously worn too thin, resulting in a soft screeching noise that came at regular foreboding intervals. The atmosphere suddenly became tense.
Unfortunately, after a point, his head wouldn’t rotate further than his body would have allowed, despite the jerky effort, and the tension broke like a twig under a trike. This wasn’t the right genre for that. He’d only just managed to get the drink open, and wasted little time in downing half the contents of… whatever it was he’d picked out. Even he wasn’t sure, nor did he seem to have the mood to care. Getting a closer look at him, he must have been a vagrant, or maybe even a war veteran who’d taken one too many axes to the head. With the way his eyes were dilated and bloodshot, he must not have had the best sleeping arrangements either. That also happened to explain the reeking stench of coffee, and maybe even the way he twitched involuntarily. Maybe there was a rational explanation for his presence here?
When the word ‘work’ left Flywheel’s mouth, though, it was as if someone had lit a spark of life within a soulless cadaver. “Work!” he cried, as though he were just finding an deposit of gold in the middle of a desert when he was out of water. He fell to his knees and his now-forgotten drink tumbled to the side, creating a small oasis that likely stained. “A real job! Sweet, merciful, golden gods! I can’t stand working for that lady anymore- she’s crazy! C-can I start right now? I won’t even read the liability waivers before signing!”
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Flywheel waggled the marker pen at the strange-looking goblin, already forgetting her brief stint at artwork. The pen was now her weapon, and this suspicious individual…was her target. With eyes like homing missiles, she zoomed in, shaking the offensive object at him as though it might explode at any moment.
“Who ya callin’ crazy? Any employees on this premises work for ME. Even the ones that don’t get paid! So don’t try and pretend ya talkin’ about someone else. I know what ya up to, Mr…whatchimecallit. Mutiny! That’s what.” Flywheel paused mid-stride, appearing confused. “Wait…maybe there’s a technical term for usurpers in the manufacturing business. Over-achievers, that’s it!”
Flywheel had to stop and think a moment. She expected him to deny the allegations, perhaps even grovel at her feet. Many of the goblins in her crew pampered her ego, calling her words like ‘Boss’ and ‘Almighty’, but the smart employees could tell that she wasn’t entirely competent at her job. Flywheel might have been a good head executive, if she’d ever bothered to take note of the daily goings-on in the factory, but simply put… she didn’t. Because that would require effort, and energy, and other calorie-consuming activities she didn’t particularly enjoy. Why labor, when you could have a machine do the hard work for you?
So the truth was, she didn’t know this fellow from a bar of soap. But she wasn’t about to let onto that fact either.
After these thoughts were done processing, she finally noticed that the man had fallen onto the ground, and was spilling a very expensive can of limited-edition diet ka’ja cola all over her zhevra-patterned tasseled hallway rug. Outraged, she stomped over to him, flinging the marker pen backwards over her shoulder like a projectile.
“Ya big mook!” Flywheel hollared as she swooped in, attempting to wrench the rug out from underneath him. The puddle of soft drink sprayed everywhere, including all over the two goblins. The low-calorie sugary beads clung to Flywheel’s hair like dew drops - one even dangled off the tip of her nose. Unfortunately, due to her lack of musculature, the rug had only moved a few inches. In her current position, she was close enough to this odd goblin that he could have punched her in the face if he so desired. Some goblins had an instinct for survival, a sixth sense of danger - but not Flywheel.
It was only now, at this close proximity, that she noticed his bloodshot eyes and his involuntary twitching. Was he undead? What was that horrible smell? She DEFINITELY did not recall employing any goblin this loathsome. Maybe she did, but she forgot she had? Well. It wouldn’t be professional to admit any kind of slip on her behalf.
"C-can I start right now? I won’t even read the liability waivers before signing!”
Having given up on saving the rug, Flywheel stood up and flicked a blue pigtail as she brushed the dirt and spots of liquid from her robes. She listened to his proposal. If there was one thing that Flywheel WAS good at, it was improvisation.
“Uuuh, right. You’re that new guy for the safety inspections section. I was expectin’ ya half an hour ago! Stop gawking and get to work! Take this rug to the laundry immediately, and get a new uniform while ya there! Once ya finished ya shift, I’ll have ya 75-page contract all good to go. No payouts for accidental explosions or limb amputations. It’s all in the fine print. Now GET!”
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For that eternity of a moment that both Flywheel and himself were in close proximity, there was a pure expression of conflict etched into the face of the Goblin. What on earth could he have been thinking then? The moment, however, passed without any incident, and he seemed to relax more than he had been the entire time he’d been wandering around aimlessly within the building. Instead, his expression shifted one-eighty, as though he was debating confessing to some heinous crime or giving away an entire plan. He certainly seemed tempted by it, but the orders from up on high ensured the moment passed by once more. He couldn’t afford the hesitation with such an opportunity glaring right in front of him.
He leapt to his feet almost immediately, and tumbled over to one side and hit the wall before falling on his face. He didn’t even pause to groan before he heaved himself up slightly more carefully this time, and managed to remain upright long enough to snap a crisp, if haphazard, salute. “Ma’am! Yes, ma’am!” he croaked out, and it was suddenly crystal clear the fellow must have been a military veteran, even as drunk as his movements were. He might have even been a sapper: those fellows had a rather high mortality rate, and those that survived didn’t generally lead very productive lives afterward either.
He promptly rolled up the dirty rug, took it underarm, and made to hastily leave. Of course, he ended up turning the corner in the wrong direction of wherever the laundry room actually was, and having hit a dead-end, went the other direction across the hallway instead. He obviously had no idea of the actual layout of the building, but no one could fault him for his oddly zealous enthusiasm. He did, unfortunately, opt to leave the spilled drink on the ground where it ended up.
He’d eventually find his way to the laundry room on his own, but the expression of a man with a conflict-of-interest was etched almost permanently into his features as he went. Whatever the prior situation was, working for a Goblin lady he didn’t know seemed infinitely better than the crazy lady that had conscripted him to come here in the first place…
…But would that be the end of it?
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Mekgrim strolled through the offices, completely ignoring Flywheel as she chased and screamed at a goblin who looked like they’ve seen better days. Obviously she was having another of Flywheel’s fanatical rants that confirms what most of the supervisors think, she doesn’t really know what’s going on around here… He snickered to himself as he turned the corner and entered Chef Catchpenny’s kitchen. He passed a poorly drawn piece of artwork, but could make out Catchpenny’s writing. “Last week’s Mammoth? Has to be better than last nights cookies. I’ll chance it.”
Entering the kitchen he could see art and office supplies scattered across the counters. “Catchpenny, what was in those cookies last night?” He wipes the sweat from his face, and throws his arms open wide. “Did you spike them with Felweed or what? Ugghh. The worst thoughts ran through my mind. One minute I was a gnome, later I was back at Booty Bay… Wait, that last part happened.” Nodding in agreement with what he just said.
“Do ya have any of last week’s Mammoth layin’ about? It’s got to be ripe now?”
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Catchpenny heard the door open and whirled around, fork held high above her head ready to aim at the next gob head that came within throwing distance when she saw Mekgrim standing in front of her.
“Ya been drinkin that frog venom juice they sell at Wyvern’s Tail again Mek? Ya asked me to whip up a batch for those peons lookin for some statue in case they get outta line. Might explain why ya was in Booty Bay and didn’t remember. I put that on the door to scare off anyone thinkin 'bout getting in to my kitchen.”
Catchpenny looks at Mekgrim and grins. “I got what ya need pal. Sit down, and tell me all 'bout these peons from the warehouse. I’ll make ya some noodles.”
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Eddy strode into the Flashbang offices like a peacock with ruffled feathers. Pompous and colorful, jingling and sparkling from just the right amount of bling. He didn’t even bother to let the door slam behind him. He forced it.
“Penny?” His voice echoed above the squelching squeaks of an over-used and over-abused flanged washing machine. “I hope you tossed out doze cookies from last night. Dey was rotten as a Forsaken’s dirty drawers.”
He paused at the kitchen door. A discussion came from beyond. Mekgrim and Catchpenny and last week’s mammoth. Fel almighty! What was she cooking up now? He pushed the door open and marched inside. The pair might have turned his way, maybe even said something. He didn’t hear. His gaze fell upon a fishbone sticking from the feather of his favorite hat. The favorite he wasn’t currently wearing.
His hand thrust toward the feather. “Who tried to kill my hat?”
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Flywheel strode into the kitchen, looking like she’d just spent 80 days at sea. Her hair was glistening with specks of moisture, and the expression on her face was one of a merchant that had spent 2 days in a closet with a barrel of rotten fish.
“Alright. I want to know what’s going on here. First I get fed Haunted Herring and have nightmares about being turned into a gnome. Then some zombie goblin shows up looking like a Lost Isles convict escapee, wandering MY halls, and ruining my BEST rug! Has there been a security breach?! Penny, has there been any sign of Rakdurm? I want to know who has been skulking about our storage facility, because if my nose is correct, these mathematics all add up to something!”
Finishing her declaration, Flywheel gave a wave and a wink to Potlatch and Megrim, noticing that the former was clutching one of his feathered adornments.
“Nice hat. I like the fishbone. Very decorative. Ain’t it a bit of a safety hazard though? Ya could poke someone’s eye out with that thing!”
Spotting a chair, Flywheel plonked herself into it and pulled out her goblin radio again. “Uniforms department? I’m still waitin’ on that report. Let me know if ya see some strange, drunk-lookin’ fella near the laundry. I want three security cameras trained on him at all times!”
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The moment Boss Flywheel strode into the kitchen, Catchpenny was stuffing her face with tasty cupcakes. As Chef, she had to be the official “taste tester” after all. Chunks of cupcake flew out of her mouth at seeing her boss.
“Not since the last meeting Boss when I offered him a taste of my Kul Tiramisu. Surprised the Orc hasn’t answered the goblin radio yet. Wasn’t he trainin that new guy who thinks himself a captain?”
Catchpenny opens her compact mirror to check for any food that might have gotten stuck in between her pointy teeth.
With an escapee wandering the halls, the kitchen, Penny’s Kitchen, she needed around the clock security. Giving a high pitch clicking noise, her “pet” Silithid dashed into the kitchen. Ordering the insect to stay in front of the kitchen letting no one in.
Turning back to the stove, Catchpenny spooned up more noodles, placed them in a bowl for Mekgrim, Potlach, and now her Boss. Things around here just got hotter and it wasn’t the extra fire oil she put in the noodles either.
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A decorative fishbone? Eddy frowned at his hat feather. What did Boss Mahoney know about fashion anyway? He plucked the bone from the purple plume and flicked it into the corner, narrowly missing a pot of bubbling noodles.
A high-pitched clicking noise turned his attention toward the door. A slithid. Eddy shuddered. Bugs said the most horrid things, especially those like Penny’s companion. How could she ignore the images of world domination? Maybe hers didn’t speak? He shrugged and offered a wide grin and thanks for the bowl of noodles.
“So, did yous guys have nightmares 'bout bein a Gnome?” He shoveled the noddles into his mouth and slurped up the loose, dangling ends. That was the best part.
Fire! Eddy’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open. FIRE! WATER; NOW!
His chair tumbled as he dove for a pitcher of water. One decorated with pineapples, of course. He guzzled , water drizzled down his chin, his glare found Penny.
“What the fel did you put in this?”
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“Thanks Penny.” Mekgrim begins using his hands to feed himself. With a mouthful he leans toward Catchpenny, swallows, and whispers, “shhhh, I don’t know where you heard about them or that… item, but it’s on the down low.” He rocks his head back, angled over his shoulder towards where Flywheel is sitting, and winks at Catchpenny. This is indicative that the boss nor the others are in the loop.
Suddenly their dialogue is disrupted by a sudden scream of Fire and Water, and then a crash as Potlatch grabs a pitcher.
Mekgrim turns in the direction of the noise, “Potlatch!” He begins laughing, “That’s not fire water you mook. That’s just water. The fire water is kept behind the bar.”
Returning to his plate, he acts as if he’s eating. Head looking down, he peers straight up at Catchpenny. Quietly he begins whispering again, “You know too much.” Instinctively grabbing the knife next to his bowl and dragging it along the table, “There’s only one thing to do.” He lays the knife back down. “I’ll have to bring you in on it.”
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“Yeah?” Eddy leaned against the counter, breathing hard after finishing the pitcher of water. He turned toward Mekgrim “You get promoted to bartender, pal?”
His mouth sizzled. It was as if the hot spices were part of his tongue. What sort of monster puts lava in noodles? His gaze once again found the Slithid. Bet the bug told her to do it. He nodded. Yeah, dats it. Hateful things.
“Anyways. What gives with the Gnomes?”
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