Fezzik sniffed the rusty bicycle frame. It smelled faintly of summer heat and young laughter and ice cream. It had been owned once and brought joy to its owner. There were stronger scents laden over these: dust and neglect and abandonment. Nodding, Fezzik produced tools to strip the useful parts from the frame. He would let the scrap-hunters cut down the frame itself. The pedals, chains, and sundry other bits and bobs that went into the rucksack at his feet were far more valuable. Each could be reconditioned almost to new by the magical craft of his kind. They clinked against several other bits of salvage: a pump from an air conditioner, a mismatched set of spoons, broken padlocks, and many others.
He muttered a muffling cantrip under his breath to stop the rucksack's contents from revealing its contents. Fezzik did not fear being accosted by another of his kind. Goblins did not steal. To do so from any being--even the bigwalkers--was against their very nature. Goblins could only take that which was abandoned or rejected. If the bicycle had been stolen by another bigwalker, even touching it with intent to take from it would have left his fingers a seared mess. No, Fezzik did not cast the silencing charm out of fear of rivals. It was to avoid the attentions of the bigwalkers.
Fezzik crept carefully through the alleys of the bigwalker city cloaked in shadow and silence. He stayed well out of sight of the bigwalkers wandering outside on the well-lit streets that no goblin would dare to skulk about. His gaze lingered on the trio of laughing bigwalker gorls in brief clothing revealing tantalizing curves and luscious flesh. Such a healthy, beautiful gorl would be a prize indeed for Fezzik. He stiffened within his breeches at the thought of a gorl at his mercy. But they were not for him to take. There were many gorls in the alleys who had the right smell. Yet they were usually too diseased or riddled with addictions to justify taking them. There were many among his kind who were not so discriminating. But goblincraft could not restore a gorl as they could a bit of machinery or jewelery.
Popping open a grate, he clambered down utility corridors and storm sewers to a bigwalker underground train tunnel. There was a curve here. Fezzik waited patiently until one of the trains rattled past. He leapt abroad between two cars as it slowed down to negotiate the curve. These bigwalker trains served goblins as quick transport out of sight of prying eyes to the mouths of the caverns leading to the Downbelow. It was technically stealing to ride one since they paid no fares. Goblins evaded the restriction by doing volunteer repairs on the track and trains as compensation.
Fezzik settled down for the long ride out to the bigwalker city limits to the last station where he could go Downbelow. It had been a profitable expedition. As an artisan, he could have far more easily found the parts in the market square. It would have been less expensive to do so. Not paying the traders the higher prices for their wares was offset by the coin he lost by not working in his workshop. Still, he enjoyed coming topsides. The bigwalkers were interesting. It was fun to sample the dregs of the drinks and food they tossed out. And...there was always a possibility...
Fezzik took in a deep breath.
Sorrow.
Abandonment.
Beauty.
The scent was overwhelming. Trembling, Fezzik lifted his head above the edge of the window in the door at the end of the subway car. There was a gorl not too far away on the other side slumped in misery in a seat. She sipped from a silver flask she brought to her lips. Hair that Fezzik sniffed was dyed black and purple fell around her face. The goblin took in the lovely form cinched into a tight red corset that uplifted firm breasts barely hidden by a black lace chemise worn underneath. Long legs covered in black fishnet stocks emerging from a black and red tartan miniskirt were sprawled before her. Knee-length boots of black leather clung tightly to the calves. Her head tipped back against the window behind her. Fezzik gasped. There was too much make up smeared by tears on her features. But they were lovely: soft cheeks and bright blue eyes and kissable lips.
A beautiful, abandoned gorl.
Fezzik fumbled with a certain pocket in his rucksack for tools he had always hoped to use.
+++++
Holly let the flask slip from her fingers. It clattered to the floor of the subway car. A stream of cheap rum dribbled out onto the grimy floor. Happy birthday eighteenth birthday, Holly. What a start to the rest of your life. She could still see Dan and Nancy screwing each other in the bed that she had thought only she had shared with her boyfriend. The screaming match had ended up with Dan tossing her out of his apartment without even letting her get her purse. All she had on her was the drinking flask she had picked up from an antique shop because it looked cool. She could probably pawn it for a few bucks. She could have pawned the gold chain Dan had bought her. Only she had tossed it down a storm drain as she stumbled in tears outside of Dan's apartment building.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror opposite her. God, they were right. She was just some Goth poseur with a cheap dye job over her blonde hair. She had abandoned her peaches-and-cream cheerleader look two years ago when she had gotten the call about mom and dad. Things had spun out after that. School hadn't seemed that important. Her fundie Aunt Margaret who had bulled her way into Holly's life with her bullshit about church and atoning for her state of sin had ended up locking Holly out of a house that she suspected that she had inherited from her parents. Getting a lawyer seemed so futile. She had ended up riding the couches of acquaintances in the club scene until meeting Dan six months ago. Life had seemed to perk up. She had even been thinking of trying for her GED.
