Kissing a Frog Part 1
Jolly/Jamjars ahead.
A Banjo-Kazooie fic that was written by TheShekinah over at DA. (who has now left) All credit for the fic goes to her.
Jolly Roger had begun to dread happy hour, mostly because it just wasn't very happy on the days when no customers turned up-- and those days were coming more and more frequently. On one particular winter afternoon when an unusually chill wind was blowing over the lagoon, Jolly walked up and down behind the bar, listlessly rubbing a rag over the already-shining wood.
"It's been like this for nearly a year," Jolly murmured, surveying the empty tavern, "since before Maggie left." Jolly's business partner Merry Maggie Malpass had quit the tavern some nine months ago, when the flow of customers had petered out and times had started to get hard. Jolly was past being bitter about that, but now he had other problems. Even Captain Blackeye had moved on to fairer ports.
Jolly poured himself a large mug of ginger beer and was just settling down for an evening of lonely self-pity when the tavern's door was flung open with a bang. Jolly jumped and looked up to see a short mole waddling in, looking around the tavern sharply. The brown furry creature was dressed in a dark green army uniform with pair of dark glasses perched on his long nose. Jolly frowned as the mole stalked toward the bar; he recognized the rodent as Sergeant Jamjars, who had visited the tavern before-- but not through the door.
"Well, you've got a lot of nerve," Jolly sniffed, "coming here after you tore up my floor two years ago!"
"Shaddup, punk," the mole growled even as he heaved himself up onto a bar stool. "I wouldn't have come here if I'd had anywhere else to go."
"What'll it be, then?" Supposing that he should be grateful to have a customer, Jolly leaned against the bar across from Jamjars and tried to look friendly.
Jamjars eyed him over through the barely-translucent lenses of his glasses. "What d'ya got besides that ginger stuff?"
"Erm, well. . . that's it, actually." Jolly shrugged. "But there's plenty of it."
Jamjars sighed and nodded. "Better than nothing, I guess."
Jolly turned his back on the mole to pick up a clean mug and fill it at the tap, glancing over his narrow shoulder at Jamjars as he worked. He was used to making conversation with his customers, but the mole was somewhat intimidating, and Jolly wasn't sure what to say to him. Finally as he gave Jamjars his drink, Jolly asked, "So where have you gotten yourself kicked out of, if you ended up coming here?"
"I didn't get kicked out, ya punk!" Jamjars snapped, then took a long draught from his mug. "I just got tired of it, s'all."
"Hmn." Jolly sat back down across from the mole and eyed him. "I wish more people got tired of their usual watering holes and came here."
Jamjars looked around and gave a sharp bark of a laugh, then slid his glasses down his nose to look at Jolly with the greenest eyes the frog had ever seen. "I see what ya mean. Slow night?"
"Erm. . . slow year is more like it," Jolly muttered, making himself look away from the entrancing eyes. "Things were good for a year or so after that cute teddy bear and his bird turned up and found my missing partner-- and after you ruined my best room's floor. But then everyone just started. . . disappearing." He shrugged. "Moving on."
"Eh." Jamjars looked down into his mug, his head so low that his nose nearly dunked into his ginger beer. "I know how that is." Before Jolly could probe that mysterious response, Jamjars looked up again and shoved his glasses back up, hiding his eyes. "You partner was that toad, right? I heard Banjo and Chicken Legs rescued her-- using moves I taught them."
Jolly didn't especially want to talk about Maggie, but he nodded curtly. "Yes, they found her for me." He decided to ignore Jamjars' rather transparent attempt to fish for praise, although he found it rather cute.
"So. Where is she?"
"You're certainly rude for a guest," Jolly harrumphed. "If you must know, she quit a few months ago."
"Left you, hunh?" Jamjars shook his head with a surprisingly angry grimace. "Typical."
"I. . . suppose you could call it that," said Jolly, wondering if Jamjars had just gotten dumped or something. As bossy as he is, I can certainly understand why! Aloud, he went on, "Maggie said it was because the customers were falling off-- that she was worried about her future and wanted more stability." He chuckled faintly. "It was a nice effort, but this is a small town-- everyone knows she ran off with another woman. Funny, even I had never had pegged her for a lesbian."
"A lesbian. . . ?" Jamjars frowned, then pulled his glasses off entirely. "You mean she really is a woman?"
Jolly gave a choked laugh of surprise. "Of course she's a woman! Whatever made you think otherwise?"
"You saw her every day, didn'tcha, punk?" Jamjars snickered a little. "Despite the lipstick and all, she ain't exactly feminine. Uh, no offense." He glanced at Jolly with a slightly embarrassed grimace. "Sorry, I shouldn't be talking about her that way if she's yer ex."
"My ex?" Jolly broke out into a fit of giggles. "My, I don't know what your source of information is, but it's certainly wrong! When I say Maggie was my partner, I mean she was my business partner. We'd been friends for a long time, and we started the tavern together, but we weren't ever lovers."
"Oh. Uh, well. . . ." Jamjars looked down and rubbed at the back of his short neck, apparently unnerved by the topic of conversation. "See, the word around was that you two were. . . together. And so naturally I assumed that she couldn't really be a woman."
Jolly gaped at him a moment, until Jamjars raised his striking eyes again to meet the frog's gaze. "I. . . I never!" Jolly finally croaked, angered no matter how cute Jamjars was. "You have to be the rudest rodent I've ever encountered-- and the nosiest!"
"Oh come on, punk," Jamjars snapped back, narrowing his eyes. "The way you act, you ain't fooling anyone! Everyone knows that yer. . . well. . . uh, ya know."
"That I'm what?" demanded Jolly.
"That you like other men," Jamjars finally grumbled as he turned back to his drink, seeming to have trouble getting out the words.
Jolly glared at him. "Yes, I do prefer men, and I don't care who knows it! If there's one thing I hate, it's people who pretend to be something they're not. And that's why I won't have you implying that Maggie is anything but honest! She wasn't ever my girlfriend, but she was my partner-- my friend."
"Okay, okay, don't get yer hat in a twist," muttered the mole. "I didn't mean to offend ya-- ya prissy little punk!"
"Hmph." Jolly resolutely turned his back on the infuriating mammal and went back to polishing the already-gleaming bar.
Jamjars was quiet a moment except for a slurping noise as he drank his ginger beer, but then he mumbled, "I guess I should be more respectful of a. . . er, lady, but I'm startin' to think they're all alike."
I might as well bite, Jolly thought, smirking a little to himself as his anger melted. He's dying for someone to listen to his sob story! The frog tried to ignore how interested he was in hearing Jamjars' gossip.
"Did one leave you too?" he asked as he set the polishing rag aside and turned back to Jamjars. To his surprise, the stocky mole shook his head.
"Nah, not me. It was my brother-- his wife." He sighed heavily and drained the last of his ginger beer before continuing. "Took the kids and left him. He got the house, so he's been trying to get me to move in with him, but. . . . ugh, I can't even stand his moping long enough to sit at the bar with him!" Jamjars fairly slammed his mug down on the bar, making Jolly wince and worry about replacing broken glassware.
"I'm sorry to hear it," Jolly ventured, at the same time thinking, So that's why the rodent rascal showed up here! "It's none of my business, but why did she leave?"
"Nnh." Jamjars pushed his mug from hand to hand, back and forth on the bar. "I don't know, really. Kid says it's 'cos he was always late for dinner."
Jolly blinked. "You're kidding."
"That's the official line," Jamjars shrugged. "I don't buy it myself-- she was always pretty controlling of him, but not that bad. There's probably something else goin' on, but I'm not gonna pry."
"You have no imagination," Jolly teased. "I'd have it out of him in five minutes-- there's probably another girl involved."
"Hmph, you don't know Bottles," snorted Jamjars. "He hasn't even talked to another girl since the buzzard, and that was almost two years ago."
"Oh well," Jolly sighed, deciding that he'd better not broach the idea of another man in Bottles' life. Who knew, maybe it was the "buzzard" after all? "Want another ginger beer, soldier?"
"That's sergeant, you amphibious punk," snapped Jamjars. "And no, one's plenty."
"You owe me a lot more business than that," Jolly glowered back, incensed once more at Jamjars' attitude, "for leaving that drafty silo in the middle of my bedroom! You should have paid me for repairs months ago!"
"Yer tryin' to squeeze blood from a stone, punk," replied Jamjars. He left a few notes on the counter for the beer, then leaned back defiantly on his stool. "That's all I've got."
"What, don't they pay sergeants anymore?" sneered Jolly-- although he scooped up the notes quickly enough. He felt a little bad about it when Jamjars mouth twisted awkwardly.
"Uh. . . well, there ain't much call for the army right now with the witch gone and all," the mole finally admitted. "I'm. . . in between jobs. Thinkin' of goin' into broadcasting or something."
"Oh, sorry." Jolly picked up Jamjars' mug and went to wash it as a distraction from his guilt at embarrassing the mole. "I. . . didn't realize."
"Yeah, well. I may hafta move in with Bottles if things don't get better." He sighed softly, and when Jolly turned, he was looking around the bar. "I guess we're all in the same boat, nowadays."
"Where do you live, anyway?" asked Jolly in an attempt to change the subject.
"Over near Spiral Mountain."
"Spiral Mountain?" Jolly repeated. "My, you are far from home. You came all this way looking for a bar?"
Jamjars shrugged again. "Sometimes ya gotta make some sacrifices."
Jolly glanced out the window at the sky, now already dark thanks to the early winter nights. It gave him an idea, one that would both assuage his guilt and give him a chance to get to know the intriguing little mammal better.
"It's far too late for you to go all the way back there tonight. Why don't you spend the night here?" Jolly suggested.
"H-hunh?" spluttered Jamjars. "It ain't late at all, punk!"
"Look, it's dark!" Jolly pointed. "Or can't you tell with those silly sunglasses on? Besides, it's awfully cold out there."
"Hmph, I can handle the cold-- and the dark!" retorted Jamjars, though he made no move to get off the bar stool.
"Of course you can," Jolly cooed, starting to see this as a personal challenge. "But you sound like you need a vacation-- just one night away from home will do wonders for you!"
"Oh, so yer a bartender and a psychologist, eh, punk?" grumbled the mole.
"Among other things," Jolly returned primly. He leaned over the bar towards Jamjars, looking him over carefully. He's really not bad-looking at all. . . in fact, it's kind of cute how short he is! He grinned down at the mole, who looked back up at him suspiciously.
"I told ya, I don't have any money." Jamjars pushed his sunglasses down his nose to regard Jolly through his green eyes. "I'd have to owe ya."
"Oh, I'll take credit in your case." Jolly reached out a long-fingered hand to pull off the glasses altogether, folding them up and setting them on the bar. "So, what'll it be, sergeant? I'll give you the best room in the house."
Jamjars hesitated, then finally, he nodded.
--
To be continued
A Banjo-Kazooie fic that was written by TheShekinah over at DA. (who has now left) All credit for the fic goes to her.
Jolly Roger had begun to dread happy hour, mostly because it just wasn't very happy on the days when no customers turned up-- and those days were coming more and more frequently. On one particular winter afternoon when an unusually chill wind was blowing over the lagoon, Jolly walked up and down behind the bar, listlessly rubbing a rag over the already-shining wood.
"It's been like this for nearly a year," Jolly murmured, surveying the empty tavern, "since before Maggie left." Jolly's business partner Merry Maggie Malpass had quit the tavern some nine months ago, when the flow of customers had petered out and times had started to get hard. Jolly was past being bitter about that, but now he had other problems. Even Captain Blackeye had moved on to fairer ports.
Jolly poured himself a large mug of ginger beer and was just settling down for an evening of lonely self-pity when the tavern's door was flung open with a bang. Jolly jumped and looked up to see a short mole waddling in, looking around the tavern sharply. The brown furry creature was dressed in a dark green army uniform with pair of dark glasses perched on his long nose. Jolly frowned as the mole stalked toward the bar; he recognized the rodent as Sergeant Jamjars, who had visited the tavern before-- but not through the door.
"Well, you've got a lot of nerve," Jolly sniffed, "coming here after you tore up my floor two years ago!"
"Shaddup, punk," the mole growled even as he heaved himself up onto a bar stool. "I wouldn't have come here if I'd had anywhere else to go."
"What'll it be, then?" Supposing that he should be grateful to have a customer, Jolly leaned against the bar across from Jamjars and tried to look friendly.
Jamjars eyed him over through the barely-translucent lenses of his glasses. "What d'ya got besides that ginger stuff?"
"Erm, well. . . that's it, actually." Jolly shrugged. "But there's plenty of it."
Jamjars sighed and nodded. "Better than nothing, I guess."
Jolly turned his back on the mole to pick up a clean mug and fill it at the tap, glancing over his narrow shoulder at Jamjars as he worked. He was used to making conversation with his customers, but the mole was somewhat intimidating, and Jolly wasn't sure what to say to him. Finally as he gave Jamjars his drink, Jolly asked, "So where have you gotten yourself kicked out of, if you ended up coming here?"
"I didn't get kicked out, ya punk!" Jamjars snapped, then took a long draught from his mug. "I just got tired of it, s'all."
"Hmn." Jolly sat back down across from the mole and eyed him. "I wish more people got tired of their usual watering holes and came here."
Jamjars looked around and gave a sharp bark of a laugh, then slid his glasses down his nose to look at Jolly with the greenest eyes the frog had ever seen. "I see what ya mean. Slow night?"
"Erm. . . slow year is more like it," Jolly muttered, making himself look away from the entrancing eyes. "Things were good for a year or so after that cute teddy bear and his bird turned up and found my missing partner-- and after you ruined my best room's floor. But then everyone just started. . . disappearing." He shrugged. "Moving on."
"Eh." Jamjars looked down into his mug, his head so low that his nose nearly dunked into his ginger beer. "I know how that is." Before Jolly could probe that mysterious response, Jamjars looked up again and shoved his glasses back up, hiding his eyes. "You partner was that toad, right? I heard Banjo and Chicken Legs rescued her-- using moves I taught them."
Jolly didn't especially want to talk about Maggie, but he nodded curtly. "Yes, they found her for me." He decided to ignore Jamjars' rather transparent attempt to fish for praise, although he found it rather cute.
"So. Where is she?"
"You're certainly rude for a guest," Jolly harrumphed. "If you must know, she quit a few months ago."
"Left you, hunh?" Jamjars shook his head with a surprisingly angry grimace. "Typical."
"I. . . suppose you could call it that," said Jolly, wondering if Jamjars had just gotten dumped or something. As bossy as he is, I can certainly understand why! Aloud, he went on, "Maggie said it was because the customers were falling off-- that she was worried about her future and wanted more stability." He chuckled faintly. "It was a nice effort, but this is a small town-- everyone knows she ran off with another woman. Funny, even I had never had pegged her for a lesbian."
"A lesbian. . . ?" Jamjars frowned, then pulled his glasses off entirely. "You mean she really is a woman?"
Jolly gave a choked laugh of surprise. "Of course she's a woman! Whatever made you think otherwise?"
"You saw her every day, didn'tcha, punk?" Jamjars snickered a little. "Despite the lipstick and all, she ain't exactly feminine. Uh, no offense." He glanced at Jolly with a slightly embarrassed grimace. "Sorry, I shouldn't be talking about her that way if she's yer ex."
"My ex?" Jolly broke out into a fit of giggles. "My, I don't know what your source of information is, but it's certainly wrong! When I say Maggie was my partner, I mean she was my business partner. We'd been friends for a long time, and we started the tavern together, but we weren't ever lovers."
"Oh. Uh, well. . . ." Jamjars looked down and rubbed at the back of his short neck, apparently unnerved by the topic of conversation. "See, the word around was that you two were. . . together. And so naturally I assumed that she couldn't really be a woman."
Jolly gaped at him a moment, until Jamjars raised his striking eyes again to meet the frog's gaze. "I. . . I never!" Jolly finally croaked, angered no matter how cute Jamjars was. "You have to be the rudest rodent I've ever encountered-- and the nosiest!"
"Oh come on, punk," Jamjars snapped back, narrowing his eyes. "The way you act, you ain't fooling anyone! Everyone knows that yer. . . well. . . uh, ya know."
"That I'm what?" demanded Jolly.
"That you like other men," Jamjars finally grumbled as he turned back to his drink, seeming to have trouble getting out the words.
Jolly glared at him. "Yes, I do prefer men, and I don't care who knows it! If there's one thing I hate, it's people who pretend to be something they're not. And that's why I won't have you implying that Maggie is anything but honest! She wasn't ever my girlfriend, but she was my partner-- my friend."
"Okay, okay, don't get yer hat in a twist," muttered the mole. "I didn't mean to offend ya-- ya prissy little punk!"
"Hmph." Jolly resolutely turned his back on the infuriating mammal and went back to polishing the already-gleaming bar.
Jamjars was quiet a moment except for a slurping noise as he drank his ginger beer, but then he mumbled, "I guess I should be more respectful of a. . . er, lady, but I'm startin' to think they're all alike."
I might as well bite, Jolly thought, smirking a little to himself as his anger melted. He's dying for someone to listen to his sob story! The frog tried to ignore how interested he was in hearing Jamjars' gossip.
"Did one leave you too?" he asked as he set the polishing rag aside and turned back to Jamjars. To his surprise, the stocky mole shook his head.
"Nah, not me. It was my brother-- his wife." He sighed heavily and drained the last of his ginger beer before continuing. "Took the kids and left him. He got the house, so he's been trying to get me to move in with him, but. . . . ugh, I can't even stand his moping long enough to sit at the bar with him!" Jamjars fairly slammed his mug down on the bar, making Jolly wince and worry about replacing broken glassware.
"I'm sorry to hear it," Jolly ventured, at the same time thinking, So that's why the rodent rascal showed up here! "It's none of my business, but why did she leave?"
"Nnh." Jamjars pushed his mug from hand to hand, back and forth on the bar. "I don't know, really. Kid says it's 'cos he was always late for dinner."
Jolly blinked. "You're kidding."
"That's the official line," Jamjars shrugged. "I don't buy it myself-- she was always pretty controlling of him, but not that bad. There's probably something else goin' on, but I'm not gonna pry."
"You have no imagination," Jolly teased. "I'd have it out of him in five minutes-- there's probably another girl involved."
"Hmph, you don't know Bottles," snorted Jamjars. "He hasn't even talked to another girl since the buzzard, and that was almost two years ago."
"Oh well," Jolly sighed, deciding that he'd better not broach the idea of another man in Bottles' life. Who knew, maybe it was the "buzzard" after all? "Want another ginger beer, soldier?"
"That's sergeant, you amphibious punk," snapped Jamjars. "And no, one's plenty."
"You owe me a lot more business than that," Jolly glowered back, incensed once more at Jamjars' attitude, "for leaving that drafty silo in the middle of my bedroom! You should have paid me for repairs months ago!"
"Yer tryin' to squeeze blood from a stone, punk," replied Jamjars. He left a few notes on the counter for the beer, then leaned back defiantly on his stool. "That's all I've got."
"What, don't they pay sergeants anymore?" sneered Jolly-- although he scooped up the notes quickly enough. He felt a little bad about it when Jamjars mouth twisted awkwardly.
"Uh. . . well, there ain't much call for the army right now with the witch gone and all," the mole finally admitted. "I'm. . . in between jobs. Thinkin' of goin' into broadcasting or something."
"Oh, sorry." Jolly picked up Jamjars' mug and went to wash it as a distraction from his guilt at embarrassing the mole. "I. . . didn't realize."
"Yeah, well. I may hafta move in with Bottles if things don't get better." He sighed softly, and when Jolly turned, he was looking around the bar. "I guess we're all in the same boat, nowadays."
"Where do you live, anyway?" asked Jolly in an attempt to change the subject.
"Over near Spiral Mountain."
"Spiral Mountain?" Jolly repeated. "My, you are far from home. You came all this way looking for a bar?"
Jamjars shrugged again. "Sometimes ya gotta make some sacrifices."
Jolly glanced out the window at the sky, now already dark thanks to the early winter nights. It gave him an idea, one that would both assuage his guilt and give him a chance to get to know the intriguing little mammal better.
"It's far too late for you to go all the way back there tonight. Why don't you spend the night here?" Jolly suggested.
"H-hunh?" spluttered Jamjars. "It ain't late at all, punk!"
"Look, it's dark!" Jolly pointed. "Or can't you tell with those silly sunglasses on? Besides, it's awfully cold out there."
"Hmph, I can handle the cold-- and the dark!" retorted Jamjars, though he made no move to get off the bar stool.
"Of course you can," Jolly cooed, starting to see this as a personal challenge. "But you sound like you need a vacation-- just one night away from home will do wonders for you!"
"Oh, so yer a bartender and a psychologist, eh, punk?" grumbled the mole.
"Among other things," Jolly returned primly. He leaned over the bar towards Jamjars, looking him over carefully. He's really not bad-looking at all. . . in fact, it's kind of cute how short he is! He grinned down at the mole, who looked back up at him suspiciously.
"I told ya, I don't have any money." Jamjars pushed his sunglasses down his nose to regard Jolly through his green eyes. "I'd have to owe ya."
"Oh, I'll take credit in your case." Jolly reached out a long-fingered hand to pull off the glasses altogether, folding them up and setting them on the bar. "So, what'll it be, sergeant? I'll give you the best room in the house."
Jamjars hesitated, then finally, he nodded.
--
To be continued