A Primer's Tale As Told By A Biter

[Primer]

A Primer's Tale As Told By A Biter

Red Rover

Why hello there, chap. Why don’t you come over here and have a seat right over there on that-there stool. I’d let you borrow the bigger, rocking one beside it, but that’s my favorite, and you can’t sit there, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, you’ll be given refreshments while we share some wig-wag together. What’s wig-wag? Don’t worry about it. I’ll have my daughter bring us some cocoa. You like rolanberries, by chance? You do? Good! I like a listener who’s got taste in fine delicacies. Liffa, dearie? Can you make my friend and I two hot cocoas and provide a big fat bowl of rolanberries? Excellent.

 

Now, where do I start?

 

You’re here, because you’re a curious smiley, ain’t you? You wanna know my tag? Well guess what? I’m not telling. You like this blue coat I’m wearing? It’s fancy, ain’t it? Got it from a mercantile gig I did on a far-off island full of apple-chasers, leatherheads, and quite the jammiest bits of jam. Real honey-peelers who could warm up the juices in a biter something FIERCE, if you know what I mean, and I hope you do. T’was a good time, let me tell you. Me and Liffa, here? We made a gad of jingles before we gave those taffers the laugh and took off on a boat together. Don’t fret, it wasn't a slippery business we were running. Let’s just say we just got really bored of mapping the wasteland, so we charted a new path.

 

But enough about me. You know who this chump is?

 

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That little fiery-haired fellow is Ashcliffe Westerloft. A ‘Primer’. Oh, you’ve heard of him, have you? Maybe you happened to see him making a lot of howling with his ‘killers’ and ‘killas’, shouting to folks he calls ‘joes’ and ‘janes’. And they say that I’ve got wonky words dancing on the tip of my tongue. I met this wonky lubberwort some time ago, and let me tell you something. Have you ever gotten so sick and sodding tired of listening to a berk that you just wanted to smack him a few times with a bat? That’s how most would feel if they shared a few ticks around this eccentric, vertically-challenged fellow.

 

But you know something? I like him.

 

Like him a lot, actually. That quipper reminds me of myself when I was a wee-goblin. What’s that? Yes, friend. I’m fully aware that I’m not a goblin. You’re very perceptive. I’m saying I had quite the wild excitement in me back in the day, before the fabled greys and wrinkles came. Ash is the kinda fellow who just seems to make you want to approach him, y’know? Do you know what I think it is? The fact that he knows just how long to slip around, unsupervised, before he straightens his posture and avoids an embarrassing topple. There’s a skill to that, and he rides that balance.

 

Ever seen a folder? No, not for storing parchments, mate! I’m talking about someone who likes to fold their arms while their back magnetizes to a wall or tree. Ever felt the need to engage those types? Me neither. But amidst the folders, peelers, and smileys, you get this little git coming in. No, he doesn’t come in. He barrels in like a boulder that you just can’t stop, no matter how many bashers you’ve got lined up with their arms stretched out. Ash shows up, and before you can even wave to him, he’s already flapping his gums in rapid succession, as he would say. Greeting and chatting with everyone! And I do mean everyone!

 

But that’s not the real charm he has. It’s easy to just flap your gums. Did that one time on a little one-night-stand I had with a gal. I woke up with a face full of shards and blood. He’s got a no-one-left-behind policy of conduct. Even if you’re a folder, he’ll charge right up to you and involve you in his craft. One time, I’ve seen a big, antsy twat-beard call him a ‘fucking annoying little twat’, but Ash just insisted on humoring the bugger until? He had no choice but to just accept him with a head-shaking grin.

 

That’s how Ashcliffe Westerloft rolls: Like a boulder you can’t stop, but perhaps a boulder that we need, time-to-time, to knock down the pins of mediocrity. My favorite trait about him, though, has got to be that endless reserve of smiles he packs. I’ve seen this fellow smile more than the smileys! We can’t even classify him as such! What’s a smiley? Just your everyday citizen you see who ain’t acting out of the norm.

 

Now you’re probably wondering a very important question: Why am I, the mysterious, blue-coat-wearing narrator, talking about this flaming-haired little sod? Because even though he and I have parted ways, I’ve been watching him. And when I know a good story, I’ve got to share it, y’know? My story’s finished, and anyone who narrates their own story should be slapped across the chops. As an old friend of mine once told my tale, I shall now string the lyric-less song of another.

 

So buckle up, and enjoy. Liffa, sweetie? Bring us another bowl. We’re going to be here for quite a while.