Grakar – Special Delivery for Mr Ooze

It’d been a long night, but sitting there in the cab of the truck, Grakar couldn’t for the life of him remember what had been said or done for the last few hours. He knew he’d driven the truck towards downtown, and that they were currently parked up, when Medic and Stronghold held heated discussions, and carried out the tasks that people other than Grakar often did inside their heads. But Grakar just sat there, humming to himself, and flicking through the music channels on the big-rig’s stereo. Death Metal, Death Metal, Classical, Punk, Pop, Ooo, Adverts!

His chest itched, and looking down, he realised he was still wearing the stinking halloweeners outfit. He was sure he’d changed out of it, but there it was, on his chest, grinning up at him like a 10 year olds nightmare.

He jumped down from the cab, and grabbed the two sides of the all-in-one jumpsuit. He gave a yank, and the fabric ripped, tearing the costume to reveal his clothes underneath. He then realised, he’d not worn the clothes underneath, so he climbed back into the cab, naked, to grab his bag. Fortunately both Medic and Stronghold were zoned out, travelling whichever spiritual or technological pathways they yearn for, so Grakar dragged himself over them, and climbed back out again. He pulled his clothes on, and checked around. Only the drunk human crashed out next to the trash cans had seen him, so Grakar gave him another treat, and flashed him again. The bum looked away in disgust.

Climbing back up again, Grakar spotted a small hot air balloon, carrying a flashing comlink away from the truck. It rose steadily into the air, floating quickly towards the docks. It wasn’t the strangest thing he’d seen today, but the bar wasn’t exactly high.

After a few pokes, Grakar managed to get the others attention.

“So, uh, whuts the plan then? Are we just driving this to the port, and walking away?”

Medic pondered this, and pointed out “I’m pretty sure that the port would expect some kind of uniform? isn’t it going to ring alarm bells if you’re dressed casually?”

Stronghold looked at Grakar, then at Medic, and said “I’m popping to stuffershack to pick up a uniform. 50 bucks should do it!” He jumped down from the truck, and Grakar decided to follow him.

After all, what’s better than a tall dwarf behind you, to enforce the “take the deal, don’t give me any shit” type of negotiation.

The negotiation went ok, and Grakar didn’t even have to threaten to rip off arms. Theres a grey cloud on every silver lining.

Back at the truck, Stronghold slipped into uniform. Medic renewed his Camo-spell on the truck and it shimmered and altered itself to look like a stuffershack truck. Stronghold took the wheel, and Grak slid into the passenger seat. Medic headed off to find a vantagepoint to watch the port from, and The truck lumbered out, heading for the checkpoint.

Grakar muttered his mantra under his breath, “Shut up Grakar, keep your mouth shut Grakar” he repeated this, until clear of the checkpoint. At one stage, the guards asked a question of Grakar and Stronghold. Grakar bit his tongue long enough for Stronghold to answer, and then they were once again on their way.

They unhooked the trailer from the cab, and parked it up at the requested drop-off point. The truck shimmered slightly as it seperated, and the illusion re-asserted itself over the cab. Grakar took the wheel, and Stronghold slid over. They drove out without issue, and met up with Medic.

“Time,” Grakar suggested, “For something to eat!”

The next day, Mr Johnson contacted them to confirm receipt of the trailer. He was incredibly impressed with the service, and told them so.

A week passed, with little action. Grakar found he had a knack for micro-managing the food truck staff. They really appreciated his instructions, and one of the cooks appreicated it so much so, she left to use her new-found knowledge else-where. In a moment of unprovoked anger, Deka called Grakar into the ops room.

“Grakar, you bum, why aren’t you running jobs? I’m fed up of seeing your ass around MY foodtruck! If you can’t get work, I’ve found some for you. You’re meeting Mr Smith in an hour at the second chance. get your team together, and get down there. He’s Lonestar, so be polite!”


An hour later, and the team had assembled. Grakar strode into the club, with the knowledge that he’d spent the week honing his communication skills helping the kitchen staff. He spied the nervous gent sitting at the bar, and extended an arm on either side to stop the others.

“I got dis!” he said, “I’m been practising my friendly voice!” and strode over to talk to the potential client.

“Yo, Chummer, I hear you got sumfing you needs me to do!”

Behind him, Medic and Stronghold synchro-facepalmed, and the worried looking client blanched.


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