Travers: Rock Bottom Redux
The following takes place following: The Waldo Corp Coup
The courtroom is a blend of tension and absurdity, filled with curious onlookers who have gathered to witness the latest chapter in Harris Travers’ legal saga. The doors swing open, and Travers, flanked by a weary-looking Master Devlin, is escorted into the courtroom. Judge Alaric sits at the bench, his expression one of amused satisfaction as he observes the goblin before him.
Judge Alaric: “Ah, Mr Travers. Welcome back. HJudge Alaric: ow kind of you to grace us with your presence after your, shall we say, extended absence. I trust the accommodations during your brief stay in custody were adequate?”
Travers avoids eye contact, his usual bravado muted.
Judge Alaric: “Now, to business. As you are undoubtedly aware—or perhaps you aren’t, given your decision to skip the hearing entirely—you were summoned here regarding a lawsuit filed by Mrs Charlotta Isadora Alaric. The case was heard in your absence and, well, I had no choice but to rule in favour of the plaintiff.
“Mrs Alaric sought damages for the psychological distress you caused her—specifically, the recurring nightmares she claims stemmed from your—let me quote directly—‘arrogance, recklessness, and complete disregard for basic decency.’ While I cannot speak to the specifics of her dreams, her testimony was... compelling.
“As such, I have awarded Mrs Alaric the sum of seven million pounds.”
The gallery erupts into a mixture of shocked gasps and suppressed laughter. The judge raps his gavel, his expression one of smug control as silence falls again.
Judge Alaric: “A hefty amount, I admit, but one that reflects the severity of her claims. It’s only fair, wouldn’t you agree?”
Travers glances sideways at Devlin, who looks as though he’s calculating escape routes in his mind. Judge Alaric presses on.
Judge Alaric: “However, given recent developments—namely, your resignation as editor of The Waldopolis Chronicle and your current employment as a humble sports reporter—I understand that paying such a sum outright may be... challenging. Therefore, I have arranged for your salary to be garnished until the judgment is satisfied in full. Consider it a long-term investment in accountability.
“Now, as for the matter of your contempt of court... skipping a hearing, fleeing jurisdiction—well, these are serious infractions. Ordinarily, such behaviour would warrant additional jail time. But I’m feeling magnanimous today, Mr Travers. Time served will suffice. Consider this your one and only reprieve.
“That will be all. Court is adjourned. Mr Travers, do try to keep out of trouble—or at least stay long enough to face the consequences next time.”
The judge raps the gavel once more.
Master Devlin: “Hrmm. I’d say we should appeal this farce, but I imagine that will be completely futile... Still. Could’ve been worse. At least no more jail time...”
Travers says nothing. His face betrays a look of defeat.
****
A few days later, the Master is searching for Travers, who hasn’t been seen in days. After checking the usual haunts, he eventually gets the right idea and heads back to the Council grounds. As he suspected, outside the dormitory building he finds Travers—looking like a vagrant, drunk as a skunk in Waldo’s old dumpster—attempting to woo an inflatable blow-up doll.
Travers: “You got a real... a real pretty mouth there, dollface. How’d you like to... to put it to good use and...”
Master Devlin: “Travers! There you are! We’ve been worried about you. What are you doing?”
Travers: “N-nothing... Absolutely... nothing... What’s the p-hic point?”
Master Devlin: “Good lord, Travers. An inflatable sex doll in a dumpster, really? That’s a new low, even for you.”
Travers: “Nooooo... Master Devlin... You’re... you are speaking out of turn. This is my new fiancée.”
Master Devlin: “Fiancée??”
Travers: “That’s right... We’re getting married! She’s a real keeper, Master Devlin. She doesn’t judge me... She doesn’t care that I’m officially broke... not like the others...”
Master Devlin: “Come along, I’ll make you some coffee.”
Travers: “NO! Take a hike, Master Devlin. I don’t want to.”
Master Devlin: “Come on, Travers, snap out of it. This is for your own good.”
The Master hauls Travers out of the skip and slaps him about a little to get him to focus. Travers struggles like a cat, then vomits all over the Master, who recoils in disgust and drops him onto the ground.
Master Devlin: “For fuck’s sake, Travers! Look what you did, you little jerk! You’re a disgrace!”
Travers: “It’s your own fault. If only you’d minded your own business...”
Master Devlin: “You’re on Council grounds and technically my pupil. That makes it my business.”
Travers: “I don’t care. I quit.”
Master Devlin: “Fine. If you’re going to disgrace yourself, at least do it somewhere else.”
The Master grabs the doll from the dumpster, dumps it next to Travers, and orders him to the exit.
****
Travers continued his spiral into drunken squalor off campus. Later that week, Waldo found him spending the last of his petty cash on drinks at the Sass-Hole Lounge.
wF: “Ah, Travers! There you are! You haven’t been turning up for work… Where is our sports section?”
Travers: “Wally… I’ll tell you where you can stick your sports section, you treacherous son of a bitch…”
Travers staggered off his bar stool and took a clumsy swing at Waldo, who casually stepped aside, letting Travers collapse onto the sticky floor.
Waldo sighed, hoisting Travers up and propping him back onto his stool.
wF: “Good Ed, you’re a mess, man! We loves it! Here, let me buy you a drink so there’s no hard feelings… Barkeep! We’ll have a Lucozade, please, and another of what he’s having.”
Waldo leaned on the bar, his sharp eyes darting around the garish neon lights and the strippers dancing around the poles. The bartender returned, sliding their drinks across the bar. Waldo beamed and took a sip of his Lucozade. Travers just stared at his bourbon.
wF: “You know your trouble, Travers?”
Travers: “Disloyal ex-employees?”
wF: “You’re too human…”
Travers: “Nonsense! You’re speaking out of turn… Even S–Samuel says I’m the finest… most upstanding huh-white goblin of good character in this whole Ed-damn nation!”
wF: “Samuel Waldo is an idealistic old fool. An amusing one, sure—that’s why we keep him around—but a fool nevertheless. He wishes to domesticate goblins. Make them all cuddly and respectable. It’s preposterous. It goes against everything in our nature.”
Travers: “And what is our nature?”
wF: “Mischief. Violence… Chaos! We’re not supposed to be sitting around drinking champagne in seven-thousand-pound suits… not unless it’s part of a scam. We’re goblins, man! We’re supposed to be down in the muck, getting up to no good…”
Travers: “Is that so?”
wF: “Uh-huh! Sure is! You see, Travers, while you are delightfully sleazy, no doubt, and even seem to lack a respectable filter, the fact of the matter is that you still allow yourself to be constrained by the human world. Sure, you may breach societal etiquette now and then, but you still operate within the confines of their established order…”
Travers said nothing, taking another long sip from his glass.
wF: “Take, for example, all that court and jail nonsense. Did it never occur to you to just leave? You’re a goblin! You could’ve escaped any number of ways.”
Travers: “Well… I…”
wF: “Wiffuhuh has never been in a prison cell longer than it wanted to. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve escaped from prison or the hangman’s noose. We just slip out. That’s why the WPD have their own code for Wiffuhuh—they know to just leave us alone. That could be you too, if you were willing to show them who’s boss. “Instead, you’re drowning your sorrows because you’ve been usurped and ordered to pay seven million pounds from your wages. How about you just don’t? What they gonna do? And why do you even need a wage anywayz?”
Travers: “I dunno… pay bills? Property tax… oil changes…”
wF: “Bills? Bah! Pigwash! Never paid them in our entire life. You need something, you take it! You know, Wiffuhuh’s never actually bought a house in over a millennia? Whenever we want a new place to live, we just move in. Simples! If the previous owners don’t likes it, they go in the bin!”
Travers: “What about this place? I like to come here… I’m not… asexual, like you, Wally. I need regular servicing… that requires money!”
wF: “Then go out and take some! There’s people with money everywhere you go.”
Travers: “Mug and steal?”
wF: “Of course! Why not? Because the pizza man says no?”
Travers: “Well, I…”
wF: “He’s just a stuffy bureaucrat. He’s all talk but never does nothing. Instead, he enables and covers up Wiffuhuh’s various crimes. Does that sound like a good and honourable dragon to you? Remember when he covered up that girl who OD’d in your bed? How about when he murders humans he doesn’t like for their politics? The Masta is not the man to be taking moral lessons from. He didn’t even really try to stop me stealing your job, did he? He just smirked…”
Travers shifted uncomfortably but remained silent.
wF: “Do you know how I got your job, Travers?”
Travers: “You stole it. You impersonated me and tricked the board.”
wF: “Yes, but that was just the means. The simple answer is because we wanted to and because we could. The fact is, you may think you have to follow the rules Mr Pastry sets out, but you’re a goblin, just like Wiffuhuh! You can do whatever you want.”
Travers: “That’s an interesting perspective… seems rather immoral, even to me…”
wF: “Yes, well, we’ve been around a long time. Wiffuhuh is a realist. We have no time for morality. Might makes right and all that. That’s why we don’t complain about the vampies taking over. They’re simply doing what they can get away with. Just like the British conquered a third of the world once upon a time. Why? Because they were smarter and had better stuff than the savages living in mud huts... “Of course, now they’ve gone soft! They let foreigners fight for dominance over them by playing the victims. The vampies are doing exactly the same—they’re just preying on human stupidity! End of the day, it makes no difference to us goblins. We will go on.”
Travers: “Now you are definitely sounding like Samuel…”
wF: “Yes well he’s pretty smat sometimes… My point is that we are goblins. Not people. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and get out there. Go make your own fun! If you don’t like how the vampies are running things, do something about it!”
Waldo finished his drink, stood up, and casually walked out of the bar without paying. The bartender noticed Waldo walking out and stormed after him. He followed Waldo through the doors into the darkened alley. Neither returned.
Travers sat staring into his drink, mulling over the pep talk Waldo had just delivered.
Travers: “Take what I want? Is it really that simple?”
His eyes drifted to the bar mirror. His dirty, pitiful, wretched reflection slowly shifted—becoming a version of Harris Travers he actually recognised: sophisticated, powerful, confident. His old self. Then it morphed further into something more.
Travers: “That’s right… I am Harris Ed Damn Travers… This is my town… and I’m taking it back!”
With that, Travers threw his last few Waldonian pounds onto the bar and rushed out into the night, flagging down a passing rickshaw.
****
He stumbled out at the palace, charged up to the front doors, and began pounding on them. They swung open to reveal Goblin Slayer, Head of the Royal Guard.
Travers: “I need to see the Queen. Right away…”
The Waldoverse continues in Travers' Gambit