[Vignette] Door to Door

[Rayleigh]

Time to put your character into yet another interesting position! Here is a fun vignette prompt, provided by Philomel.

Your character is brought into a sales team to sell something mundane, such as toothpaste. How do they do it? Why did they go for this job? Play around with what their sales pitch might include.

[Diadems of Promethion]

“What’s this here?” the dark elf behind the counter snarled, ears flattening in suspicion and distaste. The three dwarves bowed as one, and their leader - a shaven mongrel wearing bristles of red hair and a tailored leather overcoat open to his belly - stepped forth to speak on their behalf.

“My good sir. I represent Sartet and Sons, newly of the free city of Gunnbad, purveyors of all manner of goods from the Mountains of Dusk and beyond. My name is Throld, and I am humbly at your service on this fine summer eve.”

His voice rolled through the tavern like warm velvet, arresting the attention of the few workers who had escaped early from their shifts. As if expecting this reaction he vaulted onto the nearest stool, spreading his arms wide and bowing to his newfound audience as well.

“We are here, my good sir, to offer you the contents of these three barrels.”

The dark elf thought about this for a good long moment. An even longer, closer scrutiny of the barrels in question revealed nothing except the prominent mark of Gunnbad’s foremost woodworking clan, one that he often saw on the casks of ale he shipped in from Kachuck. Thus he decided he had nothing to lose by leaning over the counter that separated him from his unruly guests and judging what they offered. Setting aside grimy mug and dirt-stained polishing cloth, he peered into the nearest cask as the other two dwarves opened it up... and then snarled again.

“That’s water.”

“Yes! But of course, my good sir, you have such keen eyes, such wondrous senses! This is neither ale nor mead, neither wine nor spirit. This is indeed water...”

“We’ve no need to buy your water, dwarf-scum. Now get out of here before I sic the bully-boys on you.”

“But one moment, one moment please!” Throld interjected, exuding such blinding confidence that the patrons of the establishment - and even the dark elf himself - found themselves pausing for his benefit. “This is not just any water. This is water bottled at the source of the hidden river of the Tittaduin, high in the inaccessible peaks of the Mountains of Dawn. This is to ordinary water what your finest Khu’Fein reds are to those acidic Istralothian sours! This is the very best of water, the diamond in the dust, the thin vein of mythril in a sea of iron!”

“Bah. Water is water. Out, I said...” The barkeep tried his best to turn away, but now Throld’s voice turned humble and plaintive.

“My good sir, you have such fine eyes, such fine senses. One more look, I beg of you. See how the liquid shines like perfect crystal! See how you can count the grain of the wood at the base of the barrel! This is the silkiest, the smoothest of thirst-quenchers, triple-sealed during transit to maintain freshness in the back of your throat and harmony upon your tongue. I promise you, my good sir, that once your customers taste this water they will not wish to drink anywhere else!”

“I said...”

“Now I do hate to criticise my competition, my good sir.” Throld leaned close to the dark elf, ruddy skin flushed with effort. He dropped his voice conspiratorially, winking at his audience behind the barkeep’s back. “But have you ever thought to taste the swill provided to you by the aristocrats in their high spires? Drawn from the same waters into which your great military foundries expel their effluent, bleached with the Ancients-know-what chemicals to ensure a bland and sterile flavour, then piped to you in mile upon mile of rusty lead-lined pipe? Such water is not fit to flush your toilet, much less grace the throats of such a fine establishment as yours!”

A cheer rose from behind him, led by Throld’s two companions.

“In surety the patrons here deserve naught but the very best that Althanas can offer?”

The cheer resounded again, stronger and more vibrant this time as the crowd warmed to Throld’s oratory. He grinned at them as a general might greet his victorious troops, then leaned even closer to the barkeep’s ears. The dark elf blinked at him, helpless and confused, and in that moment Throld knew that he had won.

“So why don’t I offer you the first barrel for free, as a special offer for your consideration you understand, and then perhaps...”

***

“Well, young master, that went better than expected,” the younger of Throld’s companions remarked later that evening, after they’d escaped the clutches of the bewildered barkeep and his boisterous clientele and retired to their chambers in a nearby inn.

“The sad thing is,” Throld sighed to dramatic effect, “that most of what I said was probably true.”

The third dwarf harrumphed in hearty humour, bolstered by three rounds on the house. “The source of the Tittaduin? Throld, you know that none but the bloody eagles can ever get there!”

“Aye,” Throld nodded in sage wisdom. “But we signed a revolving contract for five casks a week to the clan’s great profit, we don’t have to carry the stuff home with us again, and at least next time we want a quick drink in Ettermire we know where the water is clean!”

“Not to mention we drank for free this night!” the first dwarf cheered, and the other two raised their mugs high in triumphant salute.

[Logan]

"Soap? Why on Althanas do you want me to sell soap, Vincent," Logan asked completely shocked at the idea.

Vincent shrugged, "Have you smelled some of the orcs in Corone? Those guys definitely could use a good bath...or ten."

The psion sighed, "Vince, how do I let you talk me into this crazy schemes of yours?"

Vincent's eyebrows raised at the question. "Are you saying my ideas are crazy? If anything they are crazy -- crazy good!"

Logan grumbled and left the library of the House of Cards. It was pointless for him to argue with Vince. It was like battling with a brick wall. Eventually the brick wall would win.

-----

"So you see, Grath'alu, this one hundred percent authentic Catboy approved, vitamin and mineral-infused brick is exactly what your clan needs," the psion exclaimed with an exaggerated excitement in his voice.

The large, female orc beat her chest and then roared, "Orcs need no soap. You go now filthy human!"

Logan raised his hands in surrender, "I'm not saying you need soap, I'm saying you need this brick. To wash your horns so they can shine whiter than ever."

The two brutish orcs to either side of the female orc raised the tips of their spears to the psion's chin, but the female orc motioned for them to pull back.

"Make horns white, you say," the female orc asked.

The psion pulled a small sample bar of soap from his coat pocket and showed it to the orcs. He rubbed a little onto his hand and then asked, "I can demonstrate, if you like."

She wiped saliva from his gaping mouth and nodded, "Show orcs now!"

His hand lifted to the orc's horns, inwardly convulsing at the idea of touching an orc's horn at all. He slowly scrubbed the horn down, bits of dried dirt, blood and other assorted flesh pieces fell to the ground. After a few moments, the horn, originally dark and caked in grime, shown a stark bright yellowish color. Not quite the white the psion hoped for, but certainly closer than before.

"Ooh, shiny," one of the guard orcs said as he reached out to touch the orc's horn. The female orc's hand slapped at the guard orc's and they took defensive postures.

"I will just leave this sample with you, Grath'alu, and you can let Vincent Cain know your decision whenever you are," but before Logan could finish the two orcs leaped at each other. He ducked out of the way and out the open tent-flap and hurried back to the House of Cards to let Vince know his moderate level of surprising success.

[Lightfoot]

Jasker took a moment to tidy his attire, tighten his tie, and nervously straighten his slicked hair. With a quick glance into a window, he checked his teeth, and lent himself a smile and wink before rapping on the door. The door squeaked open, and it took a moment for the woman answering to find that her caller was a halfling. Her distant and chilly gaze finally rested upon Jasker with an expectant glare.

"H-Hello, m'lady," the thief managed with a flourish, "I am Bartholomew Bates, purveyor of exotic antiquities and observer of the occasional oddity!" The woman's stare became more distant. "Now, you may be wondering why I have come to call this fine afternoon, -- "

"Yes, I am," she interrupted coldly. Jasker gave a nervous laugh.

" -- and the answer is simple!" The halfling knelt over to the large leather case at his side, and made a show of rummaging through it. "I have come to share one of my rare and uniquely fantastic findings with you! Through my extensive travels I stumbled upon this trinket, this gem, this jewel of the world, and have finally found a suitable recipient, --" Jasker brought forth the item. "-- in you." The woman merely looked at the item in confusion.

"String?" she asked numbly.

"Right you are, my lady," the halfling said while tapping his nose, "but this is beyond any mere spool of string. This string, this magical twine, comes from the far off land of Dheathain, the land of indiscernible magics. It was painstakingly crafted by the masterful hands of twelve blind oracles, whose only purpose in life was the completion of this single item. For years, they sweat and toiled to bring this into fruition."

The woman's glare became more intense.

"Now, you may be wondering just what this peculiar item, --" the woman disappeared behind a roughly slammed door "....does."

Jasker sighed and stood up straight. He looked at the spool of string in his hand, shoddily painted to look an "exotic" orange, and tossed it back into the leather case alongside other identical spools, each painted a different color. He had to admit, when he offered to do anything to pay back his debt instead of losing a finger, this is not what he had in mind. But, then again, Raskian always had a cruel sense of humor. Of the hundred spools the crime boss had tasked him with selling, Jasker had only managed one the whole day, and even then it was to an elderly woman who was far more interested in the halfling than what he was selling.

"So?" called a voice, as Jasker trudged away from the residence. The man approaching was tall and stocky, Jasker's fence and Raskian's eyes and ears.

"What do you think, Arcaf?" the halfling chided. The man nodded sympathetically.

"Well, you still have a couple days," he remarked.

"Yeah," Jasker said, and walked away.

"Hey," Arcaf said after falling in line beside the halfling, "I really appreciate what you're doing for me. Taking the hit, I mean. If Raskian ever found out I was the one who messed up, he wouldn't have been nearly as nice."

"I need a drink," the thief said finally, the thought of two more days of selling string to strangers bowed his shoulders.

"I like your hair," Arcaf said jokingly. A small smirk perked the side of Jasker's lips.

"Shut up," Jasker chuckled.

[redford]

This is what John looks like when he smiles. Roughly

John's scowl almost softened as he walked along the sidewalk, toting a bag. It was nice to have a job again after that business with the restaurant. He didn't feel like he ever did anything important there. He'd put all that behind him in an effort to learn more social skills. Both his friends had said he could brush up on things like that, at least to improve his chances in the job market. Perhaps he'd be able to get a management position somewhere if he worked at it. He adjusted the tie he wore. Though, he'd have to get out of the habit of not talking. Most people thought him strange for that, though John wasn't quite sure why that was.

Well, I suppose that's just the way the world works.

He came to a large brick house on the corner of a rural neighborhood. It seemed a pleasant place, a bike lay next to the garage, and a minivan sat inside of it.

*Knock Knock*

A middle-aged balding man opened the door, looking at the doorway in surprise. John ducked so he could actually see all of his potential customer

"Buy this toothpaste." John said. He held up the toothpaste, mustering up all of his charisma to smile.

The man gasped, taking a step back and stumbling over his feet.

"Listen man, whatever you want, take it, just don't hurt my family," he said with all the broken english of a man pleading for his life.

John attempted another smile to put the man at ease.

"Buy this toothpaste."

------------------------

"Thank you!" John called backward, smiling broadly at the man as he slammed his door. Vince would be so proud, especially since he'd sold all that toothpaste to one man. He must have a lot of kids.

[Remedy]

“Tooth paste?” I asked.

“Toothpaste,” responded the merchant, “Cleans your teeth.”

“I see….”

I grabbed the small jar of paste and lifted it up to my nose. It smelt minty, although how they got it so white was beyond me when mint was green. I put the jar back down on the table and looked up at the man in front of me. About an hour ago I had been rudely pulled from the day’s work selling sand to Falliens and brought into this strange man’s shop. The white paste, he claimed, would protect your teeth from the ravages of nature. Although, he admitted after a few questions, that a punch to the face by a troll would indeed still break your teeth.

“What’s my cut?”

The merchant shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I knew I had him by the shot hairs.

“Twenty copper would cover the jar, I’m assuming the paste is a mixture of mint, pig fat and sope bush. That should come to 50 to 60 copper depending on your processing methods. We’ll target the gentry, using the unwashed masses as a counterpoint. Asking price will be two gold a jar, I’ll take one to cover my costs and distribution and you get the other to cover your part. That’ll leave you with 20 copper a jar, me with 15. The distribution is going to be a pain, these glass jars break easily. Thirty for safe transport, ten for cover.” I paused to let the merchant catch up, he looked slightly bewildered, “we savvy?”

“Er, maybe that is a bit low…”

“Nice thinking!” I said, cutting him off before he could finish the sentence, “If we go three gold we can split it down the middle. One gold per jar for you, just shy of one for me, and our costs are covered.”

“Oh, good!” he said, taking my hand.

“GINGIVITIS!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, “a plague among those with low hygiene. What is it I hear you ask? Well good friends, it is a disease in the mouth. One that rots your teeth and gums. It starts out as nothing more than bad breath, but it grows! Already the poor people living in squalor have started to succumb. The priests are doing their best to stop the plague, but they are at their wits end!”

About half the street had turned and was listening to me now. Most of them were upper class, families that controlled the shipping lanes that made Scara Brae the island that it was. They were also rich, gullible fools. The smarts had left their families a few generations ago, and only money remained.

“What can we do??” shouted one man, dressed head to toe in bright blue.

“Have no fear! This compound has been specially created by apothecaries to kill the disease before it can spread. Do you have smelly breath? You might have GINGIVITIS!”

I grabbed one of the jars of toothpaste and a small brush I had sources for applying it to the teeth.

“But a jar for 4 gold and you can get this special applicator brush for one 1 gold. Buy now, save your teeth tomorrow!”

The crowd rushed forwards. I grinned.

[Drumheller]

He needed the coin. He desperately needed the coin. There was no doubt about it, Drumheller ironfist’s plans could not go forward if he didn’t have the coin. He needed to increase the food supplies of both the Ironfist and the Ironjaw clans and the only he could obtain such foodstuffs is if he had coin, which he didn’t have, which meant he had to do something to obtain said coin. That had led to his looking at enterprises within Andvall and Salvar, in both cases he didn’t announce his full name, as doing so would give away his orcish ancestry, and that was something he could ill afford. As luck would have it – fate, the will of the gods, what have you, whatever one wanted to call those events that seemed outside the relm of mere probability – he had found a merchant in Andvall working for the Vogruk-Stokes Company selling, of all things, mouth soap. That’s what he called it at any rate. So here he was, about to try and sell as much mouth soup as he could to the that was the Bloody Tusks Ragashmaw of the Black Eye clan.

They were using the Pronouncement Chamber for this, a black stoned room that looked like nothing so much as what it was, which was a court room. Perhaps if his sales peach was particularly bad, they’d try him for his part in boring the group. Mayhaps he’d start a riot and they’d tri him for that. Well a hanging was a hanging, no matter what one was tried for.

“Boys,” he began, his voice carrying well throughout the room, despite the low din of other voices. Most of the other conversations hushed, as no doubt curiousity had taken over casual converstion, at least for the moment. “You all know doubt know what the non-orcs think of us, what the humans, the ddwarves, the dark elves. You know that they consider us barbarians. “ there were grumbles of information at this, some confused, not sure where he was going with this, while others were anoyed. They were anoyed not with his comment, every orc, tusker or not, knew this general view regarding ‘green skins.’ “They call us smelly savages, tent living thugs, and bad breathed brutes. They mock our methods, taunt our traditions…” they were starting to get riled up, a little more and they’d be forming war bands out in the yard and ready to charge to Andvall, or Salvar, if he kept it up. He wanted them riled up, he wanted them hoping mad. He wanted them ready to bust in doors, thump skulls, splinter spears, sunder shields. He wanted them ready for a war.

A war against their own ideals.

“Are you prepared to prove them wrong?” He made a swipping gesture with this last proclamation. A grand movement that was meant to sweep all the comments of all the ghostly taunters away in a single action. “You can do this, you have now, right now, the power to do it.” He clinched his open hand into a fist. “Are you prepared to attack their mule headed beliefs head on? Are you prepared to slay those incorrect assumptions? Are you ready to stump them out under the your collective boot heals?” Afirmations thundered to the rafters, so loud and unfied that he wondered if it might crack the foundation. orcs slain by moath soap salesman. he could see it in the headlines now. It took a full minute for them to be quiet again.

“I hold in my hands,” with this he produced a package of the moath soap in his left hand, “the first step towards slaying the erroneous thoughts of those non-orcs that are our neighbors. And it is this.” He held the mouth soap on high, to the roars of his fellow green skins. “ with clean teeth, free of black spots and yellow stains, we can show them, that what they thought was untrue, I ask you who among you will take up the challenge with me. For five silvers this and every day here after we will make war against the thoughts held about us by others, and with this as our weapon we shall win.”

In under a candlemark he was sold out.

[Artifex Felicis]

"Hey. Buy this toilet plunger. You don't have running water yet, but you'll need it before then."

[Rayleigh]

Closed for judging.

[Rayleigh]

Good afternoon! Thank your for your patience as we judged these (wonderful) vignettes. They were so much fun to read!

Diadems of Promethion - First Place
This entry was such a pleasure to read. It was very well-written. You did a fantastic job bringing your characters to life through their action and dialogue, and your rich, descriptive language. A true salesman can sell barrels of water - you proved that here! Great job.

200 EXP and 200 GP

Lightfoot - Second Place
You did such a fantastic job using the prompt here! The failed attempt was not only realistic, but it had me laughing the whole way through. Your piece was very well-written, and just long enough to accomplish what it needed to do. Nicely done!

160 EXP and 150 GP

Logan
I really loved the feel of your vignette! Logan could have sold the soap to anyone, but by choosing one of the nastiest options around, you really brought in that comedic element that you're so good with. You did have some funky grammatical things going on, like missing punctuation, but that comes with a rushed, Althy Day entry. Overall, lots of fun. Nice work.

450 EXP

redford - Close Contender
Red, this was a really funny vignette! You had such a cool approach to this prompt. You incorporated your character's strengths (or flaws, depending on how you look at it) in a way that few other authors did. This piece simply oozed with persona! With a little more attention to description, you could have hit this one out of the park. Great work.

250 EXP

Remedy - Close Contender
I really enjoyed reading this vignette! It was so clever, and did an exceptional job of showing that "shady" nature of the trademark salesman. Save for a few mechanical errors (for example "shot" hairs, rather than "short"), your piece read very well. I would encourage you to also think a bit more about your description in the future. With this being a vignette, I'm not looking for Hugo-esque pages and pages of description. But a bit more could have really benefited you here!

150 EXP

Drumheller
This was a really unique vignette! You incorporated a sort of "band together" mentality that I had not seen before, or expected for this prompt. But you know what? It worked! A bit more description would have helped you avoid getting a bit list-like in a few places, but overall, it was a very nice piece. I would also encourage you to double-check some spelling things. I'm not sure how easy it is, using JAWS, but there were a few errors (soup instead of soap, for example). Nice job here, Drum!

100 EXP

Artifex Felicis
The thing that I really liked about this vignette was your brevity. Many authors fall into the trap of using too many words, but you did an excellent job of avoiding that mistake. Your vignette was also entirely error free, which speaks to your editing skills.

50 EXP (deductions for especially short vignette - you can do better.)

Congratulations to all participants!