Slathers of Excalibur

Slathers of Excalibur

a prompted short story by The Overlord Bear/Jem De Ocampo

Prompt (from r/WritingPrompts): “Long ago Excalibur was melted down and made into a butter knife with all its properties in tact. You now fight crime with your magical butter knife.”

“You want some sandwiches, Mr. Flowers?” asked the host in front of him. “Pancakes?”

“Thank you, but I’m quite full right now,” the disguised ancient wizard lied, not trusting any of the food served in front of him, especially with that too shiny butter knife with a royal blue handle on one of the plates.

“But you’re still drinking that milk chocolate, Mr. Flowers,” Merlin’s host pointed out with one eyebrow raised, particularly at the half-filled glass and the almost empty pitcher. “And I’m pretty sure that that’s all powdered. Sorry for that again.”

“Must be a good brand, then,” Merlin raised his glass, taking another sip and humming at the strangely wonderful burn and clarity it was giving him once again. “It’s giving me quite the energy. ‘Hypes me up,’ as what you youths would say, Mr. Peterson. And I am not flattering you.”

“Still flattering, though,” Peterson chuckled. “Now, where were we, again? Property tax or something?”

“Ah, yes, that,” Merlin remembered. And then he paused for a bit. And then he watched Peterson take more bites out of the food that would poison demons. “Yes. Property. And taxation.”

“You’re looking paler than usual there, Mr. Flowers,” Peterson asked in between bites. “Or redder? Either way, you okay?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Merlin lied again, and then he took another sip from his glass. “More than fine, truly. Really energizing powdered milk chocolate you are serving.” He forced out a chuckle. “Are you sure that you did not serve me any…substances?”

“Definitely not,” Peterson replied with a grin. “Just the powder in water.”

At that moment, Merlin realized that he had been grossly underestimating humanity, especially its more mundane members.

“Of course you’d use it…as a stirrer…”

With that realization, the ancient wizard with demon blood choked as his form gently burned away into ashes.

Then Peterson sighed at the mess Merlin left.

“Why do they always have to make such a mess when they die?” asked the current wielder of the small and butter-coated Excalibur as he stood up to get the vacuum cleaner. “Oh well, at least the demons are going down.”

Author’s Note: Trickster stories fascinate me, alright.

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