Ethically Sourced Unicorn Head

 

Unicorn horn is considered taboo because it requires the killing of unicorn. But this is that unicorn that did those things in that childcare centre. Prowling the outskirts of an outback village, former coal town going ghost, the type of place people go to live alone, Iris identified the unicorn by the 30 cm butterfly tattoo just above its tail. She landed a .308 to its temple from 60 metres.

Iris does not enjoy killing animals. Iris enjoys killing people, although a cluster of habits affectionately dubbed 'the social contract' limits her homicide to zombies. Ergo, Iris was not sure how to properly harvest the unicorn horn and so cut off the entire head with a shotgun and boxes of ammunition.

Next Wednesday at the charcuterie stall and Iris has been rostered with Carl. They wear aprons.

'Girl, you should have called me. Half this stall is beef jerky. You know what people would pay for unicorn biltong? They're like zebra but less racially ambiguous.'

'Yeah, well.' Iris places cheese wedges in paper bag. 'It's rotten now.'

The customer: 'Huh?'

Carl: 'You could still trade the horn for my three dozen Quetzalcoatl Feathers.'

'Bow hunting's not my thing. And I already know about the price hike.'

Not the first price hike but the next one. Supply in Quetzalcoatl feathers requires wingmen for Quetzalcoatl sex but, Central American serpent dragon etiquette, said wingmen cannot themselves hook up. Then, Saturday before last, the 2nd best wingman (for Quetzalcoatls, Todd) took the best wingman (for Quetzalcoatls, Elise) to the zoo.

Todd had been pithy: 'I thought you liked turtles.'

Elise had notched up restrained anger: 'I. Am. The. Jordan Peterson of turtles. I'm a zoological psychologist. You've effing taken me to my workplace on date six.'

Todd considered, five seconds: 'Have you ever fucked in your workplace?'

So that happened.

Magdalene now takes front of queue and drops numbered ticket in little plastic basket: 'I would like a wedge of the Roquefort. Also, something seven inches long.'

Carl raises hand: 'Yeeeeeah.'

Magdalene hi-fives him: 'Yeeaah.'

Iris hi-fives Carl, hand high and voice low: 'Yeeeah.'

Magdalene hi-fives Iris, voice rock-opera: 'Yee-aaaah!'

Carl slaps his two hands against Iris': 'Yee-eee-ah.'

 

In the north-eastern suburbs, Judea is at a microbrewery: 'Do you stock take-away cans which are exactly one-standard drinks?'

Janessa: 'Yeah, the session what the fuck is that?'

Janessa referring to Doris the camel, in the carpark and trying to munch on a potted fern placed outside to get some sun. The fern slaps Doris, which piques Judea's curious smile.

'The fuck is that?'

The Helpful Plant, so called because it lifts the hair of anyone who vomits into its pot. It is not really helpful because this microbrewery is not the place where people drink until sick. Acknowledging this, the Helpful Plant shrugs.

 

Iris: 'Yeeaaaaah.'

Clap.

Carl, pushing: 'Yeeeauuh.'

Clap.

Magdalene: 'Yeeehaaa. But, no, really, I want that unicorn horn.'

She can grate it into potions.

Iris eyes pointed up and forefinger over lips: 'Yeah, but why?'

'Marital Aid Potion?'

'Not married.'

'Concoction of Bloodlust?'

'Got bloodlust aplenty.'

Magdalene hums cautious: 'In the writings of the druids // lies a recipe for druid fluid.'

Carl: 'Sounds like a most refreshing drink to me.'

Iris waves it off: 'And you need unicorn horn to really make it pop. And you will cut me in for some of the product. You promise.'

Magdalene knows where this is going: 'I was shitfaced when I promised you the Potion of +1 1990's.'

Stern: 'Yeah, well, I'm still down a Dementor's anal gland and those things aren't cheap. Payment up front. Don't want you to make any promises and then get shitfaced and butt chug your, uh -'

Carl: 'Druid fluid.'

'I would never think of doing such a thing.' Magdalene, insulted at first but smile creeping up. 'But, I guess, technically you thought of it.'

There goes Magdalene. Next customer is Tony. Tony says:

'I would like some cheese.'

Iris fills the order: 'Here is your cheese.'

'Thank you.'

'Thank you.'

Trade is beautiful and ought be free.

Carl: 'Isn't that guy dead?'

'Uh huh.'

Next customer and Carl actually steps to the counter to do some work: 'Felicity, how was poker night? How was the wine?'

Felicity plays facetious: 'That nebbiolo  was a nebbi-oh-no. Paired well with humble pie, though.'

Iris: 'Bust?'

Carl giggles: 'Stripped nude.'

Felicity sighs oookay: 'And I was wearing the Hi-Vis Invisibility Cloak.'

'Oorf.' Iris, sympathetic wince. 'Speaking of, what wine do I need to pair small goods to?'

'A 2019 Kanonkop 'Kadette' Pinotage.'

'That's oddly specific.'

Felicity winks to the reader: 'That's a nudge for Google AdSense.'

'Pinotage. South African.' Carl. 'Told ya', unicorn biltong.'

Felicity, eyes veering close to DTF face: 'Unicorn? Should've known you were that crazy bitch.'

Iris: 'I prefer "ethically divergent".'

'So what are you doing with the horn?'

Pre-emptive wave-off: 'I'm not a wine drinker. And whilst you can hammer more nails into a bat than anyone I know, I go through those bats like I go through boyfriends.'

Correlation is causation, in this case.

Felicity, ace up her sleeve: 'How about The Bat of Infinite Nails?'

'Ooh.' Blood flowing into nipples. 'How'd you do that?'

'I have my ways.'

Meaning, she bought it. Pedro and Saperavi had gate crashed one of Felicity's wine (then vodka) tastings and, having heard so much about them, the host had to introduce herself. She gave the strongest wine at hand, a Murphy-Goode 'Liar's Dice' 2016 Zinfandel, to Pedro, who most people say is a pterodactyl but only in private because that is racist. Pedro performed his party trick - drinking the entire bottle without using his claws, which looks kinda' like a pelican swallowing a fish.

Felicity giggled: 'Holy fucking wow.'

Saperavi, cheek on fist and elbow on table: 'You must be Felicity, the esoteric wine merchant.' 

‘And you must be Saperavi, the cross-dimensional smuggler. Got any goodies?'

'I'm just the designated driver.' Bored exhale. 'But at the moment I've got the Bat of Infinite Nails.'

'Whaaat? I can't hammer in more than eleven before the wood splits.'

'It's technically a plant with a metal core. The nails grow out.'

'Hm. So you weapons deal?'

'Yeees.'

'Would you care to exchange your bat for The Blizzard Blade?'

'The what?'

That shit needed to be Googled. Google searches needed to be refined. The whole process took two bottles of wine ~ 25 minutes.

Saperavi had been surprised: 'How did you even get this thing?'

Felicity swirled glass of Little Giant 2020 grenache: 'Traded it for a bottle of 1945 Grand Paladin.'

'Yeah, well, this Bilzzard Blade. It's obscure, even by my standards. There's only one guy, this Michael Lai, who can use it.'

'That's your target market.' Felicity turned head 45° left to sniff raised glass, turned head further 30° to sip with sly eyes back to Saperavi. 'But, oh, what a target. Bet he wants his sword. Bet he is a decent Lai.'

Smirking eye roll: 'Sure, but it's work finding him.'

'Fine.' Felicity neatly clapped the table. 'I'll throw in a bottle of 1945 Grand paladin for the road.'

Subtle elevation of Saperavi's cheek muscles: 'That wine can't be great if you've got two bottles to trade off.'

Felicity rested pretty chin on clumsy palm: 'Cheaper when you get a half dozen. Tried it, dug the bottle, but didn't love it. It happens.'

Which, for those of you playing at home, is a drunken bluff.