Barovian Tales: Gary’s Birthday
(Dedicated to @bluetspur-brain )
So, there I was one slow February morning when I spied Gary, my High-Master Illithid / barista, with his back turned to me, working on something in secret.
When your disloyal, scheming Illithid employee has their back turned to you, working on something in secret, that is rarely a good sign. I fished out my trusty silvered dagger and approached cautiously.
Gary was so occupied that he did not notice me until I prodded his back with the knife and whispered harshly, “what are you working on, Gary?”
Gary started and turned around, facial tentacles flailing nervously. That’s when I saw it: the crappiest, brain-shaped birthday cake I had ever seen.
I stared puzzled for a moment. My birthday was supposedly in September, or so my parents told me. That could only mean one thing…
“Gary, is it your birthday?”
The Illithid telepathically sent a sheepish “yes” to my mind.
I lowered the knife. “I had no idea you had a birthday. I thought you were planning my downfall.”
“Not today,” said Gary in my mind nonchalantly.
I paused. “I am surprised you remember your birthday. I thought all your memories were erased by the God Brain’s mindless collective in Bluetspur.”
The gentle, soothing voice replied back in my mind. “My distance from the collective has allowed some of my previous memories as a tadpole to surface as well as my ceremorphosis.”
Gary shared some brief telepathic images: swimming in the brine pool of the God Brain, followed by his takeover of a drow warrior’s body and excruciating transformation. I quickly shut that part out of my mind. “Sorry,” apologized Gary, “I’ll fast-forward that part.”
Too late, there went my breakfast.
Later, I said, “well even in a crappy place like Barovia birthdays are worth celebrating. We should have a birthday party.”
A couple rooms over I could hear Viktor’s ghostly voice moaning, “you never celebrated my birthday.”
I scrounged some party supplies from around town, bribed a local Vistana band to play at our shop for the night, and enticed some customers to stay around by promising 1/2 off a second topping with the purchase of any Uncle Oleksii meal.
In no time at all, we had a birthday party for Gary. His “brain cake” tasted every bit as awful as you can imagine (chocolate frosting did not help), and everyone kept a safe distance from Gary, but for once Barovian Chicken and Waffles wasn’t entirely a depressing place.
Later, we asked Gary to give a speech.
Gary floated on top of a table and said, “I am an Illithid of few words, and not very good at speeches, but here goes.”
Suddenly a rainbow colored flash like a funnel or cone of energy projected from his mind and we all blacked out.
When I came to, I saw Gary devouring the cranium of a customer. In my most sitcom voice, I said, “Gaaarrryyyy!!!”
Somewhere in the distance, one could hear the cruel, canned laughter of the Dark Powers …
Later, as our ogre zombie dishwasher cleaned up the shop and disposed of the evidence, it was time to wind down and prepare for the next shift. I said to Gary, “you know, you’re the most conniving and untrustworthy employee I have, but happy birthday anyway!”
I felt a wave of joy emanate from Gary.
At that moment, a party of men dressed in strange, black suits, red cravats, and each carrying square-shaped leather briefcase entered the shop.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” said Gary in my mind, “while you were unconscious I sold the shop to something called a ‘shell company’ from the ‘America’ demiplane. I made a tidy profit. I hope you don’t mind.”
(pause, Seinfeld style credits roll)
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