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It was one of those stores with a wooden sign depicting a feminine purple bottle with a pink fog surrounding it. They sold water there. But it wasn't ordinary water. This water had scents. One would usually pick up a bottle with an indecipherable name on it, like Eau des Odeurs or Parfum a la Fleur.
It usually came straight from dirty rivers and swamps, and noone really cared. As long as they smeled of Marché aux Puces or Putréfaction Délicieux #9 that was fine. But sometimes, very ralery, but sometimes, the water wouldn't jsut come from such places. It would pass the midden heap first, greatly driving up the prices.
People wanted to come into the shop and marvel at the wonderous smells, pick an appropriately shiny bottle and depart with a large amount of money. The owner would not mind if they did.
On weekdays, Yggo Decin was a storekeeper. He was widely (and wisely) viewed to be the best storekeeper ever. That is, he kept almost everyone from the store.
Even if he had lived his entire unlife amidst the scented water of the store, it was be a terrible mistake to say he smelled fresh. Or even relatively fresh. Or relatively fresh compared to extremey unfresh and nasty smelling things. It was impossible to say the words fresh and Yggo Decin in the same scentence. Well, aside from that one.
Yggo usually sweated, and fur and water don't mix very well. Aside from that, he had a fine set of sharp, pointy teeth to discourage anyone intent on entering. Most hellhounds had.
But right now, Yggo had no interest in watching the store. He was busy producing more sweat as he struggled to overcome the Dracolice. It was almost as if they had agreed to fight every weekend, and every time Yggo Decin won, the Dracolice would simply return the next week. Every time he lost, he'd walk away with lumps all over. But the Dracolice refused to finish him off. In a way, the Lice fed on the hound. In return, the Dracolice kept Yggo in shape.
It soon became appearent that he would lose this week. Last week's Dracolice had brought along some friends. Luckily for Yggo, those friends were small and weak, but they proved too much of a distraction.
An itching and scratching Yggo Decin went out in the streets. In turn, the people went inside. The Dracolice spoke to him, rubbing in his defeat. Yggo also learned from the lice that once again he wasn't the evil magazine centerfold. He started to wonder if that man who had taken his picture and sold him the world's second largest desert had remembered to put a film in the camera.
It bugged him. He should have made his appearance weeks ago. At least The Politically Correct Magazine For All Those Who Feel They Are Contributing, Have Contributed Or Will Contribute Something Useful To One Or More Societies Of And/Or Individuals From One Or More Of The Following Categories: Creatures, Plants, Bacterea, Fungi, Undead And/Or Squirrels, Not That We Wish To Put Anyone In A Specific Category Of Course, In One Or More Ways always kept it's promises. Yggo wondered if he wouldn't be better off being friendly.
"Probably not", the Dracolice told him.
Yggo Decin agreed.
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