Hello and welcome to meet as pod episode nine. Well, folks, we are back. I had to put the show on the back burner for a while while I trained for a new day job. But now that I'm settling into that, and getting back to a somewhat normal schedule, I got the podcasting itch again. Plus, I have all these great stories burning all on my Google Drive. These stories need to be heard. So let's get to it. Our first story comes to us from AF
Grabbin AF grap and resides in Tennessee but not on purpose. He spends his days either dealing with words and stories or preparing for the zombie apocalypse he doubts will ever actually come. AF is an avid wearer of shoes, not creating characters to torture. He is the host and producer of the melting podcast or writing variety show. The melting podcast is similar to meet his pod. And if you like fiction and the craft of writing, you should check it out. They have sent over a promo
for us to play. Stay tuned after our second story to hear it. Links will be in the show notes. I'll be narrating for you tonight. Without further ado, here's our first story. I didn't brew it by AF Grabbin. It shouldn't have had bubbles. That was the main problem. It was one of the more cryptic things that had happened in the lab that day, which was saying something. So I demonstrated it. Pot and all and defund straighted to throw out the window. Yes, fine. I could have
just said I threw it out the window. But no, I'm not just trying to sound smart. No, I'm not trying to insult your intelligence Peacekeeper, I'm answering your first question. Look, if I'd have known the URL of Steve Austin was passing by, I wouldn't have thrown it. But those bubbles were frightening me a little. I've never had a potion react that way. I know, not all potions bubble. That's a common misconception put out by the Yes. The people out to obliterate the fantastic. Poof.
They call themselves which is silly. If you asked me if they want to destroy sorcerers they shouldn't emulate us by using that silly acronym. No peacekeeper. I didn't. It was four measures of black assault, not 14 Whoever took that statement must have misheard me. Yes. Well, sometimes but no, I hadn't realized, though. Come to think of it. I had heard the Earl of ski Euston was a founding member. Is he the one who was offering rewards for the sorcerer's heads on pikes peak?
Ah, well, that makes sense. Like I told the other man before I panic, I had already thrown the bubbling concoction out the window and gone back to reattempt the brewing when I heard the scream. By the time I heard it, I already had the new mini cauldron in my hands and we're starting the process over again. The peppermint oil and Griffin skin flakes had just begun to warm up. I had to stir it constantly, you see, and I thought that might have been where I entered and the first
batch. So when I heard the scream I went to look but I kept the cauldron with me so I could stir while I looked. And when I reached the window to look down and see what the cause of the commotion was, I slipped and the new cauldron tumbled out of my hands. The Earl hadn't moved from beneath the window and in fact he was looking up when the new concoction hit him spilled everywhere from what I could see. Yes, I know Griffon skin flakes are highly corrosive. I hadn't realized that eat through
such thick wool that quickly though. In seconds I noticed the URL was naked, his clothes eaten completely away. And right as the Queen's entourage passed by to horrible timing. Lucky for him one of the soldier escorts offered his cloak to cover the URL. I couldn't hear what they said. But the URLs face was awfully read by them. No, I had no idea who was allergic to peppermint. Oh, so he is dead than not from allergies I trust I'm sure I can't think of why else you would be here
questioning me. I thought you were a customer when you came knocking. Sure there's the threat of poof putting me out of a job but I don't hold a grudge against the Earl himself. Not really. He's a bit of a Rutan but he's always been civil to me. I just don't do magic while he's around. Ah, so it wasn't allergies. Spontaneous combustion, you don't say. And the court physician says it was because of some mystical chemical reaction. Did he say what he thought it might have
been? Really? Salt and toadstool tears. I heard they produced a violent reaction, but I had no idea. Well, perhaps I did have a little bit of an idea. Although I've heard black salt makes more fire while green salt is more smoky. Of course, I have a supply of toadstool tears. I'm not an amateur. And before you ask no, the potion didn't have toadstool tears in it. But it would take at least five measures of black salt to create
an explosion like that. My first potion only had four. No, I already told you the first Peacekeeper misheard me there weren't 14 measures of black salt in it. Only four. And I don't think he wrote down the last thing I did either. He didn't seem particularly gifted in the mental area. I was shocked. He was able to write it all honestly. Fine, fine. Yes. I suppose the fact he was covered and my black salt could have led to the combustion end. And yes, it was my peppermint oil that
caused the allergic reaction. But do you really think I threw that third cauldron of toadstool tears on him on purpose? Yes. Oh, and do you think I tossed an extra measure of black salt into that cauldron on purpose do I see? Okay, then. Yes, I'll go quietly. Our next story paying the tab which originally appeared in daily science fiction in July 2011 comes to us from a fan favorite Brian K. Lo. You remember Brian from episode five of me this pot when we aired a full cast production of his
story dead guy walking. Brian has had published stories and Orson Scott Card's intergalactic medicine show, daily science fiction, Buzzy mag and more. Check out his work The Invisible city, a swashbuckling adventure of Earth's distant future, available now on amazon.com and other major platforms. He blogs at Brian K low.wordpress.com. The links in the show notes. I'll also be narrating this tale. Here's our second story paying the tab by Brian K Lo. I guess it's true than Santos. All
things come to he who waits. I sniffed and wrapped a claw like hand around my glass and took a healthy sip. It burned going down and I inhaled and surprise. But they didn't say I'd have to wait this long. I replied. I've been trying to kill you for almost 45 years. I was having trouble catching my breath better than you're used to? He asked, ignoring my comment. There was a sense of affection and irony in his question, but I suppose he could afford it. You're not drinking. His glass
was still full. His drink was blue over yellow with a little umbrella in it. Most guys will be too self conscious to order it but apparently not Bernard. it jives with what I knew of him. He toyed with the glass. I was just remembering. We've had a lot of good times. A lot of adventures. Only the fact my fingers could barely grip kept me from smashing the glass in my hand. You probably remember them better than I do. I said in a controlled tone. 45 years might as well be 45 months to you.
Bernard nodded. True. I was running circles around hunters when you were a baby in your mother's arms. Look at us now. You're an old man whose fingers can't even hold a gun and I have an age today. I glanced sideways at him speculating what? What's on your mind? I thought I might as well ask him. I wasn't going to get another chance. I had no illusions that he wasn't going to kill me before that was over. Is it worth it? The wolf bite the curse. The turning into a beast every month. I turned to
face him at on. The bartender who looked near retirement age himself refilled my drink automatically while distancing himself with professional indifference. Is mortality worth all the people you've killed? Rather than answer he drained his drink and signal for another. I was already fuzzy around the edges but he could go at it until closing time and feel nothing. He was silent. For a long time until his new drink was sat down in front of him, it's what I do. It's not like I
have a choice. They call it a curse for a reason. I snorted. Don't give me that. Don't bullshit an old man. You love the chase. It's all a game do you used to hang around the same town until somebody like me came looking for you? Then you either leave your kill where we could find it or line wait for us. You can blame the curves for what you did on a full moon, but not for all the others. Bernard shrugged. We are what we are about you. You and I have been dancing around each other for
almost half a century. But this is the first time we've ever laid eyes on each other, let alone tucked. Where are you in this business? My wife was killed by werewolf in San Francisco in 1962. It was surprising how easily the words came now. I lived in San Francisco in 1962. The way he said it, you might almost believe he thought it was a coincidence. So why did you put out the word meet me here old man. You know how dangerous it is? My drink was gone. I raised
my hand to signal the bartender. He looked our way. alertly but then I dropped my hand and shook my head. I think two is enough. Yeah, that should do. I squinted at him but let it go. It didn't matter. I wasn't even sure you'd come. I wanted to ask you a favor. I'm done. I'm finished haunting. I wanted to tell you that and asked you to leave me alone. I'm retiring. Yuen. Bernard put his hand on my shoulder. Well, then, Son, your
luck, because I've already done you a favor. I stopped in here earlier and persuaded our bartender to here to spike her drinks. In about five minutes. You're gonna be too dizzy to stand up. By the time we get to the car. You'll be out on your feet. And by the time I cut your throat and leave you in the woods, you won't feel a thing. Already he was helping keep me up right? Don't worry. I'll cover your drinks. You can pay me back later. I tried to keep my eyes focus as the bartender
swam into view. Here you go. Bernard said to him handing over a bill Keep the change. Looking at him. Bernard did not notice my face as I caught the eye of the bartender. The man who had recruited me days ago to play my part. The man who had laced Bernards fruity drinks the silver salts, the man whose name unlike mine really was Santos. My tongue was too thick to speak. Too bad. Although I'd lied about being Santos, I
hadn't lied about my wife. I wanted to tell the bastard I had already paid him back everything that was owed. I'd like to thank our senior producer Jay Wolf and producer Andy Holman for their continued support. If you'd like to support the show, monetarily, please visit meters pod.com/donation We have a monthly support option as well as one offs. We also accept Bitcoin. Here's the promo for the melting podcast. Correct. To plot points into a large mixing bowl, add one cup
oil of protagonist. Add a few drops of dialogue. Sift in three tablespoons of antagonists, mints a few action scenes and make sure fully incorporated. Sprinkle liberally with minor characters. Stir vigorously, drizzle in warm buttery calm or into a nine by 13. Notebook. Fake at 325 degrees. Done. writings as easy as cooking, right? Yeah, right. Writing is not easy, and you need a break. But if you're taking a break,
and you're not up for cooking either. Come hang out in the disaster kitchen of the melting podcast, the melting podcast, a writing variety show featuring a little of everything from everyone everywhere. micro stories, interviews, flash fiction stories back to back based on the same writing prompt. And most importantly, bad food puns. Because food makes everything better right? Come Dine at the melting podcast.com Right
the music comes to us courtesy of odd Sprite. You can check out their work at odd sprite.com midis pod is released under a Creative Commons Attribution non commercial no derivatives license. That means you can share it all you like just don't change it or sell it. We'll see you next time folks.