“Have you ever been interviewed before, Mister Vermouth?”

The question echoed in Asisi’s head. He was dizzy. So dizzy. He grabbed the counter for balance. The answer was yes. Asisi Vermouth had been interviewed before. A lot. The incredibly vivid memories flooded back into Asisi’s head like a brain freeze from a slushy. Asisi Vermouth was uncertain how he had come up with that metaphor for his headache, but it certainly was appropriate. His vision flashed, and he felt himself falling into a distant and repressed memory: his time as a professional soccer player.

Asisi’s first interview had been with the Tavornac Evening Enquirer. He had been chosen as the first round draft pick to the Tavornac Gladiators, the city’s soccer team. Asisi had always loved soccer since he was young. And now he was part of his favorite team. He remembered the first question he had even been asked in an interview as if someone had just asked him it.

“So, Mister Vermouth, what do you like to do for fun?” the interviewer had asked him. Asisi’s vision flashed, he was back in the East of Eden: Combination Saloon and Daycare. However, now he was up on the stage, sitting on the dusty old couch. How did he get here?

“So, Mister Vermouth, what do you like to do for fun?” Zune asked. Asisi felt a primal compulsion to answer the question, as if it was being pulled out of his throat by a fishing line.

“I like soccer. I haven’t played in a while, but I used to be really good at soccer.” Asisi answered honestly.

Did I just answer a question honestly? Asisi felt sick. He had forgotten what truthiness felt like. It felt like shame. He hadn’t told the truth since missing the shot. That very painful shot that the fans never forgave him for. The miss that had ended his career.

“Really good at soccer? Like, how good? Something tells me you’re holding out on us, Asisi.” the kobold leaned in towards him, snarling in a way that was almost like he knew. It was worse than the reporters back home. The ones that dug up dirt on him every second of every day. Yet, something about this kobold resonated with him. He felt…like he was under a compulsion to be comfortable. Somehow. He wasn’t sure how. Maybe it was the pathetic creature’s snout? Maybe it was the audience?

“Well Zune, I played professionally for the Tavornac Gladiators.”

A couple of cheers rose from the small audience that had formed in the combination saloon and daycare. A smile crept onto Asisi Vermouth’s face.

*****

Langley Pinkerton, Cleopatra Bingley, Ragnar Son of Mad Titan Uroskyn and the Twelve Harpies, and especially Father Milton could not not believe what was happening. Asisi Vermouth had told the truth, and almost seemed to be enjoying the interview? Langley leaned in to whisper to the rest of the table.

“I really didn’t expect this kobold to be so…entertaining. Like, not just as a bet, but as an entertainer.” Langley said.

The table “ah-hum’d” quietly in agreement.

Cleopatra whispered to the rest of them, “Did anyone here know that Asisi played professionally?” The heads of the table shook. “Man, he really hasn’t talked about it since he moved here at all? I wonder why.”

Ragnar Son of Mad Titan Uroskyn and the Twelve Harpies was very curious about why Asisi had never talked about playing soccer professionally. Ragnar, who had a fondness for songwriting and verse (and accidental homicide) longed to know Asisi better. Why give up such a promising career as a soccer star? Surely something dramatic must have happened. Father Milton heard a whisper come from behind him (which was odd because he was up against the wall).

“My former servant. You have done a good deed. Truthiness has returned to Eden. I do not know how truthiness has, for it is a power that far surpasses my own that has touched your town, but I do know that it has involved you. Let it be know that redemption may still lay in your path, even if you can never wield Amorokyus again.” The god of justice spoke.

Thank you Brestmylc. Father Milton had given thanks for the first time in years. He felt better, knowing that his god was speaking to him.

*******

The interview had gone on for about fifteen minutes at this point. Guy Blanco’s power had defeated the butterflies in Zune’s stomach, and the kobold was in complete control. Asisi was laughing and smiling at his small quips, and was now answering every question. Guy Blanco’s invisible hand guided Zune to each, like a kobold leading a dragon to tasty adventurers. And then, there it was, the question at the heart of the interview, the one that would lay Asisi Vermouth’s soul bare for all to see.

“So Asisi, what made you quit soccer and come out here to Eden? Why give it all up and change pursuits entirely? It seems like soccer was your true love. Did something change that made you realize running a combination saloon and daycare appealed to you more?”

Asisi’s smile dropped. The joy of the interview shot from the room faster than a kobold from danger. Zune realized he had poked where he should not have. He was in danger, but he did not know how to fix it. The four audience members (Zune decided to not count the invisible avatar of the god of justice that he sensed right behind Father Milton out of respect for the god and Milton’s privacy) were on the edge of their seats. Silence hung in the air like a fragile globe of ice, threatening to shatter or melt at the slightest provocation. It was up to Asisi. Had Zune done his job well enough? Would it all collapse right here? Would this be the last episode of the Slightly-Late Show.

“Well, to tell you the truth Zune…”

The audience could barely be contained. Even Zune was doing all in his power to not egg-on or interrupt Asisi Vermouth. Asisi’s answer had to come naturally, or it would not at all. Zune held his breath and gave a silent prayer to Guy Blanco.