Come in, come in. Shut the door. Shut the door now, shut it now, I don’t care who’s still out there, shut the door–great. Thanks. Hi, you guys. How many of you are there? Six? Oh, there were six? So five, now. Right? Okay, great. Welcome to the Olive Garden. Have a seat. Do any of you need medical attention? Any bites? Anyone fallen asleep during one of the sandstorms? None of you have seen the Preachers, have you? Okay, great.
I’m sorry, we can’t open the door again. She’ll stop screaming in a few minutes.
We have a six-top in the corner if you’d like to follow me. Okay, a few things. Our specials tonight are Italian Wedding soup and Veal Scallopini. It’s four blue chips for an entree or you can barter with whatever goods you might have with you, if you’ve run out. Or you can volunteer to keep watch on the night shift.
Please note that our Endless Breadsticks and Salad™ have been replaced by Strictly Rationed Breadsticks and Salad™.
I have to ask one question before we get started. This is really important, and if any of you get caught lying, we absolutely will put you in the Night Mines. Okay? Awesome. Great. Here are your napkins and some silverware. Have any of you seen the map to Mag Mell? Or met anyone who has?
It’s not a myth. It’s very real, I can assure you.
No? You’re sure? The map might have been hidden or coded or disguised on the back of another piece of paper. It could look like a book, or a photograph, or a picture of something else–it’s taken many forms. Think carefully. This is important.
Have you seen a man with one eye carrying a heavy burden through the Trackless Wastes? Did you speak to him? Did he say anything to you? Try to remember. Did he carry anything in his right hand?
Good. Good. That’s–that’s wonderful news. Oh, that’s wonderful. We’ll have him soon enough. He’ll have no idea. We’ll get him, we’ll get him hard. Will you do me a favor? That’s the manager over there, stoking the bellfires. Will you go tell him exactly what you told me? This is a huge help. You have no idea.
We do have happy hour tonight from four til the Bonemaker’s Hour. There’s also, if you flip your menu over–sorry, that’s not blood, I know it looks like blood but it’s not blood, just flip that over–you can see that we’re offering a selection of mini-indulgences, or dolcini, for half-price. Once the sun goes down, we’ll be moving everybody into the walk-in freezer until the air is safe to breathe again.
A few reminders, okay, guys, before we can take your order. First of all, we are so glad you’re here. Especially because most of you seem like you’re in pretty good shape and we need a lot of help digging. Quick heads up: we can only split checks if you notify your server before ordering.
If you brought any weapons with you, please register them with the hostess up front. Nothing gets in or out without passing her inspection. Bear in mind that she is one of the Untongued, so please don’t try to engage her in conversation. If any of you still know how to make the mark, please let me know and I’ll get any messages to her you want.
There’s not much more, I don’t think. If you’re of childbearing age, we do ask that you keep your radiation belts on you, just in case. The commissary’s open from sun-up if you need anything in the way of spellcasting or sleep-caps. If you get caught stealing, you go to Cliff Deep. No exceptions.
This might sound a little overwhelming at first. Remember: In here, you’re family. We’ll take care of you. We’ll ask you to work, and work hard, but we’re fair and we look out for our own. The walls are thick and our supply of pre-mixed soup base will last for years if we’re careful. As long as you stay inside the doors–well, we can’t promise you an easy life, but we can promise that you will live.
But out there, past the razorlines? We will hunt you and we will harvest you for blood and nutrients so damn fast the Water Marshals will never know you’re missing. I promise you that.
Can I get you guys anything to drink?
Tags: apocalypse, dinner specials, olive garden, the burned-out shell of our future world, trackless wastes
Mallory, are you writing for Welcome to Night Vale now? Are you the Man in the Tan Jacket? I’m frightened. And so cold.
I’ve never listened to Night Vale before! Should I?
I… I don’t think you need to.
I mean, you don’t *need* to, but it’s probably right up your alley.
ETA: Err, not probably. Is. Is right up your alley.
She’s basically the alley.
It’s based on the unpublished notebooks of HP Lovecraft. Whose avatar I now believe you are. HP Lovecraft wrote short stories like this and became a legend…. MALLORY ORTBORG TAKES UP HIS MANTLE.
You listen. Then you approach them and write for them. Oh yes.
Did somebody say “prostituting myself for cans of cat food’?
Ha, I was about to ask if this was the Olive Garden in Night Vale.
This is my favorite. Just the best.
It’s this sort of communitarian discipline that kept the Olive Gardens going long, long after the fall of those devil-may-care party kids at the T.G.I. Fridays.
Wait what happens if Mallory’s brain just dries up one day? How will we live then, knowing what we’re missing?
DON’T TELL MALLORY but I am working on a top-secret brain-moisturizing device to prevent this exact situation from occurring. A friend of mine no longer has use for his van, and has given it to me for this purpose, complete with an Ernie puppet laboring under the delusion that it is Hunter S. Thompson. I have been using Ernie to do the Igor-type work with some very promising results.
Sadly, this is the only post tagged with “apocalypse.” How soon will this be remedied?
Mallory, did you ever GM/DM any roleplaying games? Because you would be amazing. The best. You make me want to brush off my dice.
Not even ONCE but I will totally play if you want
If you ever do a Kickstarter for anything, “Mallory will GM your roleplaying game” should be the reward for the $20,000 tier.
Hopefully this one: http://susd.pretend-money.com/blog/post/monster-h…
A warning: Mallory HATES board games, so you’re gonna have trouble getting her to read an RPG manual.
I hate STUPID board games, like Apples to Apples. I would RPG for a bit.
Apples to Apples is a card game, not a board game. GET IT RIGHT, ORTBERG.
(Also, currently compiling a list of things you hate.)
Did you ever finish that list?
Mallory: Please come meet me in the alley, I need to syphon off your writing skill.
I mean, congratulate you properly. This… this straw? No! I just… I just kept that. From the bar.
Haha! Turn around.
Does Mag Mell have any relation to Evil Melis?
No it’s, I think, an Irish version of Fiddler’s Green?
A quick wiki trip confirms that Mag Mell is in fact, “a mythical realm achievable through death and/or glory”.
So exactly the same as Evil Melis, then.
I am new to whatever this is. Please tell me where you intend to put the whole book.
Really liked this! A friend recommended the story. Some funny moments mixed with a sense of menace. I’ll be reading your other stuff soon!
This is magic.
Soup bases.
I went on a date with a guy from the personals (you know, those ads in the newspaper? before the internet?) whose family business was making soup bases. He kept talking about the business and about how the soup we had at dinner was definitely one of theirs. And he gave me his cassette tape of him playing guitar. The cover, tinted purple, was a close-up photo of him holding the neck of his guitar against his cheek. He was wearing a bandana, Axl-style. I WISH I STILL HAD THE TAPE IT WAS SO TERRIBLE.
I love this. I have to live vicariously through you and your awesome/terrible dates.
There was also the volunteer firefighter who showed up to our first date (at Denny’s!) wearing blue work pants and a blue fire company t-shirt. I spotted his car and walked over to him, and after greeting me he said, “Hold on, I have to get something out of my car.” He turned around and bent over, revealing a good five inches of buttcrack.
He was a nice guy but really sloppy. At the end of the date, I lied and said I felt intimidated by him because he was so tall (he was well over 6 feet tall and I’m 5 feet). That’s the worst thing about that kind of dating—trying to find reasons not to see someone again without having to say, “I just don’t really like you.”
I love this. I have to live vicariously through you and your awesome/terrible dates.
Just created an account to say that this is the best thing.
Did you ever finish that list?