POTATO MOON, Part 56: “The First Task” by Pamela R. Bodziock

“So what are the three tasks I must complete?” Woeisme asked in a trembling voice. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen. Her mother had won over her father by smelling florally and then brooding over her inherent unworthiness for three straight books. Actually doing something in a non-passive, pro-active style really wasn’t in Woeisme’s blood çûm venom.
But for Fig, she would do anything. As long as it wasn’t too hard or involving active effort.
Fig leaned forward, the Neanderthal jutting of his dark unibrow seeming to make the question of his paternity somewhat less clouded if you know your Josh Weedom characters at all. “First, you must journey across the seven seas to the Port of No Return and find the One Who Has the MacGuffin.”
“Um, if it’s the Port of No Return –”

“Second,” said Fig, as if she hadn’t spoken, and his blatant disregard for her put her so in mind of her father’s loving treatment of Bela that Woeisme felt her heart quicken in her chest – Fig must really love her if he was ignoring her attempts to ask logical questions and so understand the conversation better!  “Second,” said Fig, repeating himself after the previous tangent in case the reader had lost track of things, which was really quite considerate of him, making Woeisme love him all the more for the way he was able to be so thoughtful, not to mention his awesome ability to break the fourth wall. “SECOND,” said Fig, growing impatient now, “You must journey to Rainydale, California and find the true identity of my father so that you can ask him for my hand. I’d do it myself, but I spent so much time memorizing these three tasks he’s making you complete that I just didn’t have the brain capacity left to remember him.”

Woeisme tried not to pout. This was starting to sound like a lot of work.

“And finally,” said Fig, “and most dangerously of all, dear Woeisme –” and here he took her hand in his, the motion causing her heart to jump into a sputtering rhythm, ” – you must travel to the Pit of Voles and brave the purple prose and two-dimensional OCs in order to find … the One Onion Ring of Power.”

“The One Onion Ring. It’s in the Pit of Voles?” said Woeisme weakly. Even a parody character caught in the middle of a tangle of plotlines as mashed together as potatoes knew enough to be terrified of a place like that.
Fig caught her hesitation and pulled her into her arms, even though he had to drag her across the tabletop to do it. “It’s the only way we can be together, Woeisme.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “And isn’t that the only thing that matters?”

And then he kissed her, a kiss so passionate that her heart gave a mad sputtering burst and then stopped dead, just like her mother’s truck had after Edwood had removed several key components of the engine to make sure she wouldn’t be seeing Jakob behind his back anytime soon. If Fig ever slipped through Woeisme’s bedroom window to watch her sleep without her knowing he was there, their passion would surely last eternally. Which would leave Jakob two-for-oh, but that whole Jakob/Woeisme thing was never particularly kosher anyways.
****

Woeisme walked out of the restaurant in a daze, Fig’s kiss still lingering upon her lips just as the marinara sauce from their romantic meal still lingered upon the sleeve of her sweater. But she had to think clearly. She had to complete the quest so that she and Fig could be together forever. And after that, she wouldn’t have to think ever again!  Her parents would be so proud!

Caught up in her musings, Woeisme didn’t notice the figure walking towards her until she ran into him. She wasn’t nearly as adoraclutzy as her mother, but these sorts of things did happen to her occasionally.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said, backing up and regarding the stranger with earnestly apologetic eyes. “I was thinking about something else – someone else – and I didn’t see you there …”

She trailed off, taking in the odd appearance of the man standing before her. He looked so strange, and yet somehow oddly familiar, with his dreadlocked hair and strange goatee and the sword and pistol at his side. Beads were hanging from his hair and a weather-beaten leather hat was upon his head. She was sure she could place him, if only her thoughts weren’t still so muddled with images of Fig …

“Think nothing of it, luv,” said the man, adjusting his hat from their collision before looking back up at her through his mascara-ringed eyes. Then he smiled. “Well!  And just the person I was hoping to find. What splendid good fortune.” After a moment he muttered more quietly, “Well – given the person in question, I suppose that depends entirely on one’s definition of ‘good fortune,’ but nevertheless …”
“But you’re –” said Woeisme, recognizing him at last.

“Cap’n Jacque Finch, luv,” he said, giving her a slight bow and a grin. “Seems you’ve heard of me then, eh?”

“But what are you doing here?”

“Ah-ha!  The sixty-four thousand doubloon question, as it were.” He removed a leather pouch dangling from the side of his belt and proffered it to her. “I’ve come to deliver you the MacGuffin from the Port of No Return.”
“But – but I was supposed to go to the Port of No Return to get it!” said Woeisme, more confused than ever. “What are you doing here with it?”
Captain Finch grinned at her, flashing several gold teeth. “Darling, the fifty-sixth author has already gone far over her word limit – did you really think we had time for a scene change?”

“Couldn’t she have just handed off the first task to the next author?”
“She’s really fond of me.” Captain Finch reached out to take Woeisme’s hand and pressed the leather pouch with the MacGuffin into it. “Luv, a bit of advice – not that I’m sure why I bother – just try not to follow your mother’s footsteps, and maybe think your options in any given situation through a bit?  Everybody could have been saved a lot of trouble if she’d used her head once in awhile through the first three books.”
“I-I’ll try.” Her hands closed gratefully around the MacGuffin. Maybe she could get through these tasks passively after all!  “Hey!” she called, as Captain Finch turned to go. “How did you come back from the Port of No Return?”

Captain Finch grinned at her once more. “Luv,” he said, “I’m Cap’n Jacque Finch. Savvy?”
Woeisme grinned back, looking dreamily at his face and reflecting that his dashing grin made it easier to overlook how grimy and smelly he was, not to mention the fact that he was wearing eye shadow, as if that could ever be as manly as her father’s sparkling skin. On the other hand, he did have such nice eyes … But Captain Finch, perhaps sensing which way her thoughts were turning, knew better than to stick around and get involved with any of that, and so quickly hurried off down the street.

Woeisme was about to open the leather pouch in her hand when the far-off cry of “Oi!” caused her to look up.

“One more thing!” Captain Finch was shouting to her from the relative safety of the street corner. “That Fig?  He hasn’t told you everything. He’s a POTATO, Darling!”
Woeisme stood there, stunned, as Captain Finch turned the corner and vanished. How could Fig be a potato?  Could it really be true?

But then she began to think – of the way his arms felt around her, as firm and moist as the warm innards of a freshly harvested potato; the way his lips tasted softly of chives. And that was when she realized she could not deny the truth of what Captain Finch had told her.

About three things, she was now absolutely positive.

First, Fig was a potato(e).
Second, there was a part of him – and she didn’t know how dominant that part might be – that hungered for her spuds.

And third, she was unconditionally and irrevocably in trouble. One can’t come off an encounter with Captain Jacque Finch and still be as stupid as Bela Sullen, after all.