Whalestrand was certainly one of the pearls of the Glastera region. With it being a major port city and known for its mysterious vibes, it drew its fair share of tourists in. It would be a perfect place for several pizza shops to open up and compete for attention.
There was one particular pizza parlor that refused to go over there, though. Both because the place he used to lease was filled with ghosts in the kitchen and wanted nothing to do with that anymore, and because then he’d be competing against a good friend of his, and that just wouldn’t do. Even if he was struggling with debt, Pizza Vampire was undoubtedly going through worse with the stigma against his kind.
So here in the quaint little town of Ravenloft sat Peppino’s Pizza, the titular owner, Peppino Spaghetti, wiping down the bartop for the umpteenth time as the last customer left crumbs all over the damn place. There were a few other people here within the hallowed brick walls, regulars chatting over the local goings-on as the smell of hot, cheesy goodness wafted from the kitchen. There was also a massive rat sitting near the bar, reading newspapers to pass the time.
Overall, it was a good day, with no immediate problems to worry about. That’s as much as a pizza shop owner could ask for.
That peace was immediately disturbed when the doors slam open, Peppino yelping and hiding under the bar as visions of soldiers breaking in and unloading their guns filled his mind. He forced his quivering legs to straighten up just enough so he could peer over the bar. A tall, lanky man in an orange suit and a long, sharp nose walked in with a devious grin, strutting over to the bar. Peppino’s blood ran cold, but he forced himself to at least look like a normal person as he wrung his hands together, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face.
“Ah, Mr. Stick! How-a nice of you to pay a visit!” he said with a nervous smile. “G-getting the Peppino Supreme as-a usual?”
Mr. Stick shook his head, his glasses gleaming in the light. “Nah, I ain’t got much of an appetite for food. But I do have an appetite for somethin’ else.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it and sliding it to Peppino. The pizza man didn’t even need to look at it to know what it was, his heart dropping to the pits of his stomach. “After all, rentin’ this place out to ya ain’t cheap. Man’s gotta eat, y’know.”
Peppino turned towards the rat and tilted his head towards the customers. The rat folded up his newspaper neatly and set it to the side as he got up, magically got into a waiter’s outfit, put on some necklace with a speaker on it, then skedaddled right over to the customers to take their orders. With that done, Peppino sighed in relief before he gave Mr. Stick his full attention. “Please, give-a me some time,” he whispered, glancing back at the customers to make sure they weren’t approaching. “Just one more week, and I can get you the cash! You’ve gotta give-a me some time!”
“Yeah yeah, that’s what you say every time,” said Mr. Stick as he rolled his eyes. “Only so much I can do to help keep this place afloat in the middle of nowhere. That revenue ain’t enough to pay the bills, and I’m startin’ to get a lil cheesed about it, Mr. Spaghetti.”
“B-but! The month is not-a even-a over! Please, just-”
Mr. Stick leaned in dangerously close, Peppino leaning back and trembling as if god himself was judging him instead of a loan shark. “Yeah, but at the rate you’re goin’, the interest’s gonna outpace ya. Face it: clientele’s nice ‘ere, but it just ain’t enough. You’re gonna need to move right on back to Whalestrand, where you can cook-a da pizza all you want for all those tourists.”
The pizza owner stared at him with wide eyes. “A-again? But the GHOSTS! I cannot-a handle the ghosts!”
“Well, it’s a good thing those Kobber folks are swingin’ by then, ain’t it?”
Mr. Stick’s grin grew wider as Peppino gasped. The Kobbers. Peppino knew of the Kobbers, but thinking about any of their misadventures made his heart race. Especially after what he heard from dear Madeline, with someone attempting to stir up another World War. On the other hand, he remembered cheering from the sidelines at the brawl as Madeline made her way through. Yes, 43rd place wasn’t good, but she was far braver than he had ever been, and was that not enough?
With the pizzeria owner’s attention firmly in his grasp, the stickman straightened up. “They’ll take care of the ghosts for ya, then we’ll have a cheap place to keep everythin’ runnin’. Then you can make all the money ya want, and you can pay off all that debt ya got. Kobbers got deep pockets, ya know.”
Peppino gulped. “B-but Pizza Vampire-”
“Oh, right. Him.” Mr. Stick pulled out a map of Whalestrand, marking the haunted kitchen and Pizza Vampire’s shop on there. “Don’t worry, you guys are far enough apart that youse won’t compete all that much. Different districts, y’see?”
“B-but then-a the property damage-”
“Kobbers can handle that. They have a whole organization ‘bout handlin’ stuff in the aftermath of one of their fights.”
“A-and what about this-a place? We cannot-a just up and-a leave!”
Mr. Stick groaned. “Of course you can! It’s not like we’re gonna shut this place down! Just let Gustavo and Brick handle things here, and long as you rake in enough money in Whalestrand, boom, you can handle two locations and pay off your debt all at the same time!”
Peppino did like the idea of keeping two pizza places. Gustavo was good enough on his own, right? And the rat, Brick… he’d be here too, right? But still, something about the whole thing struck him as odd. “And-a if it doesn’t work out like-a you said…?” he asked, even if he dreaded the answer.
He was right to dread it. Mr. Stick shrugged. “Then you’ll go bankrupt and the places get foreclosed ‘n all. No big deal, you can start your life over! Gotta go big or go home to deal with the bills, buddy!”
“No big-a deal, eh.” The grin vanished from Mr. Stick’s face as he noticed Peppino’s left eye twitch. “Let the poor man-a starve while you line-a your pockets full of money. No big-a deal.” Now it was Peppino’s turn to tower over Mr. Stick and point down at him, the wrath of god boiling up inside of him. “YOU THINK I’M-A THAT STUPID, EH? THINK I’M-A GONNA SACRIFICE MY LIFE’S WORK OVER A GAMBLE? YOU MAKE-A FUN OF THE POOR PIZZA MAN, EH?” He grabbed Mr. Stick by the tie and yanked him close as he hissed, “Then it’s gonna be on YOUR dollar, you stupid, al-dente pasta noodle. Not mine.”
Stick quivered and tried to pull himself away, but the Italian’s grip was too tight. “Okay, okay, I’ll help subsidize you, okay?!? I was just tryin’ to help!”
“More like trying to-a bleed-a me wallet dry,” growled Peppino as he let go of the tie. He tried not to grin as the stickly man collapsed onto the floor like a wet noodle. “Now get out, you-a slick weasel.”
“Y-yeah! J-just don’t forget the money! And just THINK about the whole idea, alright? You could stand to get a lil more profits!” Mr. Stick scrambled up and zoomed out of the pizzeria, leaving dust clouds in his wake. Customers turned to see what was going on, but by the time they looked, Peppino’s pure adrenaline-fueled wrath was exhausted, leaving him as an anxious pile of flesh clutching his head in sheer fear.
“Oooh, what have I done?” he said to himself, sweating bullets. “Now I’m-a in big trouble… Oh, how will I survive now? Who’s to say he won’t-a bring up the debt out-a spite? Oh, what to do?” While the rest of the night was uneventful, he couldn’t help but chew on his fingers to try to get some anxious energy out. But there was a lot he had to think about with this sticky situation.
Well. At the very least, the idea of going back to Whalestrand was back in his head. Maybe he could see Madeline again, keep an eye on her. Nah, she could take care of herself, better than he could. It’s all a matter of figuring out one thing.
Was the profit and experience going to be worth the effort? Or would the chaos the Kobbers bring make things so much harder?
