A Night in the Old Marketplace - The Badkhn's Appointment (M, cold)

[KazeNoUirusu]

Well, this is my first literature post on the forum, you guys. It's also the first true sneezefic I've ever written. (I've written sickfics before, but I've never spelled the sneezing out.)

~~~I promise I’ll get to the actual fanfic in a minute, but first, some background info is necessary. Sorry!~~~

Alright guys, this is… one of the weirder fanfics I’ve written.

It’s for an incredibly obscure thing that I expect none of you to know about called A Night in the Old Marketplace. Originally, it was a 1907 Yiddish play by author I.L. Peretz. But then in 2007, it was turned into a sort-of-musical, and I got into it by buying and falling in total love with the CD. Here’s the website for it, and here’s all of the music on Spotify. I totally recommend it. I’m nerding out way more than I should over it. >//u//<;

The main character is the Badkhn (a badkhn is a Jewish wedding jester, they used to basically lead/provide the entertainment for all wedding parties among Eastern European Jews,) and he is like the loveliest sassiest anti-hero, so much adorable sass. <3 The plotline is that there’s this girl who committed suicide by jumping down the well in this Polish shtetl (shtetl = Jewish village) because she was going to be married off to someone other than her true love. The true love, left behind, falls into a deep depression and becomes an alcoholic. This guy the Badkhn has some, uhh, issues with authority and death, so he creates this scheme to bring the girl back from the dead. In order to do this, he wakes up this magical gargoyle and basically sells his soul to it so that it can raise the dead. But of course, screwing with the laws of nature always goes wrong in the end.

The short description is that it’s like Fiddler on the Roof redone by Tim Burton. XD

SO. My headcanon is that the Gargoyle comes to life in a humanoid form. (This is mostly so that I can sort of ship Gargoyle/Badkhn; the Badkhn sings this one really seductive song to the Gargoyle in the actual musical and oh gosh it’s more attractive than it should be.) And this fanfiction takes place after the Badkhn has woken the Gargoyle, but before they’ve gone through with their plan.

If anyone actually read all of that, I thank you a thousand times. c: And now, the fanfic~! (By the way, if you read the fanfic too, I thank you TWO thousand times.) This is just the first chapter. I think there’ll be more. Eventually. o~o

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Eight AM. By this time of the morning, the Badkhn would ordinarily be singing. He sings a lot. When he gets out of the bed. When he makes himself breakfast. When he bathes. It can be anything from a recent Yiddish theater hit to a religious ditty to some cutesy American import. Lately, he’s been favoring Bicycle Built for Two as his rise-and-shine anthem.

He is not singing today.

Instead, he is still in bed, clawing his pillow and hoarsely grumbling curses at the sun, which shines through the round window of his one-room cottage with far too much enthusiasm. A deep, melodramatic sigh punctuates his chain of expletives, followed by an attempt to sit up, his third in twenty minutes. This time, he finds the willpower to complete the task, if just barely.

Head swimming and vision going momentarily dark, he desperately longs to attack the pillow with his head once again, but instead forces a ninety-degree turn so that his feet touch down. As if protesting the move, a formidable tickle comes on quite suddenly in his sinuses, and his breath hitches as he squeezes his miserable eyes shut.

“Hha… huk-chh’t!” The sneeze is sort of half-covered with his left hand - it’s raised out of instinct, but does a sloppy and insufficient job of covering the wet spray because he knows he’s alone. He emits a groan devoid of his usual theatrics, indicative that he is truly feeling like shit, and wipes his hand haphazardly on his blanket before standing and making his stiff way to a drawer across the room, from which he pulls a handkerchief.

Two thick blows succeed in expelling what was already loosened by the sneeze, but this is only replaced by fresh mucus that moves down from the higher regions of his sinuses. He gives a desperate snort and a few almost frightened pants through his mouth as he tries to catch up on his oxygen intake, feeling suddenly weak(er). Once his breathing is back in the ballpark of even, his pained expression ferments into one of epitomal aggravation.

“Gahh!” the Badkhn lets loose, slapping the handkerchief down on top of the cupboard and taking a few steps toward the center of the room (which, as everyone knows, is the best place to make a scene.) His hands raise to the sides of his head as if to clutch it, but just hover there instead, his eyes shutting tightly as he continues to shout. “Of all the farshtunkene times to come down with a farshtunkene cold!”

“That is indeed unfortunate.”

He whirls around, which awakens a sharp pain in the front of his head, but he doesn’t really care, because a voice has just spoken behind him in his own home and his fight-or-flight would really like to know whose. His heart gives one frantically loud pump as he comes face to face with a pair of devilish black eyes, but then recognition sets in, and he lets out a shuddering sigh. “You’re absolutely horrid,” he greets with a weak cough.

“Is that why I’ve been in Purgatory?” the Gargoyle kids with a curious head tilt. “I can’t remember. Huh. Oh well.”

The Badkhn gives it - or him, rather; yes, let’s go with ‘him,’ because it’s quite alive and does seem to be on the more masculine end of the androgyny spectrum - his best-honed unamused glower, then turns away. “Is there a reason you’ve come a-calling so early, my friend?” The last word is quite obviously used in irony; it’s never exactly honest, but it’s given an extra dose of blatant sarcasm today to up the cutting factor.

Of course, it’s difficult to cut stone; the Gargoyle is unflinching. “I smelled it already,” he responds, shaking his head with a slight air of disappointment.

The ill man’s brow furrows, a rare sight on his face. “You smelled what?”

“Your sickness.” The Badkhn’s stomach lurches at the matter-of-fact statement, only to do so again when the Gargoyle’s matte gray face draws very near to his own. The beast sniffs curiously, and the Badkhn feels distinctly violated. “I smelled it coming from your house before you were even awake. It stinks.”

“Yes, well.” A false smile blossoms on the Badkhn’s face in irritation. “It wouldn’t be my first choice of cologne, certainly.”

The Gargoyle, vexingly, has not yet backed away. He blinks. “I didn’t say I disliked it. It’s… interesting.” Another sniff, long and drawn out as the living statue concentrates on whatever it is his superior sense of smell can detect. “It smells very, very alive.”

“Alive?” the Badkhn repeats quietly with a smidge of disdain. “I should think sickness reeks of death.”

“Not at all.” The Gargoyle’s lips move even closer to the Badkhn’s own, parting in an unnatural, shark-like smile. On any other day, the Badkhn might smile playfully back, might even like the proximity, but today it’s just unsettling. He wants to be back in bed, and he wants to be alone. “The dead cannot be ill. Only the living. You should feel quite alive right now.”

The man tries for another fake smile, lips thinning. “Forgive me if I don’t. What is it that you want, Gargoyle?”

Finally (sigh of relief,) the statue turns and steps away. “Will you be over this in time?” he asks, stretching his wings with a single flap and nearly nailing the Badkhn in the face with one of them.

In time for the start date of their little plan, he knows the Gargoyle means, but he does not know the answer. “I’m not sure.” His voice is serious, another rarity for him. “You may not know this, O Stone One, but a cold is not a particularly predictable thing. I could be largely healthy again in two days… or I could still be up to my ears in it this time next week.”

The Gargoyle looks at him and blinks. “Well, you’ll just have to make sure it’s the former,” he states as if it’s case closed.

An exhausted grin graces the Badkhn’s face. “If it were only so simple, friend.”

“But it is.” The Gargoyle first points in the direction of the bed, then thinks better of it and crowds the Badkhn from behind, cupping his wings around him and coaxing him rather forcefully in the right direction. “Back to bed. Come on.”

The Badkhn resists, cringing, feeling about ready to sock his demonic partner in the face (were that face not, well, made of solid rock.) “I can’t. I have an appointment.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I do.”

The Gargoyle almost looks annoyed, which is a little amusing. “Well, reschedule. Don’t humans dislike it when people show up to these things sick, anyway?” he tries, re-folding his wings behind him briskly.

The shorter figure smiles, and for the first time this morning, it looks close to genuine - an oh, bless your soul, you naive thing sort of smile. “I plan on concealing it,” he counters sweetly. He’s only just finished his sentence when another tickle assaults him. “Gh… h’k-chh’t! Huh-khh’t!”

As a deplorable blush rises to the Badkhn’s face, the Gargoyle nods condescendingly. “Yes. Good luck with that.”

The Badkhn scowls. Damn his timing. He shoulders past the statue (ow) and trudges to his dresser. “I never miss a meeting with a client,” he proclaims. “Besides. If all goes as planned,” he then adds with a meaningful glance at the Gargoyle, “it may be a bit difficult to reschedule.”

“It would be prudent,” the Gargoyle interjects with a slow-growing dark grin, “to consider whether this client’s wedding is even going to happen. Hehh.” The laugh is contemplative and creepy, accompanied by a childish head-tilt. “We do have a wedding to plan ourselves.”

Pawing through clothes, the Badkhn freezes. His comrade has a point. After summoning an army of demons, reanimating the dead, marrying the shtetl’s own star-crossed lovers, and, uhh, overthrowing God (assuming all goes according to plan,) it’s a bit tricky to say what the Badkhn’s, and all of humanity’s, schedule will be like. He rather fancies that he’ll be in some kind of leadership position when it’s all through - he is, of course, the man who will have accomplished it all. Perhaps he’ll even be considered the Messiah? It’s a completely mad thought, he knows, but then again, he’s, well, completely mad. If nothing else, he’s sure he’ll at least find himself in charge of the shtetl he calls home, with the well-deserved respect of the lowliest drunkard and the richest banker alike.

“That… we do,” the Badkhn agrees, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Indeed, I understand your concern.” He smiles again, looking back down at the open drawer and grabbing a clean shirt. “But my reputation is my livelihood. I wouldn’t skip out on a job simply because it’s the final one. It wouldn’t be me.”

“Mmm,” the Gargoyle hums, folding his arms. “Matters of identity. What a very… human excuse.”

The shorter man stands up straight and presses a folded garment of tan cotton against the Gargoyle’s chest; said Gargoyle takes the shirt in confused compliance as the Badkhn utters coyly up at him: “I’m very human.”

He turns away to dig for a pair of pants, and the Gargoyle, despite his annoyance at being temporarily subjugated for use as a coatrack, smiles in amusement. “As if that needed saying.” He analytically watches the Badkhn unfold and examine some dark brown breeches. “Fleshy sack of blood and bones and…”

The wedding jester’s mouth hangs open childishly as his breath catches on yet another tickle. Nearly throwing the pants at the Gargoyle, he takes two urgent steps toward the same cupboard as before and once again retrieves his handkerchief.

He lifts it to his face just in time. “Khht! Hha… k’chht!” A congested groan, followed by a few chillingly wet-sounded nose blows.

“...And mucus,” the Gargoyle adds from observation, twirling his tail in discomfort.

Folding up the already thoroughly exploited kerchief, the Badkhn gives a tired but sly smile upon noticing the demon’s rigidity. “So nu? Am I disgusting you, my good creature of the night?” he taunts.

Disappointingly, the Gargoyle seems to shed his momentary revulsion and examines his long claws with convincingly genuine nonchalance. “I’ve seen far worse, little human. I remember a time when the marketplace you know so well was piled high with fresh, phlegmy, bleeding bodies. They couldn’t get the wretched things in the ground fast enough.”

The Badkhn conceals a shudder at the, ahem, effectiveness of the descriptive imagery. “The Plague,” he utters gravely.

“That’s how those poor souls from Brod bit the dust,” the Gargoyle continues, confirming the Badkhn’s inference by not acknowledging it. “The singing group.” His eyes light up suddenly in a deviously excited smile. “You met, yes?”

“Yes,” the Badkhn replies, eyebrow twitching a bit at the slightly irritating memory. “You resurrected them for me. Fun bunch.” It had been a rather brash decision on the part of the Gargoyle - a superfluous resurrection, not to mention a dangerously early one - and only heaven (or possibly hell) knows where those wailing, mildewed corpses are wandering about now.

The statue’s grin waxes, every one of his finely-carved teeth terrifyingly visible. “And you see? This is why I like you, jester.” There’s a trembling enthusiasm to his melodic voice that both scares and elates the Badkhn. “Those singers did nothing to end up in Purgatory, nothing! They've been doomed to forever writhe and wonder why they weren't good enough for God’s little private club.” He leans in close again. “And you see it. You see how wrong that is.”

The Badkhn swallows. “I do.”

“You, and I, and all the shadows of the night,” the Gargoyle adds. “Most of these humans are content to join hands and beg pathetically for forgiveness and mercy from the Almighty God. I’ve waited for a rebel like you - someone daring and intelligent enough to challenge all that. We are going to change everything, human.” A high-pitched laugh escapes him, and his eyelids pull up in a split-second expression of pure mania. “We’ll make such wonders.”

The Badkhn stares back with an unsure smile and coughs a few times. It’s difficult to respond to such a disarming monologue. “That’s what I’m hoping,” he manages after a moment. Then, abruptly, he snatches his clothes away from the Gargoyle and walks back toward his bed. “But today, my appointment.”

A despondent beast is left standing limply in his wake. “You,” he announces, “are a pain.”

“How sweet, thank you!”

“I’m beginning to wonder why I let you wake me. What was I thinking?”

“It was the seductive eyes. No one’s ever been able to resist the seductive eyes, my dear.”

The Badkhn feels a cold, hard hand on his shoulder just as he’s about to put his shirt on. As the Gargoyle enunciates into his ear, suddenly serious as death itself, the entire room seems to chill. “You’ll take it easy today,” he commands. “And I’m not just saying that out of selfless concern.”

Wide eyes close as the Badkhn attempts to mask his uneasiness. The last thing he wants is for the Gargoyle to know just how afraid he is of him - even though he probably already does. “I know,” he replies shortly.

“I’m depending on you, human. You’re the one; I know it. No one else will do. You’re going to free us all.”

Now, he finds the courage to smile; a butterfly of manic excitement breaks free in his stomach, and he takes a step away to slide the sleeves of his shirt over his arms confidently. “You’re damn right I will,” he seconds, opening and flashing his reddish eyes at his cohort. “Not to worry, chum. I’ll do it with or without a cold.”

Buttoning his shirt, he continues with a cackle. “Hell - I’d do it with the Plague!”

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And oh yeah, have a bonus illustration of the Gargoyle sniffing the Badkhn's face, whee~ XD

I really hope somebody enjoys this despite how obscure it is, sorry about that! I'm into weird crap. ouo

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Ohhhhh This sounds very promising

[KazeNoUirusu]

Ohhhhh This sounds very promising

You think so? Thank you!

I have some vague ideas of where I want to take it next. I'm just having a blast with being able to write a story that combines fetishy stuff with Jewish culture stuff and such a colorful main character XD

[Orb]

This is good. Is it really your first fanfic? *Squints suspiciously* Or is it.................. Hmmm..... Anyway, this is good stuff. I like where this is going and would very much appreciate a sequel. Or two. Or three. Or ten-Ten is good

[KazeNoUirusu]

This is good. Is it really your first fanfic? *Squints suspiciously* Or is it.................. Hmmm..... Anyway, this is good stuff. I like where this is going and would very much appreciate a sequel. Or two. Or three. Or ten-Ten is good

Thank you! Ohh, no no no - it's not my first fanfic. Sorry, that's not what I meant. XD It's my first real sneezefic. I'm not used to writing the sneezes out like this. So I'm playing around with it. XD

Now that a couple people like it, I should totally start writing the next chapter! We'll see how that goes! XD

[Orb]

Very glad to hear that!