“Thank you and good night!” The crowd roared as they walked - or hopped - offstage. It was a good show. He could tell by his sweat-matted fur and the looks of concern his bandmates gave him. Now, you or I would’ve taken these things together as a bad sign, but Tallywhack was a creature of habit, as they say, and his poison of choice was the thrill he got right before he passed out, which was often inevitable after a show.
But not this time. This time, he wanted to savor it.
He got down to his dressing room, where he squelched into his leather chair and leaned back, letting that beautiful feeling wash over him.
“Never gets old,” he said aloud, “never gets old.”
He awoke on the floor. He could tell before he even opened his eyes that he was in bad shape.
“Tally? Buddy?” It was the voice of Rodney, their manager.
“Did it… did it happen again?”
“Yes, yes it did. C’mon now, let’s get you up.” Rodney lifted him by the ears and placed him back on the chair. The room swam around him, belly a-churnin’ as he tried his damnedest to stay awake. Looking in the mirror on the desk only made it worse, despite the nice view it gave him.
“Was it a good show, Rod?”
“It was a great show. They loved it, Tally, they loved it.”
“That’s nice… that’s really… great…”
“Could you do just one more thing for me, Tally?”
“What’s that?”
“Take it easy for a while. Please.”
“Well, you know what I always say, Rod.” His forehead fur was soaked to the skin.
“What do you always say, hare?” Rod asked, holding him upright by the shoulders. “What do you always say? Hey buddy, look at me.” He snapped his fingers in Tallywhack’s face. “What do you always say?”
“Power to the people…”
He awoke in the Bugs Buggy, as they’d recently named it, on one of its many wooden benches. It was quite a big buggy, all things considered. Far bigger than their old one, anyway. Shame about the incident with the old one, the 700 year insurance policy had just run out on it, too.
“Rod, you are a golden god from Oth,” Tallywhack said, slurring his words. Rodney was hovering above him with the rest of the band.
“It happened again?” someone asked in a feminine voice. He could almost recognize it.
“It happened again,” Rodney said, patting him on the chest. “He’ll be alright. Probably. I hope.”
Tallywhack swiveled his head around the compartment. The light streaming in from the window betrayed the trust his eyes gave it, making him turn away as much in principle as he did pain. As they adjusted, he found himself staring mindlessly at some object. What a cool doodad, he thought. Wonder whose it is. Man, look at the buttons, wonder what they do. Wish I could go and pick it up. Shame it’s broken. Right in the… the… middle… What is that? Is that…?
“My accordion!”
He sprang up and hopped to it, holding back painful wails. Kneeling down next to it there was no doubt it was his prized accordion, ripped in twain.
“What happened? What… who did this to you?” He ran his finger along the torn and frayed material, feeling its pain and holding back tears. It had been with him from the very beginning, when he’d received it as a gift at an awards show from his good friend, King Cad. Good guy.
“Sorry, Tallywhack.” It was the feminine voice again, who he now recognized as their black-feathered bassist, Squawky. Tallywhack thought highly of Squawky’s bass-playing abilities, but interpersonal communication was definitely not her strong suit. He somehow found the strength to tear himself away from his beloved and stood up to face her.
“What did you say?”
“I said I was sorry. I know-”
“You don’t have to say another word, Squawky, I’ve heard enough!” He turned his back to the now confused band and crossed his arms theatrically. “You can do anything you want to me! Anything! You can kick me while I’m down, stomp on my dreams, for all I care! But you’ve crossed the-”
“I didn’t break your accordion, Tallywhack.”
“Sorry?”
“That’s alright.”
“No, I-”
“I was just saying sorry about it, you know.”
“Yeah,” Rodney said. “You did it last night at the show. Ripped it clean in two, Tally.”
“Mhm,” Squawky said, obviously cheesed.
“Oh… well… what do we do now?” The band stared at him.
“We find a way around it, Tally,” said T-Bone, their bovine horn-player, flutist, slide-whistler, glockspielist, and resident optimist. “We always do.”
“Or we ain’t Bring Me the Bugs!” the drummer yelled.
“And we better do it fast, Tally,” Rodney said. “We have a show tomorrow in Orctown!”
“Alright, alright,” Tallywhack said, smiling, “huddle up!” They did. He looked around at their faces one by one, each of them grinning back at him. “Who are we?”
“Bring Me the Bugs!”
“And what do we do?”
“Play the polka music!”
“But what else?”
“Solve problems!”
“And guess what we’re gonna do!”
“What?”
“Solve the problem!”
A cheer went up.
“Now let’s repair that accordion!”
Rodney knew of only one place for the job, an accordion repair shop by the name of Bellows and Keys down in Urk. And there was also only one problem with it, funnily enough:
Bring Me the Bugs had been banned from Urk back in 2018 for something Rodney had the courtesy not to remind him of, but something as inconsequential as a ban had never stopped them before.
On one ill-fated weekend, the band had performed at a tavern called The Smell after getting kicked out of it the previous weekend for inciting a riot. They pulled that little move off by signing up under a different band name, managing to play half a set before the owner found out. That’s polka for you.
So, they set off on the road, headed for the land of Orcs and orc-adjacent people. The Bugs Buggy got just as rowdy as you’d expect from a polka band. That is: very. That’s right, the good times kept on rolling until they couldn’t roll no more. They arrived at their destination, a small city by the name of Ragamuffin, under cover of darkness - perfect for disguising their famous new ride.
Rodney stopped the horses - their names were John and Paul - at the gate and waited for a guard.
“Hail” one yelled from out of the darkness.
“Hail-o to you too, sir!” Rodney yelled back.
“What is your business?”
“A little bit of late-night shopping with the ban- with the gang is all!”
“Very well, open the gate!” Someone did and they entered.
The night shrouded the city streets, fortunately making their description nearly impossible. Before long, Rodney stopped the horses once again and it was showtime.
Tallywhack stepped out onto the shadowed street and felt cobblestone beneath his paws. His rabbit ears bounced rabbitly as he made his way to the shopfront, right behind his manager. Torches lit the display windows, showing him what he was in store (ha) for. There were, to his great delight, accordions! Accordions galore! And as they walked through the doors into the wood-paneled showroom, even more accordions! Not only that, there were also uncountable DIY repair kits of various brands, spare buttons and keys, and even attachable harmonicas and tambourines covering the walls and knee-high display tables.
Needless to say, it was a wonderland.
Rodney led them to the front counter where an orc of about normal orc height and complexion - nine feet and bright green - stood beaming at them.
“Hello, friends, and welcome to Bellows and Keys! How may I help you?” On a shelf behind him, beside his head, was a branded bottle of accordion polish plastered with an artist’s rendering of Tallywhack’s head.
“Hello, sir!” Rodney said. “We’re here for a routine accordion repair!” He paused for a second, then leaned over to Tallywhack’s ear. “Tally!”
“Oh, yeah.” He went up to the counter and placed the halves down gently, wincing as he did.
“Dear, oh dear,” the orc said, surveying the damage. “It’s extensive. You’ll need a whole new bellow, I’m afraid.” He knelt down and grabbed one from underneath the counter, exactly the color of the old, torn model. “You want the installation done in-store?”
“Yes, please,” Tallywhack said, rubbing his paws. The clerk lifted it with professional care to his side of the counter, and began tinkering with it.
“Say,” he said, his eyes lighting up, “you wouldn’t happen to be Tallyw-”
“Anyway!” Rodney said, slamming three gold pieces on the counter. “Will this cover it?” The store seemed to be empty, but Tallywhack knew him better than to take chances.
“I charge five for it, most times. But for Ta- for someone of your status,” he said, winking, “three will do.”
“Fantastic!” Rodney said, cupping his hands. “How long?”
“Not long, not long at all. You know, between you and I,” the clerk said, coming to a whisper, “the shop gets more Bugs fans in than not. You- they are incredible for business. Wish they could still play here, that would be something. And…” he said, tightening the final screw, “there you are, good as new.” He handed the freshly bellowed accordion back to Tallywhack, who hugged it on instinct.
“Oh, thank you, thank you! Oh, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Would you mind not…”
“Of course! Bad for business to make enemies with you, of all people. You folks have a good night, now!”
“Thank you, thank you, you as well,” Rodney said, ushering them out.
“What a nice guy,” Tallywhack said, admiring the craftsmanship of the thing. “And what a great shop!”
“Bit of a bootlicker, though,” Squawky said. She nodded to something up ahead.“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Tallywhack asked, scanning through the darkness.
“Oh gods,” Rodney said. “It’s the city guard.”
Surrounding the Bugs Buggy were five or six guards, all circling it like Pordish vultures and furiously taking notes in parchment pads. One of them looked up to meet Tallywhack’s gaze.
“You! Come here!”
“Oh gods,” Rodney said, rubbing his brow. They did as ordered.
“Could you help this make sense to me?” the guard asked as they approached.
“I uh… don’t know what you mean,” Rodney said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, really? Is that so? Because this vehicle matches the description of one Bugs Buggy, which is being used at this very moment by the national convicts Bring Me the Bugs. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“I… um, well…”
“Tell me, sir, what is your business here, exactly?”
“Just… um…” Tallywhack, seeing Rodney’s brain struggling for an inkling of an excuse, a smidge, even a drop, came up with his own.
“Just leaving! Right, gang?” He gave up his best innocent look.
“Leaving, eh? I don’t think you’ll be leaving anytime soon, lady and gents. No, not for a long while. Come here, boys, I think we found our guys.” The rest of the guards, covered by red Urkish platemail, began lumbering over. Tallywhack then had a second idea, one of a genius or suicidal maniac, depending on how he thought about it. He locked eyes with John and Paul, who waited restlessly in the wings, and made his move.
“Run!” He sprinted to the driver’s bench while the others, only just processing what was happening, ducked past the guards and into the buggy. Clamoring up, he snapped the reins and off they went, throwing up dust in the guards’ faces, laughing as he made a tight 180. Soon, they were on the road again. That’s polka for you.