[Fishbowl Helmet]

It's rather not fair to crit others' writing without having my head on the block as well, so here goes. I like thick paragraphs at times, this being one.

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Even after 300 years of concerted effort, Puck was not a morning person. He needed a kick to get started. So when the Mr Coffee runs out of grounds it’s time for a trip to the store, which means mingling. Gods I hate mingling, Puck thought. All these mundane people with their mundane thoughts and mundane lives. Puck examined a tin of Folgers coffee. What the devil does ‘French Roast’ mean anyway? They’re too repressed to make a Spanish Inquisition joke with their coffee. He placed the can back on the shelf and moved on to the fresh, whole beans. Puck was so fixated on the variety of options before him, he utterly failed to notice the lumbering troll blocking his crab-like amble down the isle.

Puck bumped into the massive troll and said without thinking, “Oh, pardon me. Very sorry about that. I’m useless before my coffee don’t you know.” Puck tried to move closer to the shelves to pass the troll; its bulk eclipsed the isle, making any polite movement round impossible. The smell of the coffee isle was legendary, even amongst the fair folk--who used to be called fairies, but have since relinquished that moniker for something less politically charged, thank you. But the smell of the troll was a tad more legendary. Puck noticed the reek as he made his third attempt to push by the troll. “Oh, bother,” he said by way of apology, “but you are awfully rank. Would you mind standing down wind?” Just as Puck reached up to block his nose to the scent, the rest of Puck’s face was caught by a rather large fist. The troll barely exerted itself but the hapless Puck was sent sprawling down the isle, landing in a display of candied coffee beans. Looking up Puck noticed the troll for the first time, “ ‘Unearned luck,’ my ass.”

The troll split his face wide and attempted a smile. It was a hideous affair as the races of trolls were never designed for such pleasantries, rather they were designed to tear tree stumps from the ground and smash about living things until they were formerly living things. “Please don’t do that again,” Puck said. Slowly gaining his feet he thought to add, “Either of those really. The smiling or the hitting. Thanks.” Puck brushed the last of the candied coffee beans from his jacket. “Whoever I’ve pissed off this time sure doesn’t want me around for a second go. You blighters aren’t cheap. But lucky for me, you aren’t very smart either.” Puck smiled a proper smile at the troll as he strode down the isle and stood before its massive barrel chest. “What’ll it be then? Turn you into a frog? No, too much of an improvement in the looks department. ‘Bout a trash bin then? No, too much personality for the likes of you.” With that the troll hit him again. Or rather swung its fist where Puck was supposed to be.

Puck appeared on top of the shelves, sitting cross-legged, eating a candied coffee bean. “The trouble with you trolls is the only way you can win a fight is with the element of surprise.” The troll turned slowly around to look down both ends of the isle. “Considering your immense size, lack of personal hygiene, and complete inability to be sneaky, it’s no wonder you only manage to get the really slow and stupid.” The troll finally glanced up, an impressive feat considering it was made of solid rock. “Luckily for me, I am neither.” The troll swung its huge fist again, this time aiming for the shelves, it managed to smash through to the ground and knock the entire framework over. The shelves lay against the next isle for a brief moment, then both began to move. Another moment passed and both shelves fell into a third--which thankfully was the last row--before all three fell like dominoes onto the empty floor beyond. The troll sifted through the debris with a giant finger, looking for the puddle of Puck that should have been there.

“Clean up on isles 10, 11, and 12,” the store manager called over the intercom.

“Stupid mortals,” Puck said appearing next to the candied coffee bean display. “They’re not much better than you lot.” The troll turned, surprised that Puck was in fact not dead, and grunted. “But at least they were bright enough to invent the toothbrush.” Puck popped another coffee bean in his mouth. “But what you really need… is a bath.” Puck winked at the troll who transformed into a goldfish. “Now, don’t worry my formerly rocky friend, you just cool off a moment while I whip up a bowl.” Puck did just as he said. A small bowl, complete with water, a bit of colored stones at the bottom--all plastic of course, real hand-painted stones were far too expensive to waste on a troll--and a small porcelain sign that read ‘Help! I’ve been fishnapped’. Puck took the goldfish by the tail and plopped him into the bowl. “There, now that you’re squared away, I need to sort out my coffee.” He held the fishbowl under his arm as he examined the wreckage formerly known as the coffee isle. “Look at that mess, fishy.” Puck considered his options for a moment and said, “I hate going to Starbucks. It means more mingling. Gods I hate mingling.”