Ever since he began to build the set for The Slightly Late Show with Zune Tee-em, Zune had been plagued by a terrible case of homesickness. He had always been able to afford the warren’s monthly compulsory furniture sale of some of the finest rat-based furniture. And now it was quickly apparent that Zune lacked the skills to build furniture, let alone paint the city skyline backdrop that graced The Very Late Show With Guy Blanco. Zune supposed Menthoralix had wanted it this way; for every kobold to be reliant on the warren way-of-life.

There was no use in complaining. Zune had chosen to come to Eden, and darn-gosh-golly-geeze he was going to succeed in getting Guy Blanco to notice him. And to do so he was going to need to think like the late night talk show host: he was going to have to make a production company.

But who to hire first? And how to hire them? He didn’t have any money, and he hadn’t been paid an appearance fee in months. Ever since interviewing Harold, really. And what if the humans thought he was scary and called him a monster again? Also, he didn’t even have the set completed, so using it for any interviews would be deeply insulting and unprofessional to anyone who walked the few miles to his little riverside hut.

“Quitting is for Jimmy Fallon.” Zune said to himself. He thought he felt the earth shake for a brief moment, and he was reminded of home once again. He missed the daily tunnel collapses that rocked him to sleep in the warren, their low rumbles were like the bleating of distressed sheep to his ears, relaxing him after a hard day of building ethical affordable housing in densely populated for other members of the Collect(i)on of U(n)ified (C)onstruction K(h)obolds labor union. He missed the night-time pitter patter of the giant centipede trains that provided quick transport of the Pits of Despair when dinnertime came around.

He could build things for people. He was good at building, and people would pay him for it too! Of course! And he had the weeks of experience (which, again, was a lot for the typical warren kobold) to put on his resume. Quickly, Zune pulled out a bit of rat parchment (which was really just a flattened, taxidermied rat), wrote down his work experience in tasteful kobold penmanship, and headed off to Eden. Well, actually, he headed off slightly west of Eden to the shoddiest, least-geographically-accurate saloon he could find: East of Eden, certain he would find some good, law-abiding folks to pay him a fair livable wage for honest, difficult work.

***

Asisi Vermouth was a cheap, petty man who always underpaid his workers. Rather than building his own saloon, he simply stole the building from a “friend” and moved it to another part of town. Slightly west of town, to be precise. It was a perfect plan. A heist so far-fetched and unbelievable that he wouldn’t even have to change the saloon’s name. That had been twenty years ago, back when the city’s crime rate had been a mere 111.5%. Things hadn’t changed much since. Asisi’s “friend” had moved on to a less criminal-oriented city, someone else had built a saloon on the same spot, and no one much seemed to notice (or care). Asisi, who was turning forty this year, was confident that Eden would never change.

The saloon doors swung open weakly, causing the whole saloon to shake precariously, giving the patrons of the room the oddly-specific impression as if it were terribly structurally unstable from being stolen twenty years ago. The bright dusty noon-time light enhanced the silhouette of a kobold wearing a tattered bath-towel as a cloak. Zune’s clawed feet clicked as if they were spurs as he walked into the room.

“Hello! I’m Zune Tee-em! Does anyone know who owns this place? The construction is terrible, and I can fix it.”

Asisi scowled as he reached under the counter for the legendary sword Bonesplitter. He heard the shuffling of tables as the posse of (adventurer names who placed a bet, and Father Milton) shuffled for their weapons, knowing Asisi Vermouth was considering harming the naive creature. Was this the kobold they had placed a bet on? Seeing the dangerous criminals reach for their weapons to threaten him for any violent action, a miracle occurred: Although it cannot be said for certain, it seemed as though whatever remained of Asisi’s empathy after twenty years in Eden blossomed up in his heart. He let go of the legendary sword Bonesplitter, and went back to drying the inside of a mug.

I’ll humor him now, and kill him later. Asisi thought.

“Newcomer. My name is Asisi Vermouth. Welcome to East of Eden: Combination Saloon and Daycare. Your name again?” Asisi had been so put-off by the kobold’s (no-doubt entirely unfounded) construction advice that he had struck the name from his mind entirely.

“Zune Tee-em. I got to town a few weeks ago, and I haven’t really introduced myself to anyone but Father Milton over there!” Zune gave an enthusiastic wave to Father Milton. The entire table glared at the old man, whose face was now beat red as he replied with a meek “Hello Zune.” Whispers of “what the fuck” and “and you didn’t tell us, why?!” and “where’s my money?” could be heard coming from the table. The kobold ignored them.

“Well, mister Tee-em, I assure you my building is perfectly fine. Just as good as the day I got it.”

“How do you know?” Zune asked, legitimately curious.

“Well, you see, it’s been standing for twenty years. Buildings don’t just up-and-collapse. They’re sort of like wine. They grow better and more stable with age.” Asisi lied.

“Huh. Really?” Zune sat down at a barstool, which caused the whole room to shake like a warren tunnel collapsed under it. Humans really know nothing about buildings do they?

“What if I told you I could make your building look a lot prettier, and get a lot more customers to make you more money?” Zune asked.

“The building is a classic! And you would be messing with twenty years of aging.” Asisi objected, half-heartedly. He was really enjoying messing with this naive little lizard. Afterall, lying was Asisi Vermouth’s favorite thing to do ever since the incident. Don’t think about the incident. Asisi chastised himself. He had spent twenty years ignoring his greatest shame, and he sure-as-hell wasn’t going to stop. Not when thinking back on his failure was so painful.

Man, this guy is a tough geode to crack. Zune thought. How am I going to convince him to let me build for him?

Suddenly, Zune looked to the stage behind him. Upon it was a large desk with a swivel chair behind it, and two couches were set to the left of the desk. It was the perfect furniture for his set. Zune felt the power of Guy Blanco flow through his body, and then he knew exactly how he was going to convince Asisi to give it to him. Butterflies rose in his stomach as Zune reached for the power that had gotten him out of Menthoralix’s warrens, and into Eden.

“Have you ever been interviewed before, Mister Vermouth?”