Inspired by the LoXG

[C.F. Kane]

I've loved Alan Moore's League of Extraordinary Gentlemen for the longest time, so I thought about writing a short story in my own pan-fictional universe, just because it seemed so fun. This is only an introduction to the story, it's all far from finished. If you guys like it, I may go on with it. This is basically my attempt to look at everyday life in the modern day LXG universe.

Spoiler

The scaly face of the Gazblargian trader frowns upon our hero.
“I demand that you give me the finest spice-bars of your Federation’s sugar mines. And I want them quickly, peon.”
Our hero squints behind his Benetrex space goggles. The Gazblargs had only had him captured for two Terran months, and Spiff’s pride had not grown accustomed to the condescension of the reptilian denizens of the planet.
Masking his hatred with wincing compliance, Spiff tallies the spice bars laid in front of him hoping that he can escape the claws of the Gazblarg by giving a fair deal on his demands. His blaster is ever-ready, but guards were peering on him, and this was no time for disintegrations.
“And I demand Tiloxoid Death Sticks as well.”
Spiff barely disguises a smirk. He had long been amused by the casually suicidal practices of the lizards. They were willing to buy and consume materials that they knew, beyond doubt, would end in death. It showed either guts or stupidity. Of course, there is rarely a difference between the two.
Spiff smiles, and says the words that would send the wretched reptilian on his way.
“$7.99, please”
“Eight bucks for this? Some candy bars and cigarettes comes ta eight bucks! You trying to screw an old man? You trying to screw me over ya punk kid?”
And the gag dies. The Gazblargian turns back into a crotchety old Italian man with a mustache, and I’m back behind the convenience store’s counter, the Wonka bars and Red Apple smokes laid out in front of me. Usually, treating every encounter with customers like a sci-fi movie helps the day go faster. I just happened to get one of the guys prickly enough to pop my dream bubble.
Jessie steps in, taking some of the heat off me.
“Look, if y’all want to have an argument at least try to find something better to argue about than junk food.”
“What betta things? You want me to argue about politics? I gotta get these things back ta my place, or my wife’ll screech at me for not treating my loser ex-con son good.”
“Sir there’s no need to be raising your voice in here, there’s no point – wait a sec, ex-con?”
“Wadda you care? You hear me asking about your messed-up childhood? Your stupid friends what got their lives screwed up?”
The geezer is hitting a little too close to raw nerves, so I step in again.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?”
“What?”
“Are these pugilistic outbursts against a younger generation a result of a psychological anxiety that develops after the advent of what some refer to as andropause causing the sufferer to cultivate an invidious disposition against those more vigorous than themselves? Or is it more economic in nature? Are you simply harboring resentment against a zeitgeist that venerates and nurtures mediocrity in production and impersonality in service?”
As usual, I get a blank stare. It’s followed by a dazed yet forced, “What?”
Jessie chuckles.
“You could just ditch the cigarettes and take the candy bars. Tiny bit healthier that way.”
“Screw it, I’ll pay the eight bucks.” And he does. Jessie bags and the old guy starts for the door.
Adopting my best cheerful servant voice, I call to him, “Have a fun and pleasant day, and thank you for shopping at Quick Stop!” He gets out the door and yells something to the sky before going to his car. I ask Jessie if he heard what he yelled.
“I think he said ‘serenity now’. Don’t ask me what it means.”