Literally Me: The Bean Knight

In the furthest reaches of the Lost Forest, deep within the Enchanted Grove, the perfidious Fae Witch pinches the ethereal brow of her lucent nose. “…okay. Run your wish by me one more time.” Like all Fae Witches, she’s somewhere between the size of a three story house and the San Francisco Armory (formerly of Kink dot com fame).

The young knight standing before her, bloody and ragged from his long, perilous journey, squares up. “I wish to be a real human bean-” he declares.

“Okay…”

“-and a real hero.”

“Alright, so the latter I get—fame, fortune, glory, yadda yadda—but you’re losing me on the former.”

“The former?”

“You’ve got like a lisp or something going on.” The Fae Witch twirls her massive hand.

The knight tilts his head. “A lisp?”

“A speech impediment.”

“Huh?”

“You keep saying real human 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣.”

“Oh. That’s right.”

“Like Fava, Pinto.”

The Knight nods. “Uh huh.”

“Hooded.”

“Yep.”

The Fae Witch leans in, looming over him. “Why in Baal’s Balls would you want to be a real human 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣.”

He shrugs. “That’s how the song goes.”

“What song?”

The Knight launches into it, swinging for the high notes. “𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒-”

The Fae Witch blinks. “Satan’s Snatch.”

“𝑨 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑵 𝑩𝑬𝑨𝑵” He belts out.

“You’re really singing it.”

“𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑶”

“Wow.”

“𝑨 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑵 𝑩𝑬𝑨𝑵”

“Alright.”

“𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑶”

“Is this the whole thing?”

“𝑨 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑵-”

“Right, stopping you there.” The Fae Witch snaps her fingers, sending a tremor that knocks him on his ass.

“OOF!”

“Gonna be honest, one of the 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩 falsettos I have ever had the misfortune to endure. I know a carnivorous Bore-Beetle spell that is easier on the ears.”

The Knight stands back up, brushing himself off. “The sonic stylings of the BeeGeenian Tradition are, admittedly, an acquired taste.”

“So’s arsenic,” she quips. “Tell me: is the whole song just that line or does it have actual verses?”

The Knight hesitates. “…it has verses.”

She arches her brow. “And do you know the verses?”

“…no,” he sheepishly admits. “I don’t think anyone does.”

The Fae Witch sighs, shaking her head. “Okay, so here’s the thing: normally I’d love to turn a handsome do-gooder dolt like you into a giant anthropomorphic, walking, talking bean, but only as part of a ‘be careful what you wish for/monkey paw’ ironic curse deal. If you already 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 to be a bean, that kind of takes all the fun out of it for me.”

“I see,” says the Knight. “As a gallant knight of Servalia Toplandia, it would be an abdication of my Dom’s Oath to let a fair maiden go unsatisfied. No matter her physical size or timbre illiteracy.”

“Ha!” The Fae Witch scoffs. “If only you knew how unsatisfied I am! Just last week, my girlfriend Nyx bought me a pair of panties that read ‘DIVERS BEWARE: THERE IS NOTHING IN THIS CAVE WORTH DYING FOR’.”

“Diabolical. Wait, spelunking is it?” The Knight rubs his chin.

“Nearly slapped that bitch’s head clean off…” The Fae Witch mutters under her breath.

“Never fear then!”

“Eh?”

The Knight plants his hands on his hips. “You’ll be pleased to learn I’ve taken the Gold Cup in Competitive Free Fall Spelunking at the Intercontinental Crown Trials for the last five years running.”

“Intercontinental Crown Trials?”

The Knight thumbs his chest. “Even the dwarves of the Deep Poon Mountain couldn’t beat me.”

“You don’t say.”

The Knight’s eyes glisten with determination. “A real hero throws himself into any hole. No matter the size. No matter the depth. If a man sees a hole and doesn’t go in, Godsblood, he’s no man at all.” He beats his breastplate. “That’s what I say!”

“Mmm.” The Fae Witch bites her lip. “I think I can work with that.”

The Knight levels his gaze. “So we have a deal then?”

“That we do,” she says with an impish grin. “Spelunk with spunk and valor, brave Knight, and Rowan Atkinson will have to play you in the mo-” She pauses. “Why are you putting on boxing gloves?”

The Knight ducks and weaves, shadowboxing. “I’ve also been the reigning speed bag champion for six years running.”

The Fae Witch’s eyes light up. “Pro𝙘𝙚𝙚𝙙.” Ω