The Audition: A Project Spellcheck Short Story

“No! No wait! Please, Miss Belle! Have Mercy!”

The accordion player squirmed all he could, expelling musical air from his instrument as he tried to wrestle out of the bodyguard’s grip, but the giant man would not loosen his fingers a single inch.

Sally-Belle rolled her eyes at the pitiful sight and opened the tavern’s backdoor.

“When someone tells you to get out, they mean it!” She shouted. “The next time you’re in here, you’re either paying with silver or going back out this door! OUT!”

With a point of her finger, the giant man pulled back before throwing the accordion player back out into the dry frontier barrens. The musician yelped as he flew yards out from the tavern, not even able to get another word in before the door slammed shut.

“Another disappointment,” Sally-Belle said with a creaky sigh. Throwing herself back into her chair, the girl rested her head in her palms. “If you’re trying to play an instrument for money, you can’t just play the same ten-second jingle over and over again!”

Sitting back up straight, she turned to see Murph, her dependable muscleman.

“May as well some up this whole farce of a recruitment attempt, honestly,” the little lady continued. “One headache after another. If they’re not asinine amateurs, they’re asking for the ridiculous! I mean, twenty-five silver-per-hour wages? PAID holidays!? I can barely afford to brew my own grog, let alone keep the shelves stocked up with good goods. Am I right, Murph, or am I right?”

“I’d say so, ma’am.” Murph replied.

“Thank you!” Sally-Belle said, knowing full well her bruiser would always agree with her.

After a little time to simmer, the tiny tavernkeeper scooted back to her bar, looking one more time at her list of the day’s candidates.

Dryad Duke, The Im-Pros, Glass Voice Gladys, The Rose o’ Lancet, Mister Accordian. All of them were let-downs without redemption. Now, she had finally scraped the bottom of the barrel: a listing for what she could only presume was a band of some kind, given they listed themselves so anonymously.

“Do you know anything about this last group, Murph?”

“Not a thing, ma’am.”

“Well, that’s encouraging.”

Fixing up her bundled blonde hair and refastening her rosy-red headkerchief, Sally-Belle allowed herself to feed off the last of her salvaged optimism. If she was going to grind folks down to oats with her own words, she refused to allow herself to be a hypocrite. Besides, she knew from experience that gloominess was bad for business.

“ALRIGHT! NEXT UP!”

Behind the saloon door, Sally-Belle could hear the sound of wild shuffling. Then, she could see beneath the door a gaggle of feet, before disappearing yet again.

“Um… helloooo?,” Sally-Belle called. “Whoever’s out there, you’re up next!”

As if on, queue, a quartet of faces popped out, one after the other.

“Oy!”

“Hoy!”

“Ahoy!”

“Yahoy!”

All at once, the four men walked in step through the doors, hum-hum-humming and bum-bum-bumming until they found themselves in the center of the tavern in a straight line. The furthest right stood skinny and tall like an oversized sewing needle. To his left was a stout man, barely reaching the height of his fellow’s belt. The man next to him was neither slim nor stout, yet his muscle, bulldoggish proportions were eclipsed completely by the man furthest to the left, whose vast wideness gave him a size that would put Murph to shame—if he could feel shame, that was.

Oh joy, Sally-Belle thought to herself as she felt her optimism disintegrate. One of THESE sorts of troupes.

“Er… yes, hello,” she spoke aloud, failing to hide her nonexistent expectations.

“The pleasure’s all ours’, ma’am!” The slimmest said with a bow.

“Indeed!” cheered the bulldoggish

“Agreed!” squeaked the widest.

“We concede!” shrugged the stoutest.

“Such gusto,” Sally-Belle said with an irritated smile. “Alright, then… start with your names. All you wrote on my audition sign-up poster was  ‘musicians.’”

“Ah, yes! Apologies for ambiguity—we like to play things up, you see,” confessed the slimmest. “But before I introduce myself, I think my boys deserve the spotlight, first!”

Introducing the others first? Sally-Belle thought, biting her lip. Well, even faux-humility is a small plus.

The first to approach was the stout man. “Tuba-Tone Terry, the tarrying first tenor. Charmed!”

Well, he certainly sounds like a tenor, Sally-Belle thought.

Soon after came the Bulldoggish man. “I’m called Mistah Mundus. I baritone for these boys.”

Well, he certainly… looks like a baritone, I suppose.

The widest came fresh off the heels of his previous peer. “I’m Big Ol’ Olson, and I forgot me lines.”

Wait—this one was the one with the squeaky voice?

“Troubled, ma’am?”

“Ah, no,” Sally-Belle said, flustered. “It’s just, well, pardon me but… I would have sworn a man of your, er… stature… might be the bass of your quartet.”

“Oi, but I am the bass.”

“…Ah.”

Before she could warrant some kind of apology, the slimmest took center stage yet again. “And that leaves me, lead tenor and proud boss of these lovable lads: Naughty Dick!”

“Naughty… Naughty what!?”

“Aye-aye! Naughty Dick! And together, me and these boys are…”

With a waving signal, the whole posse quickly tumbled amongst themselves, until they jumped and landed with a quartet of wild poses.

“The Cocky Bulls! Shanty extraordinaires!”

“The Cocky Bulls.” Sally-Belle said as her head drooped in spontaneous exhaustion. “And your name is… Naughty Dick.”

“That’s right ma’am!”

The way she watched them announce it with such blatant enthusiasm, Sally-Belle had to assume she was being played. Surely, they were aware of it—their ludicrous name, their wacky demeanors, their bizarre body language, everything. Men like these didn’t exist unless they were actively willing themselves to do so.

At this point, she had already half-convinced herself to cut their audition short, but Sally-Belle’s headache only worsened when she realized they hadn’t even gotten to that part yet.

“J-just tell me now,” Sally-Belle pleaded, “are you four ACTUALLY shanty singers?”

“That’s right, ma’am!” Enthusiastically replied Dick. “We’ve laid our anchors from Anchorlay all the way to Dagger Shanties.”

“Quite the adventure!” said Tuba-Tone Terry with a nod.

“Following the whimsy of the wind!” added Mistah Mundus.

“But winds don’t feed blokes like you can, miss,” tagged Big Ol’ Olson.

“Fair enough,” Sally-Belle said. “In that case, let’s just get straight to it.”

“Oi, are we glad for that, ma’am,” Naughty Dick said with a wide smile. “After all, we planned a jolly jive for just this occasion! Get ready to see what us boys are made of!”

With an arrow’s posture, Naughty Dick’s face turned serious.

“COCKY BULLS! SHUFFLE UP!”

On cue, all the Bulls huddled together, whispering what Sally-Belle couldn’t begin to interpret. Then, with synchronized nods, the boys took position. For a moment, there was silence, until…

“…Alright.”

“HOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

After an ear-rending opening, the Cocky Bull torture seemed to begin in earnest with a slow verse.

“It was a sunny, shiny day, just me, myself and all my crops,

Just sewing, potting, fertilizing, till my bod’ could plop,

But just when I felt sure enough to sit down, rest and stooooop...

From the left, blue fields of nowhere did that little demon flop!”

After the first verse came a high-speed, relentless second. Naughty Dick took the lead, while the rest devoted themselves to carrying a medley of perfectly-pitched bum-bum-bummings and dum-dum-dummings.

“His killer hoofs went bopping, churning like the winds of killer storms,

His smugly teeth plucked all my veggies out, then smiled with mouth o’ worms,

And then as if to say ‘the devil sent me, I’ll give your regards!’

He left his stinky, inky tokens on every inch of my good yard!”

And after that, without a single skipped beat, their four voices banded together once more in perfect harmony, plus an occasional extra seasoning to the lyrics, courtesy of Big Ol’ Olson.

“It was the meanest little ass I ever saw, (I ever saw!)

I swear! The meanest little ass I ever saw, (I ever saw!)

And though the ass was rather small, his temper wasn’t small at all,

Not for the meanest, cruelest, ghoulest little ass I ever saw!

HEY!”

And after the third verse came the loudest silence ever heard by man.

Sally-Belle was completely and utterly speechless. Once again, these hooligans were proving themselves audacious, but not just for the lyricism of the song that she could only describe as mercilessly chaotic, but also the fact that they were… actually good. She didn’t realize she was hooked until their abrupt end left her craving for more!

“…That one’s kind of a work in progress, ma’am,” Naughty Dick said, finally breaking the silence. “Still workin’ out all the kinks, y’know?”

“Really, we just wanted to write about an ass,” shrugged Tuba-Tone Terry.

“Really, we just wanted to say ‘ass,’” confessed Mistah Mundus.

“It’s a funny word,” admitted Big Ol’ Olson.

“Well,” Sally-Belle said with an overwhelmed chuckle. She looked at Murph, who seemed to have stood stalwart as always in the face of such bizarreness, “You fellows are…not half-bad.”

As the words left Sally-Belle’s mouth, every Cocky Bull in the room gasped with wide open smiles at each other.

“Does that mean we got the job!?” Asked Naughty Dick.

“As long as you understand one thing.” Sally-Belle raised her finger. “There’s a reason we need long-term troupers: As proud as I am to run this establishment, circumstances as of late have been… weathering. We can’t afford to call on any big names or offer big purses. We can offer lodging, some of our food, and a 20-silver payment for each day worked. Until things get better—”

“20 Sil!?” They all cried out.

“I’m afraid so.”

“What a steal!” cried Naughty Dick.

“I know, but you have to take it or—"

“An outrageous deal!” whooped Tuba-Tone Terry.

“…leave it?”

“Leaves me kinda teal.” Blushed Mistah Mundus.

“Ok, what does that even—"

“Consider me sealed!” nodded Big Ol’ Olson.

“We’ll take it!” The quartet shouted together.

“…Are you sure?” asked Sally-Belle, daring to risk everything for the sake of her own curiosity.

“Of course!” assured Naughty Dick. “That’s the kindest offer we’ve gotten in years!”

“Our last gig, we got paid a loaf of bread!” blurted Tuba-Tone Terry.

“Not to mention, we never had lodgings, have we!?” asked Mistah Mundus.

“Depends on what a ‘lodgings’ is, I guess,” shrugged Big Ol’ Olson.”

“Ma’am, we kindly accept your generous offer!” Naughty Dick declared, inciting his men to leap and cheer in celebration. “How soon can we start?”

“Miss Belle, we kindly accept your generous offer. How soon can we start!?”

Watching her newly employed entertainers practically bounce off the tavern walls left Sally-Belle realizing just how draining—and, if she was being honest, exciting—the past few minutes had turned out to be. A quartet of talented singers, asking little and offering loads—it was as though the heavens opened themselves before her doorway to spit them onto her doorstep. Given everything these lunatics were, she wouldn’t have been surprised if at least the “falling out of the sky part” was true.

All the same, they were a blessing, indeed. An odd, unexpected, and potentially unstable blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

“Stay the night or show up tomorrow,” Sally-Belle instructed. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need come morning.”