Tobias Theophrastus Bombastus von Hobbins IV sat on a park bench by the water. He stroked his enormous beard with his enormous hand. He reached into his beard and took out a handful of crumbs, throwing them at the ducks in the pond. The ducks gobbled the crumbs, and waddled toward him for more. He reached into his beard and threw more crumbs. His stomach growled.
“Time for lunch,” he said to himself. Tobias reached again and took out a cucumber sandwich covered in plastic. He unwrapped it and nibbled daintily at the crustless lunch. The ducks looked up at him.
“Quack,” they said.
“None for you,” he said to them, mouth full of chewed up cucumber and white bread.
“Quack,” they said again, waddling off.
Tobias finished his sandwich and dusted his hands off. Slowly, he lifted himself from the bench.
“Oof,” he said.
He walked down the lane, whistling to himself. He was happy. Today he would buy a didjeridoo. He walked out of the park to the music shop. The bells chimed when closed the door behind him.
“Hello,” said the shopkeeper, wearing thick, goggle-like glasses.
“Hullo!” Tobias said brightly.
“May I help you?”
“Are you in the habit of selling didjeridoos?”
“A whointhewhatnow?” The shopkeeper scratched his bald shiny head.
“A didjeridoo?” Tobias put one fist on top of the other and pressed them against his mouth, trying to imitate the noise.
“Oh, a triangle,” said the shopkeeper. He held out a small metal triangle and struck it with a metal stick. It clinked.
“Yes, that’s exactly what you need.”
The shopkeeper rang up the triangle. Tobias could not argue with the shopkeeper, it was not in his nature. He bought the triangle. He walked down the street, shoulders slumped, clinking his triangle. He clinked back to the park, clinking at the ducks.
“Quack,” they said to him.
Clink, he went, before putting the triangle away in his beard. Tobias sighed. He heaved a heavy, deep sigh. He stroked his beard, and sighed once more, with gusto.
“Hmmmm,” he said, reaching back into his beard. Heaving (again) he pulled out a long tube. He blew on the tube.
“Quack,” said the ducks.
“Bbwo wo woo wooow wo,” blew Tobias Theophrastus Bombastus von Hobbins IV on his didjeridoo.
(This character was salvaged from a much longer story I’d written several years ago that crashed and burned. Maybe one day I’ll be able to salvage more, or at least do something else with him.)