Two out of three wasn’t bad. Even better when you had a portable computer.

If Ram was honest, it bothered him more than a bit. Looking up videos and boxing gloves. It felt like he was skipping steps. The Ogre remembered (however vaguely) a man knocking on the door. Asking if the occupant needed the books he offered.

The type of books that held the knowledge that was so easily at his fingers now. Martial arts on command.

It felt… wrong. For more reasons than simple capitalist efficacy.

Ram had learned hand to hand…. And it had never been from short tapes and a few gloves. The happy background music couldn’t cover up the broken bones and cracked skin he’d had to suffer. The sounds of war over road the happy jiggles. Not caring about the useless phantoms of what they left in his hands.

Ram almost put them back on Gerrit’s porch. Let the mortals steal them. Let them pretend there was no Ogre waiting to punish them beyond the door mat.

He’d break their doors down. Give them a taste of what lay across the Thorny threshold.

He took a deep breath and checked up and down the hallway to make sure no potential darklings lay in lurk.

They might not know what to do with boing gloves and rabbits’ feet, he any potential Keeper surely would.