Life After DA
The day Zef realized he might be unemployed began with a spreadsheet.
Fin was at the kitchen table wrapped in a soft teal blanket, laptop open, brow furrowed in concentration. Andy leaned against the counter with a mug of coffee, silver hair mussed. The house had that late morning stillness that comes after a slow start.
Zef stood on the counter to get a better view of the screen. Snorb hovered beside him, purple ears twitching.
“Is that a budget?” Snorb whispered.
“It looks like a budget,” Zef whispered back.
Fin sighed and closed the laptop. “Well. That was disappointing.”
Zef felt his stomach drop.
“We’re being fired,” Snorb breathed.
Zef clutched his striped teal and purple hat. “We were loyal. We glowed. We gift wrapped.”
Fin blinked down at them. “Why are you two trembling like haunted hummingbirds?”
Snorb pointed at the laptop. “Spreadsheets precede layoffs.”
Andy choked on his coffee. “You think you’re being made redundant?”
“We understand,” Zef said with grave dignity. “With DeviantArt behind us, our services are obsolete.”
Fin stared at them for a long moment. Then he started laughing. Not sharp laughter. The tired kind that still finds something funny. “Oh my G-d. No. You are not fired.”
Snorb blinked. “We are not?”
“No,” Fin said. “I have a new job for you.”
They straightened instantly.
Fin went on, “If I get one more grocery delivery where they substitute gluten free bread with regular wheat or swap zero sugar yogurt for something that has the carb count of birthday cake in a cup, I am going to lose my mind.”
Andy nodded. “The last driver tried to replace almond flour with pancake mix.”
Snorb gasped. “Savage.”
“I get groceries delivered because I'm in chronic pain and I'm tired all the time and dealing with crowds and fluorescent lights and pushing a cart around a huge store is not my idea of fun,” Fin said. “But they keep messing it up. I'm celiac and prediabetic, my dietary needs are medical, not a preference. So I need personal shoppers. Specialists. Label readers. Carb counters. Boundary enforcers.”
Zef’s eyes shone. “You require us.”
“Yes. No gluten. Low carb. Zero sugar except occasional treats. Do not improvise.”
Fin handed them a carefully printed list.
Gluten free bread. Almond flour. Unsweetened almond milk. Zero sugar Greek yogurt. Cottage cheese. Turkey bacon. Eggs. Chicken thighs. Ground turkey. Salmon. Spinach. Zucchini. Cauliflower rice. Carrots and celery. Avocados. Olive oil. Butter. Gluten free ranch dip. Sharp cheddar. Gluten free deli turkey. Gluten free low carb tortilla wraps. Gluten free chickpea pasta. No sugar added pasta sauce. Shaved parmesan cheese. Shredded mozzarella cheese. Dark chocolate eighty five percent. Coffee. Frozen gluten free cauliflower crust pizza for occasional treat.
Zef saluted. “We accept this sacred commission.”
An hour later they stood before the automatic doors of the supermarket.
“This place smells like rotisserie chicken and fluorescent despair,” Snorb muttered.
“Focus,” Zef said, unfolding the list.
The bread aisle was a battlefield. They rejected loaf after loaf with expressions of mounting horror.
“Contains wheat,” Zef read flatly.
They recoiled.
After meticulous scrutiny, they found the correct certified gluten free bread and placed it in the cart with reverence.
Produce came next. They debated zucchini firmness with scholarly intensity. Snorb tested avocados with tiny, serious squeezes.
“Acceptable,” he pronounced.
Then a shrill voice cut through the aisle.
“There they are.”
Zef stiffened.
Hovering near the endcap display were three winged figures with identical purses and identical expressions of petty delight. Cynthia’s flying monkeys. Zef and Snorb had encountered them before on gift deliveries.
One adjusted her sunglasses. “We heard Fin and Andy vanished from DeviantArt. We were curious.”
“You mean nosy,” Zef replied coolly.
The monkey tilted her head. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping,” Snorb said.
“For what?”
“For groceries,” Snorb said slowly. "This is a grocery store."
Another monkey lifted her tiny phone. “Cynthia likes to stay informed.”
Snorb rolled his eyes. “Oh good. Surveillance by discount Oz.”
Zef stepped forward and planted himself between them and the cart.
“You do not get to monitor Fin and Andy’s life,” he said. “They left. That means you no longer have access.”
The lead monkey smirked. “Oh please. People who leave platforms always crawl back.”
Snorb leaned casually against tomatoes. “We did not crawl. We walked out with dignity.”
The monkey’s wings buzzed irritably. “Cynthia says if someone goes quiet, they must be hiding.”
Zef’s voice sharpened. “Fin and Andy are living. That is not hiding.”
There was a tense pause.
Zef scratched his nose.
Then, with impeccable timing, the overhead misting system in the produce section hissed to life.
Fine spray drifted down over lettuce, spinach, and three unsuspecting monkeys.
They shrieked as their wings dampened.
“This is harassment!” one cried.
“This is hydration,” Snorb replied serenely.
The monkeys retreated in soggy indignation, phones clutched protectively.
Zef exhaled. “We should accelerate.”
They moved through the store with renewed focus.
Zero sugar yogurt was located and cross checked. Deli turkey was verified gluten free.
Then they reached the freezer aisle. Cauliflower rice was inspected for hidden additives. Snorb stopped in front of the gluten free pizza.
Zef examined the box. “Cauliflower crust. Carb count within reason. Gluten free certification intact.”
Snorb placed it in the cart with ceremony. “Joy has been sanctioned.”
Zef nodded solemnly.
At checkout, the cashier blinked at them and their overflowing cart.
“Are you two meal prepping for a health conscious dragon?” she asked.
“We are on assignment,” Zef said.
Back at the house, Fin was stretched out on the couch making art on his laptop, eyes half closed. Andy sat beside him playing The Old Republic.
The door opened with triumphant drama.
“We have secured the provisions,” Snorb announced.
Fin pushed himself upright, curious. “You survived.”
“We encountered hostiles,” Zef said.
Andy smirked. “Monkeys?”
“Damp monkeys,” Snorb snickered. Zef winked and whistled innocently.
They unloaded the groceries one by one. Bread. Almond flour. Yogurt. Vegetables. Protein. Olive oil. Butter. Dark chocolate.
And finally, with a flourish, the gluten free pizza.
Fin smiled, a soft, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Thank you.”
It was not theatrical. It was not performative. It was simple.
Andy squeezed Fin’s shoulder. “They did good.”
Snorb shifted awkwardly. “We are goblins of chaos.”
“And gnomes of luminescent generosity,” Zef added.
“You’re also part of our life,” Fin said. “Leaving the platform did not mean leaving you.”
Zef felt warmth spread through him, steady and real.
“So we are not obsolete,” Snorb said carefully.
Fin reached out and tapped their tiny heads. “You have been promoted.”
“To what?” Zef asked.
“My personal shoppers. Official defenders of gluten free integrity.”
Snorb puffed up with pride. “I accept this title.”
Zef adjusted his striped hat.
“We shall do our best,” he said. "Or our worst, where certain people are concerned."
Outside, somewhere in a parking lot, three damp monkeys flew through the rain and squabbled about not having gossip to report to Cynthia.
Inside, the pantry shelves filled properly for once.
No algorithm. No metrics. No theft.
Just groceries in the right place. Pizza waiting for its moment. And two very employed creatures exactly where they belonged.
