Tagged: lurking assassin

I Stared at the Beckoning Finger

  • by jenConsidering the circumstances?
  • “Such devotion to duty!”
  • to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of mangling
  • dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows
  • with all imaginable courtesy

Tune in next time part 109                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stared at the beckoning finger, trying to decide if its owner could possibly have my best interests at heart. Considering the circumstances? Unlikely.

Fleur’s bodyguards continued chortling, but I noticed that their mirth did not reach their eyes. Despite outward appearances, they were alert and dangerous. “Such devotion to duty!” I thought. From their physiques it was evident that they devoted a lot of their time to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of mangling their sparring partners. The one on the left had a lupine brutishness, while the one on the right I could easily imagine as a jungle cat, dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows and doing unspeakable things to it.

It was comforting to know that my wife was so well protected, but on the other hand the presence of these guards complicated my life immensely.

The finger appeared again, curling and uncurling. Fleur and Isolde were still laughing, doubled over with their merriment, so with all imaginable courtesy I took a few steps toward the corner. Something about that finger looked familiar.

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Myxolemia Listened Politely

  • by jengrammar is for old people
  • between Singapore and various jungle ports in Borneo
  • the denim around his crotch was soaked
  • bending out into the hallway
  • bred to fight and endure

Tune in next time part 107                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Myxolemia listened politely through her song and then said, “Your mother always says that you and Jason are hard to tell apart, but I don’t agree. Jason has flow. The flow of angels. You… do not.”

I affected wounded pride, but in reality I cared not at all what anyone thought of my musical skills, or lack thereof. Perhaps Jason was created to rap while I was bred to fight and endure and make a difference in the world.

Myxolemia patted me consolingly on the shoulder and then made her exit. I was alone in the hospital corridor. Alone for the first time since coming to Contraria months ago. Perhaps I could seize this moment and make my escape. Fleur wouldn’t miss me, and I urgently needed to find Tessa and the treasure.

Just then I noticed something bending out into the hallway from a nearby intersection. Someone was lurking just around the corner, eavesdropping, but he wasn’t as inconspicuous as he imagined. His pelvis jutted and protruded out of his hiding place, and the denim around his crotch was soaked, with what I could only imagine.

Wanting to avoid a confrontation with such an inept and soggy assassin or spy, I crept backwards, remembering my time as a stowaway on a tramp steamer that made its rounds between Singapore and various jungle ports in Borneo. That stint taught me everything I know about stealth. If I’d been caught, they would have tossed me overboard into the shark-infested waters. Or worse.

As I backed past the ultrasound room, the door crashed open and Fleur and Isolde tumbled out in a cloud of pungent smoke. Her bodyguards followed, wearing gas masks. My escape was foiled.

Fleur looked me straight in the eye, giggled, and proclaimed, “Proper grammar is for old people only!”

I knew that her father had promised to allow her to pass a new law, and hoped that this wasn’t it.

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