Tagged: blowgun

Fleur Licked The Frosting Off Her Dagger

  • by Kentsecret clubs, secret organizations
  • barely used pajamas
  • lavishly fringed with wool yarn
  • zebra wallpaper, and glitter skulls
  • All you have to do is plop

Tune in next time part 844      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur licked the frosting off her dagger, while staring daggers in my direction. It’s not too unusual to have a so-called secret weapon, but my wife excelled at it. In addition to the dagger that had appeared from some clever concealed place, I knew she had secret crossbows, secret blowguns, secret clubs, secret organizations to dream up yet more clandestine armamentations. But for the moment she was distracted by the cake. Tessa and Jim got in line for their slices, but I didn’t find it all that appealing.

With the talent show at last concluded, I could leave the auditorium. I roamed the airship’s corridors until I discovered an unlocked door into a random stateroom. Upon the bed lay some barely used pajamas lavishly fringed with wool yarn, upon the walls was aqua-and-pink zebra wallpaper, and glitter skulls overflowed the suitcase on the stand in the corner.

“You can stay for as long as you like,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind me. “All you have to do is plop your bod into those jammies and get cozy.” Someone had come out from the bathroom, cutting me off from the corridor.

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With My Right Fist I Drew a Figure in the Air

  • by jendescribed as peanut shaped
  • “One of your lovers?”
  • spider venom coursing through his veins
  • five kinds of tranquilizers
  • those polarizing candy cane striped couches

Tune in next time part 791      Click Here for Earlier Installments

With my right fist I drew a figure in the air, one that my sensei once described as peanut shaped. It was designed to distract and mesmerize an attacker. I hoped it would work when there was more than one.

“Who taught you that?” the taller man asked. “One of your lovers?” The way he said it I could tell he was hoping to upset Tessa by implying she was not my only paramour. She ignored his taunt and pulled out a blowgun, and moments later both the tall man and his little buddy were on the floor, not moving.

“They’re not dead, are they?” I asked. I wasn’t sure how Fleur would feel about that sort of thing on her airship.

Tessa smirked. “Not unless either one of them is allergic to the spider venom coursing through his veins now. Or any of the other five kinds of tranquilizers.”

She’d dosed them both with mime juice. I shuddered. You can take the girl out of the invisible box…

“I wonder who sent them,” she said.

“I know how we can find out. Help me drag them over to those polarizing candy cane striped couches flanking the altar, and when they wake up–”

Tessa finished my thought. “We’ll polarize them.”

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I Tried to ask Jason

  • by jenprobably through some false pretense
  • chocolate pudding
  • truly excessive amount of farting
  • depicted the Brady Bunch
  • two years, ten months, and fifteen days ago

Tune in next time part 507      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tried to ask Jason how he’d managed to get the dart-spitting toys installed in the nursery, but my mouth wouldn’t work. It was probably through some false pretense, and he would likely not tell me the details anyway.

When I came to, my muscles felt like chocolate pudding and I was farting a lot. A lot a lot. It was a truly excessive amount of farting. Those symptoms helped me identify the tranquilizer in the darts, which did me little good.

A shirtless man stood before me, his hairless chest covered with an elaborate tattoo that depicted the Brady Bunch on their Hawaiian vacation. The last time I saw this guy was two years, ten months, and fifteen days ago. He was not my biggest fan. I groaned. And farted.

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The Nunchuks Made Me Nervous

  • by Kenthas a kick on it like a mule
  • until the forklift was encased in ice
  • Boris has just given me a summary
  • you could lose a finger otherwise
  • for all of our reenactments

Tune in next time part 506      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The nunchuks made me nervous for a second, until I recognized them as the foam-rubber replicas we used for all of our reenactments of kung fu movie fights back when we were kids, before the Sacher Torte fiasco. It was crucial to use fake weapons, particularly swords; you could lose a finger otherwise.

Furry Boots announced, “Boris has just given me a summary of the auction’s expected outcome, and we’re falling behind schedule.”

“Call him back,” Jason said. “Tell him I have a plan.” She left.

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be languishing in Oksana’s damp jail cell?” I demanded of my twin.

He sneered. “Everything was under control. You’re as confused as the Academy hockey coach. Remember when he substituted a forklift for a zamboni, and he refused to admit his mistake and forced the crew to use it until the forklift was encased in ice and the rink’s surface was too rutted and rough for skates and the visiting teams started bringing hobnail boots to wear instead?” He twirled the nunchuks faster, shaking his head. “Anyway, yeah. You’re like him.”

“Stay away from my kids,” I said, taking a step toward him.

I heard a faint ‘thwip’ noise and felt the sting of a dart in my neck. Then another. The plush yetis were spitting them. I staggered.

“Just lie down” Jason advised. “The trank in those things has a kick on it like a mule.”

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“Tell Me What You Know About Jupiter and Jove.”

  • by jenso it tastes like sugar
  • “Hiiiiiiii,” she simpered
  • between the hurrying feet
  • among the sartorially dyslexic
  • good-natured patience and gentle eye-rolling

Tune in next time part 269                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Tell me what you know about Jupiter and Jove,” I whispered urgently. As far as I knew, my brothers had never made it off the island.

Tesla kissed me, then said, “Think about lollipops and cotton candy then ask again, so it tastes like sugar.” Meanwhile she squirmed her way down into the sea of balloon animals, pressing herself against me.

Above us a series of sharp bangs signaled the popping of the floating rubber penguins. The shriveled remains fluttered down around us. Tesla ignored them and continued her gyrations.

“Tesla!” a voice from the hatch barked. It was Captain Jorgensen.

Tesla smiled at me and looked upwards. “Hiiiiiiii,” she simpered.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“I’m interrogating the prisoner.” She giggled and slithered down until her head was hidden under the inflatable menagerie.

I have been subjected to many forms of interrogation, and this was by far my favorite. But between the hurrying feet and the muffled shouting going on over our heads, I gathered that Jorgensen did not approve. The open hatchway filled with the white faces of many mimes, each with a blowgun. They rained darts down upon us, popping all of the balloon animals. Luckily for us their aim was poor and we had plenty of time to finish our interrogation session before we were fully exposed. Tesla’s painted-on clothing had smeared all over my body, leaving us looking like royalty among the sartorially dyslexic.

A rope ladder unfurled down into the chamber where we stood. While we waited for Jorgensen to descend, Tesla displayed much good-natured patience and gentle eye-rolling.

Soon enough the pirate captain stood before us, a balloon parrot on his shoulder.

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I Hated To Turn Setsuko Down

  • by Kentlent a peculiar charm to his physiognomy
  • we just broke the internet
  • my knees drawn up to my chin
  • an almost unearthly air of wild anxiety
  • my limbs were refusing to perform

Tune in next time part 180                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I hated to turn Setsuko down, even with so many good reasons. Not least of which being my total befuddlement as to the role anything I was looking at might play in lovemaking.

Also, there was the preternatural quiet all around us, which I knew only too well was the sound ninjas make. I glanced around, seeing no ninjas. Damn, just as I feared. By the time I turned back to Setsuko she was dressed again, now in a new outfit that hid her lovely curves. It made her look masculine, like a slender boy whose high cheekbones lent a peculiar charm to his physiognomy.

“I think we just broke the internet,” she said.

I didn’t understand, but following Setsuko’s nod I saw dozens of teenagers standing at the alley’s mouth, aiming their phones at us. Oh well, I thought, can’t be any worse than the Vine John posted of me trying to tap dance with my knees drawn up to my chin. Tessa and I used to make a lot of bets. Winning or losing hardly mattered to us, we only cared about an almost unearthly air of wild anxiety that imbues each wagering moment.

“Let’s not forget about the ninjas,” I whispered to Setsuko. The words had not completed the journey from my lips to her ear when I felt the sting of a blowdart. And suddenly it was every bit as bad as that tap-dance Vine, because just like back then my limbs were refusing to perform.

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I Poked the President in the Chest with the Thumb-Shaped Device

  • by jenthrough the residential neighborhood
  • reloaded at least twice
  • now have caught up with the Hamburger
  • controversy spanning several years
  • as for the possibility of air piracy

Tune in next time part 111                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I poked the president in the chest with the thumb-shaped device the American Ambassador to Contraria had so recently delivered to me. “What’s the deal?” I asked. “If you’re here in person, why have Myxolemia deliver this? I haven’t even had a chance to look at it yet.”

Thor looked at the thumb drive blankly. “I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

We both stopped walking down the sloping, darkening corridor and stared at the ridiculous object. I held my finger to my lips and my brother nodded. If we were lucky it was merely a listening device. If we were unlucky…

Thor motioned for me to drop the thumb, but I couldn’t do that. This was a hospital. If the thumb exploded, untold innocent lives could be lost. I darted out a side exit and ran through the residential neighborhood, looking for a suitable place for bomb disposal. Thor jogged along beside me. By the time I found an armor-plated dumpster my reservoir of panic had been emptied and reloaded at least twice.

I tossed the suspicious electronic digit into the dumpster and Thor slammed the lid closed. We darted away to a safe distance and then felt free to speak again.

“We must get to the airfield,” Thor said. “My zeppelin is waiting.” I was so anxious to make my escape from Contraria that I didn’t even ask where we would fly to.

Air Force One and a Half was tethered to the top of a landing spire. Thor and I took the elevator up and started across the gangway. We were more than halfway across when I felt a swaying that could only mean someone was behind us. I turned and saw a cadre of masked and armed villains. I gave Thor a shove and we ran the rest of the way into the cabin of the zeppelin, only to be confronted by more blowguns.

A woman in a mask made of broccoli said, “We now have caught up with the Hamburger Heathen!” She was talking, of course, about Thor. His Presidential Decree of Universal Carnivorousness had not sat well with many vegetarians and vegans. It was a controversy spanning several years, and they’d tried seemingly every tactic in the book in their quest for vengeance. As for the possibility of air piracy, I hadn’t previously considered it, but I couldn’t claim to be surprised.

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My Second Drugging In Less Than 12 Hours Brought Back Vivid Memories Of My Wedding

  • by jen“You don’t have to eat it.”
  • We’re going to make it look accidental.
  • the site of an extraordinary event
  • so soft and so elegant
  • stern, judgmental, and bossy

Tune in next time part 86                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My second drugging in less than 12 hours brought back vivid memories of my wedding to Fleur. Her family made liberal use of narcotics and paralytics in all of their ceremonies.

You might think that the days of marriages arranged to strengthen political ties were long gone, but you would be wrong. During my mother’s second term as president she desired an ally amongst the stern, judgmental, and bossy warlords of Contraria, and so Fleur and I were forced to marry. I was assured that she would be so soft and so elegant, so unlike her father. I was lied to. Fleur was indeed elegant, but she was not soft. And while she did not resemble her father much physically, she was his protege in matters both political and temperamental.

I tried to convince Mother that my twin Jason would make a more appropriate groom, but she insisted that he had to be available to rap throughout the fortnight-long reception. And so for two long weeks the White House lawn and rose garden were the site of an extraordinary event, a bombastic celebration that resembled Burning Man more than a state wedding reception. Fleur and I exchanged our vows wearing only the floral headdresses of her people. Upon consummation of the marriage, our first Contrarian tribal question and answer session was broadcast on C-SPAN. Through the haze of drugs I overheard my mother and Fleur’s father plotting the bombing of Contraria’s eternal rival. “Don’t worry,” Mother assured the warlord. “We’re going to make it look accidental.”

Everyone knows how that worked out, of course.

And now, even after that debacle, and the sex scandal that killed my father and removed my mother from office in disgrace, I was still wed to Fleur, still subject to the violent traditions of her clan, still expected to produce an heir.

As the blowgun poison wore off I became aware again of the stuffy tent and the scratchy doily adhered to my groin. Fleur stood before me with a giant cicada pinched between two chopsticks. My punishment for getting my first question wrong.

“You don’t have to eat it.” My father-in-law fixed me with a smirk. “But the alternative is even worse.”

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Fleur’s Father Settled on the Satin Sheets

  • by KentWe’re living in the golden age
  • even without feathers
  • and now so am I
  • God I love you. You’re so pretty.
  • trembling with paralysis

Tune in next time part 85                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s father settled on the satin sheets between us, clipboard in hand. He smoothed the curling points of his mustache and then plucked a quill from the crest on his turban.

“True or false,” he began. “We’re living in the golden age of calligraphy.”

“False,” Fleur said confidently. Her father chortled indulgently and marked her response with an ironically elaborate symbol. Penmanship remained the most vital way for warlords of their clan to command respect, and any aspirant factional leader learned how to fashion suitable styli even without feathers for quills. Learned young.

He looked at me sternly for the next question. “You’re full of blank, and now so am I.”

I found myself unable to think of anything except the responses I should *not* say out loud, until finally I stammered, “C-cracker crumbs?”

The leathery face of my warlord-in-law leaned closer. “God I love you. You’re so pretty. But, no. That’s wrong.” One of his bodyguards raised a slender tube to his mouth and I felt the blowdart’s sting on my neck. “And as you’re fully aware, incorrect responses must not be permitted.”

I sat there, nude, with a doily on my lap, trembling with paralysis and dreading the penalty I must pay.

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Far Above the Heads of the Dancing Ladies

  • by jenhandcuffed to the table
  • you know that’s not allowed
  • I’m not a machine
  • now she was all sweet decorum
  • I wish I could sing like that

Tune in next time part 66                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Far above the heads of the dancing ladies, the pianist was strapped to his bench, playing what I now recognized as a Chopin etude. He sang along, his voice as striking as his red hair. I wish I could sing like that crazy upside down man, but my talents lie in other areas.

Svetlana stared at the tableau, transfixed. I heard her sigh and reminded myself that even if now she was all sweet decorum she was a very dangerous woman. I led her into the darkened recesses of the warehouse, away from the stage and its peculiar performers.

I didn’t know exactly, or even roughly, where we were, and Svetlana refused to tell me. I frisked her, hoping to find a phone, but all I found under her leotard was her blowgun and a tube of chapstick. My hands lingered on her narrow hips.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to make me horny,” Svetlana purred. “I’m not a machine.” She leaned in for a kiss, her arms still bound behind her back.

“You know that’s not allowed,” I said. “You’re my captive.”

“That never stopped you before,” she pouted. “Last time I was handcuffed to the table.”

“That was recreational. Today it’s business.”

 

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