The Frenchman Wasn’t Done Hurling Insults
leave his victim with a peck on the cheek- well isn’t he resplendent
- manacled together in front of him
- before I take your blindfold off
- Namaste, shitheads
Tune in next time part 379 Click Here for Earlier Installments
The Frenchman wasn’t done hurling insults. “How is a Contrarian warlord like a chicken? He will leave his victim with a peck on the cheek!”
I rolled off the table, squashing numerous grapes and sending many of the observer birds squawking and flapping. The joke was an old one, and quite inaccurate. In my experience you didn’t want to fuck with a Contrarian.
Fleur leapt from the table onto the retreating clown’s back. She had a curved Contrarian fruit knife between her teeth. I scrambled into the pants of my new general’s uniform and charged to help her subdue him. Harry took one look at me and halted his own advance. He sneered, “Well isn’t he resplendent in half a uniform.”
Isolde laid a placating hand on his arm.
He went on, “In my day, a general wouldn’t dream of appearing for battle shirtless.”
In short order, Fleur and I had subdued the clown-spy. He laid on the floor in his sequined jumpsuit, blindfolded, with his hands and feet all manacled together in front of him with the tasseled sashes from the curtains.
Fleur languidly dressed herself as she spoke to the prisoner. “You will be safely ensconced in a prison cell before I take your blindfold off, so that you will have no way of knowing where exactly you are.” She turned to her brother-in-law. “And Harry, you will be joining him if you don’t get your pettiness under control.”
“I will not stay here and be abused like this.” Harry roared, his froggy face bloating. “Come on Isolde, we’re leaving. Namaste, shitheads!”
bonus points for using them in order