Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Snippets: Is Dead?

'Nah, he's just sleeping,' the voice said rather certainly. 'The past few days were fairly hard on him. First there was that business with the police at the docks.'

'Would you kindly hand over the sword sir?'
'What? This is barely a knife - besides, haven't you heard of cultural integrity?'
'Obviously not; you must understand that visitors to the port have to maintain decorum.'
'Yeah, and what's with those spectacles? How do you see anything through them?'
'They're called SunGlass. They protect my eyes from rays.'
'This guy's delusional, Dave. He thinks the rays can get him on land.'
'No kidding, Mott. Sir, would you please -'
- one simple slash. It was one sided. So was the sword. Now he should clean it on the grass up on the cliff.
Except that didn't happen, because he thought he was a sensible man.
'Look, it's got a lock, okay? No one's getting their hands on this.'

'True. You heard of how he took out those thugs at the west cape, didn't you?'

'How did he get in here? You idiots, get him!'
'I wouldn't come any closer if I were you.'
... ... ...
'Ew. Good point. Ah, boss?'
'Don't just stand there, you've got weapons; take him out!
'Sorry, but we can't let anyone escape, knowing that you'll just tattle to the authorities.'
'I don't tattle.'
Several moments later there were no smugglers to turn in. The man felt great remorse for defending himself.

'He's waking up,' said the first voice.

'What is wrong with you? Do you enjoy being vague and turning yourself in for self defense?' said the second voice. The be-sunglassed man sat up on the bed in the island village.

'I just had a tip, that's all. You people have your families back from their dungeons, and now I will be out of your way. Can you handle that?' The man stood slowly.

'It's okay,' said the first man in the room, eyeing the second disdainfully, 'you can stay longer if you need to.'

'I have to get going back to the mainland. There's a seaship leaving for the other continent tomorrow and I will continue my search there.' The man was already at the door, without the two having witnessed the intervening traversal. He took the katana-like blade from the wall to hitch back into his belt.

'So what are you looking for, if it's not too personal?'

'I am sure I already told you, but of course it is personal. They took my wife.'

After he had gone, there was one sentiment in the air echoed in a quote from the pub that night -
'If he wasn't a walking stereotype, I don't know what is.'

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