Saturday, January 10, 2009

Just Enough to Drink

Yes, Monsieur, or Lucifer, or whatever in the literal Hell his real name was -- he was a bad boy, through and through...

...except, apparently, for his current state, which was about as unboyish as it could be. His leathery wings flapped once, twice. His malevolent eye scanned the room, confident that he could start anywhere, uncertain just which victim to choose. Sparks and flames radiated from the upper portion of his "body," what served as his "head," and smoke filled the eyes of all present, blinding them all.

All but one.

It is a curious and little-known fact that dwarves, creatures of the underworld and comfortable with darkness as they are, should be so naturally immune to smoke and fumes of all sorts. But through thousands of generations, natural selection has been doing its work: preserving the bloodlines of those dwarvish types most able to work in the bowels of the earth, with all the sputtering of magma and natural-gas emissions and digestive ailments which follow naturally when one cannot easily get to decent plumbing for weeks at a time.

A curious fact, yes. Little-known. And very convenient.

"Ah, shut yer piehole," said a coarse voice from behind the bar. Only Monsieur/Lucifer could see who it came from.

"You!" he cried. "No! All the dwarves fled for the exit just moments ago---"

"Miscounted, did ye?" said CJ. "Pity."

With that, the little fellow now standing upon the bar unbuttoned his trousers. "See ye back at yer place," he said, "someday. If yer lucky." And he unleashed a warm stinking stream straight upon the creature of sparks and flame and brimstony smoke. No one in the bar could see any of this, save for the diminutive executioner and his satanic victim, but they all could smell it, and they all heard CJ's continued muttering. "Blood of a bog unicorn, sure. Always helps. Maybe a little mead at the right moment. But a little piss never hurt, neither."

Then they all heard the hiss, and the long and seemingly endless and really, when they thought about it later, quite satisfying shriek of anguish:

"Nooooooooo! Look what you've done, you wicked little man... I'm meeeellting! Melting I say...!"

Then all was silence, stunned silence.


JES said...

Checked back through recent posts and I think CJ might have still been behind the bar, possibly perched upon the blessed ladder of Ikea. Let me know if it needs fixup somehow.

P.S. The poll's still open. Was hoping with this post to nudge the tale towards conclusion but, as always, Burning Lines is never certainly anywhere in particular. :)

Rowena said...

Dude! You are brilliant.

I swear, I was up last night with insomnia thinking about things to put that old devil down, and I too came up with something along the lines of "shut yer pie hole." However, the insomnia made me less sharp this morning and a little slow on the uptake, so you beat me to it.

Mine wouldn't have been as funny. So good for you.

Kate Lord Brown said...

;) brilliant