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.

And then the door to the pub crashed open and in stepped a gloriously blond Amazon, aiming two gleaming silver pistols at the Monsieur. She was at least six foot six, and every curve on her was exaggerated, her tiny rock hard waist, her bountiful bosoms that pulled at the constraints of her button down shirt, her ass, oh her ass with it's firm and rippled glutes that reminded Swotsy of nothing less than a prize race horse. Her muscled shoulders filled the door frame.

All the little people looked up at her and gasped. As did Swotsy. Poor confused Swotsy, her head spun, her loins burned.

The Monsieur, however narrowed his eyes and stalked the floor. Dwarves scattered to all corners.

There was no time for confusion. Swotsy pulled her weapon, as did all the other police in the room and the Monsieur just laughed.

"Those will not harm me." He tossed the nearest police man into the wall, and he grunted and slid down to the floor, unconscious. The hail of bullets that followed, he just laughed off. When it quieted, and the dwarves all peeked from behind their cover,

The blond goddess spoke. "But mine will. They are silver... that would be poison to your system wouldn't it?"

"The Giant Queen!" they dwarves whispered in awe from their hiding places. "The Giant Queen."

From her great height, the Amazon, looked down upon them and the whispers ended.

"I've got your back, Captain Velkiris. I don't know how you knew what was going on, but I'm ready," Joe said, his trusty gun warm in his hand.

"Stand down, Sargeant," she said, her steely eyes never leaving the Monsieur's. "I sent you in here without knowledge and without the proper equipment. Your bullets will just pass through him. If I had prepared you, if you had known, the Monsieur would never have exposed himself by following you in here. I needed you to be too attractive to his needs. I needed you as bait. And he was, wasn't he, Monsieur?"

The Monsieur hissed.

A Biological Anomaly

the blood of a bog unicorn."

"But I thought they were extinct!" This, from a tweed-jacketed bloke down the end of the bar who looked like he might know what he was talking about. He puffed authoritatively on a long clay pipe, as though for emphasis.

"Well now, old fellow," CJ said, his eyes twinkling, "maybe if you knew as much about dwarfish culture as you did about zoology you might not be so hasty to judge."

"Shut yer piehole, CJ!" said Daisy. "You've said enough for one evenin' and I don't care if you're back from the dead or just back from the loo."