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| Cynicsid's Competition | |
| By idlemusings | ||||||||||||||||||
| 10 August 2005 | ||||||||||||||||||
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This is actually an entry into Cynicsid's Competition, however I got a bit carried away and figured I'd post here rather than take up all the space on the thread.
Hope no one minds. ‘‘I'm damned if I will'' shouted Conan the Barbarian, getting quite emotional now that the argument had reached fever point. His wife gave him a look that could turn a man to stone - literally. ‘‘And don't go giving me that ‘Flesh into Stone' crap either Medusa, you know it doesn't work on me,'' continued Conan. Medusa focused her unrelenting stare at her husband, feeling a shade pissed off that he was resilient to her inhuman powers; she wasn't impressed with the tone of his voice and felt that a period as an inanimate object would do him some good - see how emotional he could get as a decorative doorstop for example. ‘‘Look,'' continued Conan, bravely facing the problem encountered by men throughout all time - how to put this question delicately. ‘‘I don't want to be crass here, but given that you're just a physical manifestation of primitive man's fear and misunderstanding of ‘women's problems', do you think that maybe that's the real issue here?'' Medusa continued to stare silently at her husband while one of the scaled green snakes that formed her hair reached out and seized Conan's pet hamster from it's cage and began to swallow it. ‘‘I'll take that as a ‘No' then'', said Conan as he watched his favourite pet disappear down the snake's throat. ‘God I wish she would stop doing that every time we argue', thought Conan, ‘it's getting so I hardly dare have a pet anymore. It wasn't always like this though, I remember back when we first met...' ...he had been going through a bad period following his forced retirement from the barbarian business, on account of losing his leg through language difficulties. He'd been on a quest to find the Golden Fleece...no damn it that was someone else...the quest for Zelda's Treasure...no not that either...the Holy Kettle maybe...whatever, all quests tended to blend into each other after twenty years in the business. Anyway he was on this quest and it involved storming some keep or another and he had this assistant, Kip, helping him; which wasn't a problem as such because Kip could be expected to die towards the end of the quest allowing Conan to swear to avenge his death, find the necessary strength to slaughter the bad guys and, by-the-by, keep all the loot for himself. The problem with Kip was that his grasp of English wasn't the strongest and so when he had asked Conan for a ‘leg up' when scaling the keep Conan had readily agreed without really thinking it through enough. It had therefore come as some surprise when Kip had proceeded to cut Conan's leg off and use it to stand on so he could reach the window. ‘Oh for God's sake...' thought Conan from his prone position on the ground, favoured by those who suddenly and unexpectedly find themselves minus a leg. ‘Still I guess I should be happy I didn't suggest using our heads first.' To add insult to literal injury Kip had taken his leg with him in case there were any more windows to be reached and it had taken Conan positively ages to find it again. So, it had to be retirement then, and a long period of rehabilitation between the lateral bars while he got used to his false leg, the other one being considered too soggy to be much practical use by the time he had found a doctor. It was understandable then that he hadn't been in the best of moods when he limped into the ‘Sword & Sorcery' bar for a nightcap. Actually he seldom drank in the ‘S&S', as it was known locally, and thinking back he supposed it must have been fate that brought him in that night. He certainly wasn't looking to fall in love. He had ordered his usual mug of ‘Old Rancid's Phlegm' and was scowling around at the other customers. It wasn't that he minded the overabundance of leatherwear and spikes on display, after all it had taken him a long time to stop wearing his own leather jockstrap in public after he retired. It was more that the kind of leather armour on display was so obviously unsuitable to real combat. ‘Crap fashion armour', Conan thought, ‘I bet none of it would even slow down a good sword blow let alone protect you from dragon's breath. Better suited to the privacy of a bedroom than the battlefield. Bloody yuppie posers.' He'd been well into his jars when he had felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find himself looking into the face of his future wife. Obviously neither of them had known that at the time and their initial shared reaction had been one of annoyance, Conan at being interrupted and Medusa at Conan's failure to turn into stone as expected. ‘Bless her', thought Conan has he ducked to avoid the books that his wife, in her rage, had started to throw at him. ‘She hadn't really meant to do anyone any harm that night, but sometimes the crowds at the bar at the S&S are enough to make anyone a bit touchy.' Medusa had managed to immobilise a good dozen of the S&S's regular customers while trying to get to the bar before being stopped by Conan who, looking at the frozen yuppies, had to admit he liked her style. Once he understood that she was just desperate for a drink and that it was nothing personal, he had been very supportive, even attracting the bartender's attention so she could crystallise him as well. With the bartender out of the way, and the bouncers deciding that blind cowardice was the better part of valour, they had been able to help themselves to free drinks for the rest of the evening. As a result they had been in no state to walk home and staggered down to the local tram depot to get a ride. There had been a group of kids messing about inside the station, running at the walls and generally yahooing annoyingly, so Medusa had turned them all into stone as well. One particularly obnoxious brat with a lightning shaped scar on his forehead had tried to wave a small stick at them but Conan had taken it off him and snapped it before Medusa had frozen him. ‘Bloody kids', thought Conan. The drink and the feel of Medusa by his side had really gotten him worked up and he decided to try his luck. He pushed Medusa up against the railing and gave her a good snogging. Her lips tasted both salty and saucy and very, very exciting, although he had to admit the snakes biting his head and ears were a bit of a turn off. Conan realised that he was falling for this woman in a big way. ‘And look where it's got me', he thought as he dodged the collected works of Arthur Conan Doyle that Medusa was flinging at his head. ‘Ten years of marriage and we still can't agree on who's going to sleep in the wet spot.'
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