Hero's Manual: Chapter 8
Sep. 13th, 2006 12:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sickle_storiesA/N: Clyde exists because in 2002 I heard a song by Raymond Stevens called “Ahab the Arab”. It’s a very funny song with ridiculous details. And a camel named Clyde. Somewhat further influenced by TPratchett's "You Bastard" camel.
Chapter 8: Evil Mascots Inc.
Once the three had finished their tea (and Gwen had single-handedly finished the scones), Vicky took them on a tour of his mansion. They’d just seen the Lime-Green Room, where Vicky kept his marble collection, and were walking down the hall when their way was blocked by a stumbling figure. Hero and Gwen pressed themselves up against the wall; Vicky carried on down the hall, obliviously describing his favorite cat’s eye.
“Out of the way, Master,” mumbled the figure from under a huge rolled-up carpet.
“Quasi! Didn’t see you there. How’s the…um, search, for the, er…thing. You know.”
“There’re some obstacles in the way,” answered Quasi. Seeing that Vicky didn’t get the hint, he strode forwards, hitting Vicky full in the face with the end of the carpet, and squeezed past him.
“Mmff!” Vicky picked himself up and turned to see the back of his retreating butler. “Jolly good then, carry on,” he called out. “I’ll send Clyde along shortly,” he added to himself. With a quick glance to his guests, he carried on down the call, picking up his description where he left off, leaving Gwen and Hero to hurry along behind him.
The two bumped into Vicky just around the corner. He’d finally stopped his monologue and was instead standing with his back to a door. He had a disturbingly pleased smile on his face.
“I would like you to meet another of my prized possessions,” he said. “I ordered it special.” He paused, then, at the merely polite interest from his guests, he added: “From Evil Mascot Inc.”
“Oh,” said Hero. “I saw their selection.”
“Yes, well. This mascot, an Evil Mascot, is a sight to behold. It’s quite vicious, and doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”
“Um…” interjected Gwen with a small wave, “then are you sure you want to show it to us?”
“Of course,” snapped Vicky. He stood up proudly, “It’s got a snake-like neck, a frightening gaze with…bloody – no, bloodshot eyes, prominent teeth, a, um…” Vicky squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the description from Evil Mascot Inc.’s commercial. “Prominent teeth, a poisonous bite, foul smell, and – and this is particularly useful – an eerie silhouette.”
Hero whistled.
“Now I will show you the great beast. Hero, you might want to protect the Damsel.”
“Don’t you want to?” said Hero as he stood in front of Gwen.
“Nah, that’s Hero work.” Vicky placed a hand on the doorknob. “Ready?”
Gwen edged around Hero to see the door better. Much too late she realized that Vicky would be behind the door when it opened, whereas they would be in full sight and silhouetted glory of the beast. Stupid way to die, she thought, slipping behind Hero again.
The door opened, and Vicky called out “Clyde!” from behind the door. There was a rustle of hay as something large and heavy roused and lumbered towards the light. The beast poked out its head then hid it again as Gwen began to laugh.
Vicky glared at her as his ran into the room, promptly emerging with a struggling camel. It might have been evil, bad tempered, spitting, foul and gruesome, but it was a camel none the less. A thin film of drool landed on Vicky’s sleeve as he strived to calm the animal by scratching its hump.
“Alright, alright,” mumbled Vicky. “There were all out of actual Beasts of Evil. This was all they had left.” Gwen stifled a giggle. “D’you want to pet it?”
Hero took a hesitant step forward and reached for the camel’s nose. He pet it lightly, then reached up and plucked a stray straw that clung to its ear.
The camel snatched the straw back possessively. “S’mine,’ it grumbled. ‘Cost me dear.’ With that, the camel turned and retreated back into its room. Vicky shut the door behind it carefully.
Once they’d walked for a few minutes, Vicky clarified: “Put out his back cleaning out his stall. Carries that straw around everywhere now, like some bloody trophy. I think he’s even got a sort of altar to put it on nights.”
“Trophy?” said Hero.
“Yes. You know, like all those heads coming out through the walls like a slightly drunk rhinoceros just decided to race an antelope and both didn’t know when to stop. Old men then stand in front of the fire place, staring up at these dazed animals, reminiscing about their younger days, telling testosterone-pumped tails to the wide-eyed ladies, daring to use phrases like: ‘charging right at me from no where and I never lost my cool, just shot straight as an arrow’. Pompous lot, all of them.” Vicky paused and retraced his words a tangent or two back. “Personally, I think he keeps it as something to hate.”
Once the three had finished their tea (and Gwen had single-handedly finished the scones), Vicky took them on a tour of his mansion. They’d just seen the Lime-Green Room, where Vicky kept his marble collection, and were walking down the hall when their way was blocked by a stumbling figure. Hero and Gwen pressed themselves up against the wall; Vicky carried on down the hall, obliviously describing his favorite cat’s eye.
“Out of the way, Master,” mumbled the figure from under a huge rolled-up carpet.
“Quasi! Didn’t see you there. How’s the…um, search, for the, er…thing. You know.”
“There’re some obstacles in the way,” answered Quasi. Seeing that Vicky didn’t get the hint, he strode forwards, hitting Vicky full in the face with the end of the carpet, and squeezed past him.
“Mmff!” Vicky picked himself up and turned to see the back of his retreating butler. “Jolly good then, carry on,” he called out. “I’ll send Clyde along shortly,” he added to himself. With a quick glance to his guests, he carried on down the call, picking up his description where he left off, leaving Gwen and Hero to hurry along behind him.
The two bumped into Vicky just around the corner. He’d finally stopped his monologue and was instead standing with his back to a door. He had a disturbingly pleased smile on his face.
“I would like you to meet another of my prized possessions,” he said. “I ordered it special.” He paused, then, at the merely polite interest from his guests, he added: “From Evil Mascot Inc.”
“Oh,” said Hero. “I saw their selection.”
“Yes, well. This mascot, an Evil Mascot, is a sight to behold. It’s quite vicious, and doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”
“Um…” interjected Gwen with a small wave, “then are you sure you want to show it to us?”
“Of course,” snapped Vicky. He stood up proudly, “It’s got a snake-like neck, a frightening gaze with…bloody – no, bloodshot eyes, prominent teeth, a, um…” Vicky squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the description from Evil Mascot Inc.’s commercial. “Prominent teeth, a poisonous bite, foul smell, and – and this is particularly useful – an eerie silhouette.”
Hero whistled.
“Now I will show you the great beast. Hero, you might want to protect the Damsel.”
“Don’t you want to?” said Hero as he stood in front of Gwen.
“Nah, that’s Hero work.” Vicky placed a hand on the doorknob. “Ready?”
Gwen edged around Hero to see the door better. Much too late she realized that Vicky would be behind the door when it opened, whereas they would be in full sight and silhouetted glory of the beast. Stupid way to die, she thought, slipping behind Hero again.
The door opened, and Vicky called out “Clyde!” from behind the door. There was a rustle of hay as something large and heavy roused and lumbered towards the light. The beast poked out its head then hid it again as Gwen began to laugh.
Vicky glared at her as his ran into the room, promptly emerging with a struggling camel. It might have been evil, bad tempered, spitting, foul and gruesome, but it was a camel none the less. A thin film of drool landed on Vicky’s sleeve as he strived to calm the animal by scratching its hump.
“Alright, alright,” mumbled Vicky. “There were all out of actual Beasts of Evil. This was all they had left.” Gwen stifled a giggle. “D’you want to pet it?”
Hero took a hesitant step forward and reached for the camel’s nose. He pet it lightly, then reached up and plucked a stray straw that clung to its ear.
The camel snatched the straw back possessively. “S’mine,’ it grumbled. ‘Cost me dear.’ With that, the camel turned and retreated back into its room. Vicky shut the door behind it carefully.
Once they’d walked for a few minutes, Vicky clarified: “Put out his back cleaning out his stall. Carries that straw around everywhere now, like some bloody trophy. I think he’s even got a sort of altar to put it on nights.”
“Trophy?” said Hero.
“Yes. You know, like all those heads coming out through the walls like a slightly drunk rhinoceros just decided to race an antelope and both didn’t know when to stop. Old men then stand in front of the fire place, staring up at these dazed animals, reminiscing about their younger days, telling testosterone-pumped tails to the wide-eyed ladies, daring to use phrases like: ‘charging right at me from no where and I never lost my cool, just shot straight as an arrow’. Pompous lot, all of them.” Vicky paused and retraced his words a tangent or two back. “Personally, I think he keeps it as something to hate.”
