Jump to content


Chicken Stroll, Part 2


  • Please log in to reply
No replies to this topic

#1 Guest_Laufey_and_Ophidia_*

Posted 15 November 2007 - 05:37 PM

Chicken Stroll


Part Two

Chickens have turned the activity of panicking into an artform. Nothing can panic like a flock of chickens disturbed in the middle of the night. Edwin woke up to the sound of agitated squawking, flapping wings and the odd feathery thump of a particularly agitated bird running into something hard at full pelt. He raised his head with a startled cluck, trying to make sense of the darkness around him. He had never had particularly good night vision, and now, as a chicken, his night vision was completely hopeless. There were flashes of light from oil lamps held in huge human hands above his head, and their voices sounded in the darkness, deep and unintelligible. He felt his wings tense, ready to flap and create a fuss, and sternly told his feathered body to behave. His heart raced, though, and he tensed his legs ready to run. He turned his head left and right, trying to figure out what was happening. A brown hen blundered into the side of him, scrambled over him with sharp claws, and pelted off into the darkness. She ran into a coop, squawked, and ran off in another direction. Ignorant simi...avians.

Edwin? What's going on? Where are you? Nalia's mental voice was laced with panic.

Edwin spared a moment to feel smug about how much better he was at controlling chicken instincts than Nalia, and then distractedly preened his wing. I...am not sure. A light flashed, and Edwin saw a brief glimpse of vertical stripes. Bars... they're rounding us up! Keep away from them! They might be about to kill us!

All of us?

Unlikely I suppose, unless they were going to hold a huge ball for which they would need hundreds of roast chickens at one time.

Like...the ones I hold? Nalia replied.

Ah...yes. Edwin said uneasily, huddling back into the shadow of a coop. Another oil lamp flashed past, and Edwin spotted Nalia, standing in the middle of the muddy chicken farm, occasionally taking a few dithering steps forward or backwards. And, behind her...

Nalia! Watch out!

Too late. The cage scooped her up and shut firmly. Edwin froze for a moment, uncertain how to react, equally outraged at the treatment of his familiar as worried about the prospects of the same fate befalling him. Before he had the time to make any decision, a vast shadow loomed above him, strong and calloused fingers gripped him unceremoniously by the legs, and then he was swinging upside down through the air, squawking noisily and flapping his wings as he tried in vain to get loose. The experience would have been nasty enough on its own, but his chicken body made it even worse, flooding his body with waves of flashing purple panic. He couldn't think, he couldn't reason, all the thought that remained was the desperate urge to escape.

“Noooooo!” he screamed. “How...how dare you! Put me down this instant, you giant mound of putrefying flesh! Put me DOWN I say!” Or at least, that was what he tried to communicate. What he actually did say was: “Cluck! Cluck Cluuuck! Cluck-cluck-cluck-BLAAAAAAAAART!” and his captor paid no attention whatsoever to this. However, somebody else did, a fact that would soon spell disaster of extreme magnitude.

Some hours previously...

“Andorel, I told you I don't want to get drunk. I don't enjoy intoxicating myself even under normal circumstances, and especially not when Edwin is in serious trouble and I need to be at my best.”

“But that's just it, Vaddy,” Andorel insisted. “Sure, we can keep going fast and all that, but we have to rest sometimes. And since we're restin' anyway, this is the perfect time. You're even more uptight than usual, and don't bother lyin' 'bout it.” He tapped his forehead, grinning. “I know better...I can feel it, right? If you were a dog, you'd be runnin' in circles chasing yer tail. That's no good, you need to loosen up, stop mopin' and have a good time for once, then you'll feel better and you'll be better able to help Eddie and Nalia, see?” He gave his friend a friendly cuff on the shoulder, which made the assassin wince slightly. “Even Keldorn isn't as bad a worrier as you. Heck, not even Valygar. And it's not as if it does any good anyway, so why do it? That only makes you tie yourself in knots and go all black inside.”

He gave Dekaras a look, then shrugged. “Blacker, I guess.”

“And does that conclude your brilliant and comprehensive analysis of my mental state?” Dekaras said. The assassin was sitting opposite Andorel at a corner table of a small tavern they had stopped at when it finally became clear that a brief stop was necessary to avoid them running themselves into the ground completely. He wasn't exactly sitting still and resting though, he kept shifting about on his chair and tapping his fingers against the table, and there was a faintly haunted look in his eyes, as if he was imagining some distant horror. “It's not as if I have any idea of how best to take care of myself, is it?”

“Nope,” Andorel said, shaking his head. “Ya don't.” Then he grinned. “Good thing I've got just the thing, innit?” He patted the hipflask hanging from his belt. It looked rather dark and grimy, and something sloshed about inside. “This stuff could make a golem get up and dance on the table...”

“What is that?” Dekaras asked, with a faint touch of disgust colouring his voice.

“This? Well, it's my special preserve. It's made of, umm...stuff. Nothing bad. Elderberries. Well, mostly elderberries.”

“Mostly?”

“Well, there's a lotta alc'hol in there too. Go on, just try it.” Andorel watched Dekaras carefully. “Do you want ta be able to save Eddie or not?”

“Of course I do!”

“Well then.” Andorel unhooked the hip flask, gave it a reverential shine, and handed it over solemnly. “Just try it, ok? I'm not askin' you to do more than that.”

Dekaras held the bottle gingerly, like it was a bomb about to go off or a soiled nappy. He unscrewed the top and placed it carefully on the table, then took a cautious sip. His expression went blank, he blinked once and lowered the flask.

“So?” Andorel queried.

“That was...interesting.” Dekaras wiped away a small tear at the corner of his eye with a hand that shook slightly. “Elderberries?”

“Yep.”

“No...beetles or grubs or anything?”

“Nope. You can't ferment 'em. Not enough sugar. Honey ants, now them I reckon'd make a mean brew...”

“But there are no honey ants in this?”

“Nope.”

“Just elderberries?”

“Yeah. And yeast, o'f course. Gotta have yeast. Good for ya, elderberries are.”

“Yes,” Dekaras took another careful sip. “Yes, they are.”

Andorel grinned, and ordered a dark ale for himself from a passing barmaid. This'll do him a world 'o good, he thought, I just hope he never finds out I only use that stuff to treat my feet.

Three ales later Andorel was beginning to wonder if maybe he'd made a mistake. Despite sipping more and more frequently from the flask, the drink didn't seem to have the desired effect on his friend. Apart from a faint flush in his cheeks, Dekaras seemed entirely unaffected. No singing, no dancing on tables, not even any bar brawling or throwing up, none of those things the half-orc associated with getting properly smashed.

“Vaddy?” He asked. “How're ya feeling?”

“Hm?” the assassin said. With one finger he was idly tracing complex patterns in a small puddle of spilt ale, and his other hand held the flask in a firm grip. “Oh, capital. Just fine.”

“Not feelin'...funny in any way?”

“Certainly not,” Dekaras said. He was speaking rather more slowly and carefully than normal, as if he was explaining something painfully obvious to an inattentive child. “I am, as always, in perfect and complete control of my facult...facl...facu...mind. Yes. That was what I meant to say. Mind. Perfect control.” He took another sip. “Elderberries...never knew they tasted this...nice.”

“Oh. All right, I s'pose. If you say so.”

“I do say so. However...” The assassin's voice trailed off, and he stared distantly at something only he could see, smiling faintly. After a minute or two of patient waiting, when no continuation seemed to be forthcoming, Andorel decided to break in.

“Yeah?”

“What?”

Andorel shook his head. “What do ya mean 'what'? You were the one doing the talking!”

“I know that,” Dekaras haughtily said. “I'm not going senile yet, you know. However...”

Andorel sighed. “Yeah, Vaddy?”

“However,” the assassin said, after taking another long drink, “I feel it is my solemn duty to inform you that I am, at this current time, extremely drunk.” He gave Andorel an unusually bright smile. “You really shouldn't trust my judgement about anything right now, you know. You would be certain to regret it.”

“Vaddy ol' pal, I never trust your judgement.” He looked more closely at his friend. He didn't look drunk to Andorel, who himself had three ales and part of a fourth sloshing about inside him. Gorion had always told him to trust his common sense, hadn't he?

“I trust you, you just ain't got no common sense in that noggin o' yours.” Dekaras looked up at him seriously. “You really trust me?”

“Yeah.” The assassin blinked a few times, and took another sip of the elderberry foot-treatment. “Why?”

“Because.” Andorel frowned. “You really drunk?”

“Quite consss....” There was a pause, and a sense of gathering for a great effort. “idd...erably.” Another sip. “You're not actin' drunk.”

“That is because I choose not to.” Dekaras declared. “Why should I wish to behave like an imbecile? I am far more respins...resp...respobble...mature than that.”

“Nah, you're not drunk. I don't believe ya.” Andorel said, and then downed the last of his fourth pint in one long gulp. “Ahhhh!”

“I just told you, I am.”

“Nah, not really drunk. Just a bit tipsy, I reckon. I think you need more yet to get you prop'ly relaxed.” The slightly drunk half-orc turned in his seat. “Hey, Gorgeous!” The barmaid gave him an annoyed glare. “'Nother ale for me, please, and...” He gave his friend a calculating look. “A glass of your best mead, a lemon and a pitcher of firewine. Oh, and a monkey onna a stick. I'm gonna make you a special cocktail I made up meself. I call it 'Cough Mixture's Revenge'.”

Dekaras nodded sagely. “That sounds interesting, I shall try it.”

“What, really?”

“Yes. Why would I not?”

Andorel grinned toothily. “This is gonna be fun.”

The ordered articles arrived promptly, and Andorel went about his business. The mead went into the pitcher, hissing a little like an angry dragon, and then he squeezed the lemon on top of that. As for the monkey, he stuck it into the largest tankard available, then poured the contents of the pitcher after it.

“Are you...done soon?” Dekaras asked him. “I am really looking forward to this.”

Huh. Still not drunk enough, I reckon. Now what? Then Andorel thought of something, and he grinned again. “Just a sec.” He grasped the hipflask, pouring the entire contents of it into the tankard. There was a brief cloud of purple smoke. “There ya go, mate. If this doesn't get ya to unwind, nothing will.” He winked. “Bet ya can't drink it all down though, bein' scrawny like you are.”

“Ha!” The assassin reached across the table and hauled the tankard closer. There was an eager and worryingly senseless glint in his dark eyes that Andorel utterly failed to notice. “I'll have you know that I have knowingly drunk things that would make your liver shrivel up like a dried prune and your other organs sponta...spo...sponane...just go 'poof'.”

“Poof?”

“Poof,” Dekaras solemnly repeated as he raised the tankard. “'cept I've made myself immune to quite a lot, so it's all fine. Now, cyanide with some sparkling wine...that might be a good one.” He blinked. “Must...remember that for later.” Then he raised the tankard, and he drank. And drank. And drank. Finally, just when Andorel was worried he'd run out of breath, he stopped, and set the tankard down. By now, it was only halfway full with the dark purple fluid.

For a few seconds he just sat there, staring blankly ahead, not moving. Then a wide and serene smile spread across his face. “That...was verrrry...unusualllllll...” He drawled. “Good, though.”

Andorel felt relieved. He still hadn't achieved quite the effect he'd hoped for, but at least his friend seemed happy. “There you go then, Vaddy!” He cheerfully said, chugging down his ale before hollering for another, extra large one. “Finally gettin' ready to unwind a bit?”

“Yes...guesssss soooo...” Andorel chuckled, and started on his next drink.

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten what usually happens when a tightly coiled spring suddenly unwinds at once.




0 user(s) are reading this topic

0 members, 0 guests, 0 anonymous users

Skin Designed By Evanescence at IBSkin.com