I’ve recently noticed something rather disturbing. Once again my writers are not living up to their true potential. Forget about getting a college education. Whyever would one need that when they’ve already got me? Honestly, sometimes I don’t know what’s wrong with this world. It’s been careening downhill ever since the disappointing debut of Vil Ann’s latest collection. Speaking of disappointing, has anyone else noticed how her eyebrows have gone seriously awry? Sheesh woman, get thee to the salon! Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah, my writers. There has been a serious lack of action as of late and I find this to be a rather grievous offense. My mad skillz will get the attention due them. With this thought running through my head, I considered approaching my partner in crime (of the non-evil sort, mind you) to see if he’d help me out. On the one hand, I was really starting to get sick of hanging out with the weasel. I need variety in my life. Why else would I own over one hundred different pairs of black gloves? Really, what’s a girl to do when her only suitable comrade isn’t anywhere near her normal caliber of companionable male-type? On the other hand, his skillz did come closer to matching mine than Alero’s did. It was quite the quandary to find one’s self in. So instead of working my amazingly intelligent mind into a painful and most undeserved headache, I decided to go for a walk.
Fluffy white cotton ball type clouds passed lazily overhead. The sunlight that passed by them warmed me quite deliciously. It was loverly. Twitterpated little bunnies bounded by and I marveled at their grace and speed… flowers of all kinds bloomed interestingly out of season… the aroma of chocolate hung in the air. This seemed oddly like a foreshadowing of love, but far be it for me to jump to conclusions. There remains some sense in the universe after all… meanwhile, I’m gonna find me that chocolate.
Chocolate is not a natural woodland scent, as I’m sure you all well know, and had I been thinking clearly I might have realized that whomever was eating this heavenly substance must have something to do with the aforementioned foreshadowed love. But since the entire foreshadowing was rather controversial, the entire issue was up in the air. There seemed to be some sort of block in my mind that wouldn’t allow me to access the ‘love’ file. Putting two and two together is generally very, very easy for moi. Why was this becoming so difficult?
My nose led me to a clearing. Instead of describing what wasn't there (because a clearing obviously doesn't have much), I'll describe the scant things that were. (Just try and say that I'm not brilliant.) A few scraggly bushes grew and the grass and other weed-like plants that I had no name for came up to my knees… I will not think about what could be crawling down there… I will not. The only other notable feature was a string of trees on the far side. Just on the other side of those trees, that’s where the chocolate smell was coming from. Mmmm, glorious delight.
“Choco-late, choco-late, choco-late for moi.” I whispered to myself as I pushed past the trees and came face to face with a group of bandits. Blast! This so isn’t fair. My mouth hung open and my tongue seemed intent upon holding out my last syllable.
“What have we here?” the man henceforth known as Bandit #1 sneered.
I regained my composure. “Need you even ask?” To their immense pleasure, I spun around, struck a pose, and then proceeded to strut toward Bandit #1. Much in the way of clapping and catcalls commenced in my wake.
Bandit #1 seemed unaffected. There was something wrong with this guy. And this judgement has nothing to do with his ill-fitting garments, his pot belly or those hideous whiskers that perhaps on some other planet might pass for a scraggly beard. Something smelled fishy. Or maybe that was his cologne? Tough call.
“Someone seize her!” he cried.
I giggled. “Yes, seize me, seize me please.”
Well that was that. The little bit of loyalty the rest of the men may have had for Bandit #1 flew out the window and landed ten-fold in my lap.
“She’s a wanted criminal!” Bandit #1 squeaked desperately.
“So are all of us.” Bandit #2 (a messy young man with a crooked nose) called out.
Bandit #1 began to sweat it. “She’s here to kill the prince!” he said, trying to rally them into his corner. “She’s here to steal our plunder. She’s a crazed lunatic. She has fake hair!”
I calmly took a sword from Bandit #3 (a delicious looking dark stranger of any school-girl’s dreams) and stepped toward Bandit #1. “Would you care to repeat that?”
“You’re here to kill the prince?” he asked. His voice had cracked midsentence. He obviously knew he was not equal.
“No.”
“You’re here to steal our plunder and you’re a crazed lunatic.”
“Maybe, and no.”
He glanced around nervously. “You have fake hair?”
“THAT WOULD BE IT!” I shouted.