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Post By Hatman Wed Sep 15, 2004 at 01:40:29 am EDT |
Subject
An Untold Untold Tale Of The Lair Legion: Spice Up Your Life | |
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I launch myself from my perch, my coat flaring out behind me, casting my features into shadow. I pull two razor letters from my satchel and let them fly. One embeds itself into the hand of the taller one, the other in the chest. That one doesn’t get up.
The wounded one pulls a gun from beneath his jacket, and if I was still capable of smiling I would now. I let him think he has a bead on me, then I leap, up and over his head. I pull out my own weapon and open fire from above.
He falls. They all fall.
I pick over the papers they dropped, looking for clues as to exactly what they were up to. Finding nothing overly incriminating, I pull a newspaper from the bottom of the pile. “The Expositioner”. Barely a tabloid, let alone a newspaper.
I toss it to the ground, intent on resuming my quest for vengeance, when the picture on the cover catches my eye. I pick it up again, this time looking closer.
If I could roll on the floor laughing, I would now.
Trickshot: Oh man, and I thought it was funny when he dated that feminist reporter!
dull thud: Och, I cannae believe my eyes
Cressida ~ Oh, be nice you two!
Trickshot: Like sugar and spice?
Trickshot and dull thud double over laughing.
Sarah Shepherdson: What’s so funny over here?
Cressida ~ It’s nothing funny.
dull thud: It’s nae funny, it’s bloody hilarious!
Sarah: Spill it you guys!
Trickshot hands her their copy of “The Expositioner”
Sarah, reading the headline: “Hanging His Hat On The Spice Rack”?
Had just begun pouring over the daily post when Asil knocked on the jam. Bloody proud of the girl, having done so much with herself. Need to make a point of telling her more often I think.
Here I am, rambling even in ink! Really now, must focus more on the subject at hand. Asil brought me an unusual paper, “The Expositioner”, Asil called it, what? Trashy, filthy rag at that, barely fit to see print. Horrifies me she would give even a shiling for it.
She handed it to me and waited for my response. Not sure what she expected, but I certainly was unprepared for the sight before me. “Hanging His Hat On The Spice Rack” was the tag above a photograph of young Mr. Boaz and a lass unknown to me.
Asil, bless her, was ready for my unvoiced query. Informed me the young woman was an “Emma Bunton”, used to be in a crooning group by the name of the “Spice Girls”. Apparently Mr. Foxglove had sent the two a courting and the local paparazzi had gotten wind, the oiks.
Couldn’t find the time to fully read the “article”, if one could call it that, what? I’ll be getting to it shortly after I complete this entry, and Asil assures me it is quite entertaining. From what I’ve gathered from the rest of the team, this is true.
“Remember what I said about gossip?”
Glory turned and left the office.
“I can’t believe he’s spicing up his life!” exclaims Kerry Shepherdsdotter. She and the fair Fashion Accessory hath been making taunts of the capped crusaders for the past hour and a half. They hath barely paid me, the mighty Harlagaz, any attention!
“I guess he needs someone with a human touch,” says Samantha. Enough of this foolishness.
“I doth not see the humour in this. The wench seems comely enough.”
“Only you could get away with saying that, ‘Gaz,” replies yon probability arsonist.
“Thou dost agree with me, don’st though, Hamboy!” There are no need for a question mark in mine punctuation, as there can be no doubt. Take that, mortal.
“I never had posters of her in my room I swear!” exclaims mine comrade.
“Err, I take that to be a sign of agreement.”
“Let us lay it down for you, Harlagaz,” offers the beauteous Samantha.
This had best be good. Mine Angel collection be in Ausgard for the nonce and I art missing the scheduled performance.
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