Quote:
Originally Posted by LazyScot
<LazyScot looks down at Pshrynk's unconscious body, and then back up at Marc.>
Hey, Marc, was he lucky he only got goosed on the head?
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[WHACK!]
"Duck", says Evil-Marc.
He looks down at LazyScot's unconscious form. "Hmm, I'd have thought he'd have worked up some kind of premonitory sensitivity by now. I guess I owe pshrynk a Zany Carter".
"Adrian! Chuck 'em in the tip truck, will you? Let's go play Mad Scientist again! (Yes, yes, I'll be Igor this time)...".
With the unconscious bodies of pshrynk and LazyScot now resting on a tip truck bed full of the soft and gentle buzz and fur of a snoozing, fully-armed batallion of pirate ninja squirrels, Adrian and Evil-Marc swing into the cabin. The tip-truck sputters and roars into life like a breaching whale with a head cold, and slowly crawls away along the firetrail. Slite stands in the humped middle of the track, randomly ducking in perfectly judged time to passing, low-flying, depraved geese, and having fleeting flashes of wonder at his burgeoning precognitive skills. His eye lifts to the receding truck's tailgate, to meet (perfectly timed) a small, furry head with diamante eyes popping over the top. The squirrel looks over his shoulder and down, turns, twinks an eye at Slite, and says, quite clearly, "Giggle", before dropping below the tailgate again.
Slite ducks automatically as a flock of depraved geese pass low, following the truck like seagulls after a prawn-trawler.
Slite turns, and walks the other way, laughing hollowly.