Alas poor Yorrick, I knew him Horatio

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artymon I\/
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Posts: 2173
Joined: Thu 9th Feb 2012
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Alas poor Yorrick, I knew him Horatio

Post by artymon I\/ » Tue 25th Feb 2020

(Yes, Kitty. I blatantly stole your shoutbox message.)

Um....here you go? Usual bits and bobs, there's some death, explosions, swearing, intense situations....disclaimer, disclaimer...you've been warned...

~~

“….and that’s when I looked her dead in the eye and said: ‘Ma’am, there is no horse on the cart,’” Thomas told Ranaji.
Ranaji nearly doubled over, chortling.
“I bet she loved that.”
“Oh, she was right fit to be tied,” Thomas confirmed.
Approaching the plucky pair, Bates threw on a similar smile, cocking a corner as if to convey he had just finished having a laugh himself. He let out a short chuckle that was more of a forced bark.
“Heya guys, either of you have a smoke?”
The humor from Ranaji and Thomas dissipated as swift and suddenly as if someone had pulled the drain on a cosmic bathtub.
As if a wet sponge hugged a thin flame dancing atop a candle, the light patter gave way to a gloom.
“No,” Thomas coolly answered, gripping the pistol grip of his M4 nearly tight enough to distort the mysterious material.
Bates made a hopeful pass to Ranaji.
Ranaji only stared, slowly shaking his head.
Bates made a face.
“Aw, c’mon, you guys aren’t still mad about Haifa Bay, are you?”
The previous frost forming on the pair boiled into a fury. He dared to even mention Haifa Bay?
On Ranji’s belt, a kukri blade slept inside its scabbard.
Bates nervously eyed the wickedly curved leather, all too familiar with its owner’s famed battle cry.
Sirupate Khukuri ma Laha chha ki chhaina?
Does your Khukuri have enough iron?
And if the blade were “lacking iron,” it would compensate with the iron from its enemy’s blood.
“Look, I told you guys before, I had no idea the kangaroo was an accomplice –”
“You let them escape,” Ranaji cut across, his voice flat.
“They escaped and then they murdered Jeffery,” Thomas added. “All because you were getting sucked off by some blonde bimbo.”
Despite everything, Bates made an indignant sound, rolling his eyes with exasperation.
This again.
“I told you, she wasn’t sucking me off, I was giving her directions to the ice cream parlor.”
Ranaji’s glare intensified as though a pair of invisible knives were protruding from his eyes.
“Meanwhile, the people YOU were supposed to be guarding escaped and poor Jeffery got butchered.”
“You know he was going to retire,” Thomas piped up. “He was going to go to Nadine after the job was finished.”
Agitated, Bates shrugged.
“Then maybe I did her a favor, now she doesn’t have to payout his pension.”
Ssssfwiiit!
Faster than a bullwhip made of light striking across a realm of darkness, the kukri was summoned from its belt and at Bates’s throat.
A fly buzzed by his forehead, drawn by the sweat from the oppressing heat of the sandy plains. He wanted to swat it off, but was fearful the faintest finger movement would prompt the irate Indian to invoke an incision on his neck.
“He had a family,” Ranaji coldly whispered. “Wife. Kids. Innocent children who will now grow without a father.”
The blade against Bates’s throat, cool to his skin, felt as though it were pulsing.
Got enough iron on your kukri?
A dollop of sweat snaked down Bates’s forehead, along the inside of his eye, stinging the sensitive sclera as it blazed down his nose. Joined by a tear from his salty sweat, the bead grew heavy and fell off the tip of Bates’s nose…landing on Ranaji’s kukri.
If there was a greater dishonor than abandoning your comrades in arms, it was disrespecting said comrade’s weapon.
In certain circles of India, staining your kukri with sweat was a grave insult; the sodium traces were seen as impure salt and corrode the blade.
Bates could only watch in horror as Ranaji flicked his brown eyes – burning like coals – down at the dribble of tear-sweat, then back up at Bates.
Christ, he wished he’d paid more attention in Sunday school and learned some Hail Marys. But he wasn’t supposed to die like this, right now. He had figured he’d stay on a few years, then retire onto a yacht and learn forgiveness for his actions then.
“Hey, weren’t you supposed to be watching the detonator?” Thomas wondered, his blocky British-y brogue breaking the spell betwixt Bates and Ranaji.
Lowering the knife, Ranaji turned in the direction of Thomas. The eroded hut and its half walled fence were bare of the detonator. The boss had given orders not to blow anything without getting the okay from their client, arrogant prick he was.
“M-must have just f-f-fffallen down,” Bates stammered, his breath coming out in shudders, his throat felt as though it were vibrating in fear.
Christ and Mary catching Californians making crepes with Macaroni and cheese, that had been close –

BOOM!

The crumbled entrance Ranaji, Thomas, and Bates were standing outside of exploded from the force of the pack C4 charges, killing them all instantly.
From behind the half wall, Nathan let the depressed detonator fall out of his hands as he made an excited victory pose
“Yes! Oh man, that was sweet, those idiots didn’t even know what hit them!”
“Helped that they left their detonator completely unguarded,” Sam snickered, fingering a cigarette in his shirt pocket.
“I suppose it would have been too much to keep it quiet as Livy had requested,” Colin sighed.
Nathan rolled his eyes.
“Oh please, like she wouldn’t have done the same.”
Moments later, a chorus of gunfire cracked across the plain.
“Here we bloody go again,” Colin groaned, his nanite-hook shifting into its uni-blaster module.
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