„Hey, Swampthingie, what’s the stink? Is that you or this dead skunk on your belt?“ The human roared with laughter. Hans-Dieter stayed calm. Because firstly, his religion forbade him to react if provoked by others. And secondly, because the Aahw was indeed a dead skunk.

These „humans“ had appeared just recently in the area of the Paloopah-Swamps, but were a lot of trouble ever since. They were arrogant, terrorized other species, and some of them were downright criminals. Quite plainly like the specimen in front of him. Who by the way in this instant drew a kind of small hand axe and aimed it at Hans-Dieter. The tavern fell even more silent. The Droohlo froze in mid-movement, the Flump curled up into one oversized ball of wool, and the Menhor raised his seven branches into the air.

So this was one of those thundersticks that allegedly killed reliably and from great distances. Hans-Dieter remained unimpressed. „You, get moving! Hand them over or I’ll blow away the bigger one of your ugly heads!“ The being was waving around his weapon.

So he had to get mixed up with mortal women now and then. But nowadays he had to impose himself even on them for the most part and more than once they broke right in the middle of it. Bummer. And even if they came through he always had to deal with a new half-god nine months later.

Since, you know, Ganymed he didn’t really feel like boys too…

At least the Muses and mortal pen pushers still held in high esteem his usual playboy-image. And this riff-raff was well advised to do so too! Unless they fancied to keep the Titans company – in Tartaros!

No really, something had to be done. Something in the world-shattering league!

Zeus brooded so much so that the clouds around Mount Olymp startet to seethe.

- – -

„Did you hide more of those pearls in your fat fuzzy belly?“ The voice coming from the door sounded at the same time mockingly and snidely.

So this was a human. Smaller than a Znork, disgustingly smooth skin, but similarly in built. Only just one head. Although with a black hat. While Hans-Dieter still cogitated if the hat was a body part or vestment Kurt continued to whisper unsolicitedly: „Don’t underesstimate it! They look ssmall and frail but they carry mighty thundersstickss!“

Hans-Dieter reached instinctively for the Aahw dangling from his belt.

“Not so fast, Znork!”

- – -

Pfzzzt.

The small colorful spaceship flared up shortly and disappeared into oblivion. „327“ Joseph yawned and scratched his belly. The ball made out of candy wrapper that had hit the craft plummeted to the floor – but started to rise just moments later and floated back to the bed on which „Spacecowboy Joe“ was lying sprawled over. He snatched it in mid-air. Joseph took aim and then threw the ball at another of the small holoships that were buzzing about his room.

Pfzzzt.

„328“ He practised this little shooting game he had programmed himself every time he was grounded. And he was grounded on a regular basis.

Pfzzzt.

„329. Computer, end simulation!“ Joseph to turned over onto his tummy. He had to reprogram the game. It became far to easy for him. Although the simulated spaceships dashed around at a breakneck speed and came from impossible angles, he managed to hit them each time. Joseph slid slowly to the floor and moseyed to the exterior window. If he was not allowed to go out, he wanted at least to peek out! „Computer, maximum magnification!“ The asteroids of the debris zone seemed to dash forward to his position.

Oh sure, he could have imagined! Of course! José, el Gaucho del Universo, was outside! Playing hide and seek with Beppo, il Pastore dello Spazio! And where Giuseppe was found Joschi, der Kuhhirt des Kosmos, could not be far! All weapons deactivated of course, the sissies!

Joseph shook his head in disdain.

- – -

Zeus was, like, completely crabby.

Dowright bugged really. He wasn’t even in the mood for neither nectar nor ambrosia. Despite having thundered around big time just yesterday. Balls to the wall thunderbolts against Troy, helter-skelter, to jolly up the natives a little bit! Had been just a brief pleasure, alas.

Zeus was bored out of his godly mind… Well, some classical rolling in the hay, sure, that would have cheered him up a little…

„However, I recommend to swiftly…“

„…hit its lowest middle eye vis a bolt, I know set!“

„Well, actually it’s topmost eye“

„Se lowest!“

„The topmost!“

„Lowest!!“

„Top…“
A fresh burst of flames coming from the Naatzol, reeking of carrion (and a pinch of coriander), charred a black curl of the Huntress.

——————

Hans-Dieter divided the last bunches of fern on the edge of the Paloopah Swamp. Open range now lay ahead of him. A devout moment.

Burp-Ffft.

The hyena-parrot he had devoured a while ago still gave him indigestion. But at least the hiccups were finally gone.
The flat buildings of Hot Patootie never failed to impress Hans-Dieter. Znorks lived in round huts made out of peat bricks, encircled by mud. In comparison the small village in the plain looked downright metropolitan. He clutched the Aahw with his left paw and took a deep breath. Hans-Dieter said a short prayer to the Great Znurk, hexagonned himself with his right paw, and marched towards the structures.

Burp-Ffft.

As this wasn’t his first visit to this small town he knew exactly where to turn to. He ignored the small church, passed without a glance the brothel with its wide choice of species (the one or other quite Znork-compatibel), and forcefully entered the tavern its swinging door still singing behind his back a harmonica-like sad song: ee-doo-dee-oo.
Inside the tavern all talk had fallen silent. Everybody eyed the new arrival of giant stature who slowly approached the bar. Yes, Hans-Dieter was quite tall for a Znork. But even an average Znork mesured one head higher than the tallest of the villagers. And Znorks had in fact two of them. Even though the secondary head just was an inactive growth on top of their right shoulders.

Burp-Ffft.

As he reached the bar Hans-Dieter had a look around. A fluffy Flump peeked out of his eggshell. By the piano sat a seven-branched Menhor. In a corner a Droohlo was practising a headstand – apparently since his last visit – which wouldn’t quite work out for its lack of a head.
Hans-Dieter put a flask made of pottery on top of the bar. „Whiskey. Fill up.“ he snarled at the bartender, a spiderlike Zrxl. To lend weight to his words he added a handful of Paloopah-pearls he had taken from his belly-pouch. The Zrzxl stared greedily at the shining yellow-red marbles with gleaming compound eyes. Hans-Dieter curled up his mouth disdainfully. In the Znork village these pearls were omnipresent and virtual worthless. Small children before the age of head-sprouting played with them.  Nevertheless Hans-Dieter was fully aware of the value the pearls had outside of the swampland. He had put a small fortune on the bar.

„I vil shlay you! I vil make you tet!“ The Naatzol stood confused. There was a groan from the ground, the monster’s victim was still alive! „May I point out that this would be an excellent opportunity to knock out the Keeper?“ said a humming-buzzing sounding voice. „Oh shut se hell up, vil you?“ the huntress grumbled at her crossbow and reached for one of the consecrated willow-bolts in her bandoleer.

*Woooooooooosh!*

Flames shot by, barely missing Luna R who had saved herself the very last second with a full-length dive! Only Dint-Ah was lightly scorched. The Naatzol had overcome its amazement and had proceeded to attack! Once more flames shot out from under his finger nails. A stench of burnt rubber (and a pinch of cardamom) enwrapped the Huntress, while she dived as swift as an arrow for cover once more.

————–

Through the crack of the door Francois Truffaut could observe that Sergej Eisenstein bowed himself out with a wink to Sophia. Somehow Francois disliked this seeming intimacy between his secretary Miss Coppola and the milkman. In addition to the fact that so many milk-bills were still unpaid… He turned again towards his new client Mrs. Riefenstahl. In the meantime Leni had refound her composure. “I’m sorry, Mr. Truffaut, but I thought that those were my husband’s killers!” – In the meantime Leni had refound her composure. “I’m sorry, Mr. Truffaut, but I thought that those were my husband’s killers!” -  „I see.“ Francois screwed up his eyes. „And why does Mr. Riefenstahl want to see you killed?“ Leni shook her head vigorously. „Preminger. My husband’s name is Otto Preminger. Of ‘Preminger’s Fine Sausages’!“ Francois shrugged. Leni threw him a displeased look. „But, Mr. Truffaut! You surely know our advertising slogan: ‘However it looked in the past / We’ll turn it into sausage fast! – Preminger, we’ll *sausage* any animal!“ – „I see…“, Francois mumbled. „My parents insisted that I should keep my maiden name”, Leni continued her speech. „Because of our family business: ‚Riefenstahl’s Practical Jokes and Itching Powder’ – you know of course…” Francois sighed silently.

————–

„Mann! Ven ist dis ogre out of shots?” Luna panted behind her cover. “You have to watch out for the ‘Unholy Spark of Ignition’ in his eyes!” Dint-Ah, the crossbow, explained „It circulates it’s ten pentagram-eyes once, then the monster is reloaded and ready to fire again!”

]]> http://wrzthewise.wordpress.com/2009/05/14/week-3-8-5-2009-14-5-2009/feed/ 0 wrzthewise http://wrzthewise.wordpress.com/2009/05/07/week-2-1-5-2009-7-5-2009/ http://wrzthewise.wordpress.com/2009/05/07/week-2-1-5-2009-7-5-2009/#comments Thu, 07 May 2009 21:37:24 +0000 wrzthewise http://wrzthewise.wordpress.com/?p=21 Continue reading →]]> The giant figure of the woman filled the door nearly completely. She even had to stoop slightly in order to be able to enter. She was broadly built and about six and a half feet tall which was good two heads higher than Francois. In stark contrast to this stood her delicate pink costume tailored in the manner of a school uniform.

She approached without hesitation and took a seat vis-à-vis of him. The clients‘ seat creaked threateningly under her weight. But the woman didn’t seem to notice this at all. „Mr. Truffaut, I need your help! I am in grave danger!”, the giantess purred with a frightened expression that didn’t really match at all her hard features. She stretched her enormous right hand across the table. „My name is Riefenstahl, Leni Riefenstahl. Mr. Truffaut, you are my last hope!”

In order to lend weight to her words, Leni squeezed his hand with such vigor that tears started to appear in the corners of his eyes. Slowly, so as not to appear impolite Francois wrenched his hand from Leni’s grip. “What’s the problem… Miss… Riefenstahl?”

The air of his guest changed suddenly to a prankful, even girlish smile: “It’s Mrs. Riefenstahl, you charmer!”

„Well, I…“ – A loud rumbling in the outer office abruptly interrupted Leni who cried out: “O god! They are here! This is the end!“

„No, no“, Francois tried to calm her, „That’s only the milkman, Mr. Eisenstein… Sofia? Miss Coppola? Please take care of Sergej!”

————

Hans-Dieter suffered from the hiccups.

In addition to that he continued to fart and burp. All three together in a joint periodical rhythm.

Hiccup-Burp-Ffft. Hiccup-Burp-Ffft.

Too late he had remembered that the consumption of a hyena-parrot – even though in a rage – wasn’t a very good idea. Among Znorks it was said the birds would mock the ones who ate them even in death and beyond.

Hiccup-Burp-Ffft.

Hans-Dieter clutched the Aahw dangling from his belt.He had received the totem of his tribe from the two-faced Twin-Znark on the evening of his departure. Hans-Dieter knew – - despite his persistent heartburn, that nothing really bad could happen to him as long as he was carrying the Aahw with him. Though it was a little bit smelly…

————

Space-Cowboy Joe had been sent to bed without supper. Pepe’s mother, Señora Garcia, had called Joseph’s mother from the „Feliz Navidad“ and had told her about the incident in the debris zone. Now he was grounded for two cycles.

Joseph fished several candy bars out of his secret stash and launched himself on his bed. He stared gloomily at the holo-sky of his room as he devoured one bar after the other. “Pepe, you old snitch…”, Joseph grumbled. The next time he would blow “Josè, the Goucho of the Universe” out of existence! And Joseph already knew exactly how…

————

The thoroughly fit, slim body of the Huntress darted through the shadows of the nocturnal metropolis, taking advantage of every cover. Invisible for most human beings the trail of ectoplasm for her was as clearly discernible as sugo on a child’s white t-shirt. She lifted her head and tried to get wind. The stench of fire and brimstone was not to be oversmelled for her heightened senses. Finally she could also hear the horrid barking of the creature. Catlike she slid around the corner, only to freeze instantly. The beast was even more hideous than expected. A Naatzol, a Keeper of Hell, 3rd degree! This wasn’t going to be be a picknick…

The Naatzol’s flews, reeking of decay (and a pinch of cinnamon) hovered menacingly over a lifeless body spread on the ground. Slowly and careful Luna R., the Demon-Huntress, seized Dint-Ahr, her trusty crossbow. Without fear she adressed the monster:

„Vot ist dis here? Let dis man be, vill you? I vill show you who ist se master here! Argh, do you creatures von hell always have to stink?“

The Naatzol stared at Luna with his ten eyes, arranged in the form of a pentagram: “I beg your pardon, but could you perhaps repeat that?”

Sitting on a branch right above his primary head a hyena-parrot startet to laugh at him in a bickering voice. Hans-Dieter’s forked tongue shot up, grabbed the bird and with a sudden yank hauled it in to let it disappear in his wide opened mouth. His pointy teeth-rolls plucked and skinned the parrot in just a few Micro-Zeks. Then he sucked in the meat and entrails with one big swallow-slurp and spit out the remainders back to the branch in a well aimed manner – - where the skeleton, still joined together, now came to rest upon danglingly.

„Who’s laughing now, huh?“, Hans-Dieter grunted and burped loudly in the bird’s carcass general direction. He fartet impressively, pulled his hoof out of the goo and started to move on. The road to Hot Patootie was still long.

____________________________

Space-Cowboy Joe startet to snicker. Hidden behind this asteroid José, el Gaucho del Universo, could never find him! Joe’s swift sausage-like fingers dashed around his keyboard and zoomed in on his arch-enemy’s spheric space-capsule. On his holo-display Joe could observe José’s ship as it hovered in a slow searchpattern amidst a bunch of space-scrap. Just some more feet and José would be in the range of Joe’s laser-guns. Slowly his index finger came closer to the fire button. A quick glance at the weapon-display: laser online, nuclear torpedoes ready, death-ray active. All right. Space-Cowboy Joe grinned broadly. Three more yards, two… Bing! José, el Gaucho del Universo, was caught in the trap! Joe instanty blazed away at him with all he got…

José’s shields first turned yellow under the barrage, then orange, then a bright shade of red and finally vanished completeley. The next round will finish the Gaucho off once and for all, thought Joe triumphantly and prepared to pull the trigger once more.

„Joseph, come in immediately! Dinner is ready!“ Joe cringed under the sound of his mother’s voice like he was hit by a whiplash. „Aw, mom… five more minutes! I’m having so much fun right now!”, Joe answered whiningly and glanced in the direction of the visiphon. „Joseph Jonathan Multiplex XVII – which part of the word ‚immediately‘ is incomprehensible to you?“ His mother’s eyes cast a lowering look. „You enter right now, young man – or do I have to activate the tractor-beam first?“ Space-Cowboy Joe was left with no choice. „Okay, okay… I’m coming…“

Joe glanced wistfully at José’s space-capsule which was moving away hastily. He swore silently, then the hovering mass of the “True Love II” above him swallowed his own tiny space-capsule.

____________________________

Francois Truffaut stared somberly into his coffee mug. The coffee was that weak he could clearly discern the bottom of the mug. The attempt to make some kind of drinkable substance out of the last remaining residues of coffee beans had failed disastrously. Francois leaned back in his aged, squeaky office-chair and placed his feet on the desk. This couldn’t go on any longer. He needed an assignment and quickly so, or the landlord would throw him out of his shabby office end of month.

„Mr. Truffaut?“ His – for inexplicable reasons – still loyal secretary put her blond curly head through the door. “What’s up, Sofia?” – „Mr. Truffaut… there’s a … Lady … here to see you.“ Sofia’s voice suddenly dropped to a whisper: “I believe, she wants to hire you!”

Francois Truffaut took his feet off the desk straightened up and pushed aside the sorry excuse for coffee. „Well, bring her in, Sofia!“ The head of his secretary vanished and even before he could readjust his tie, the door was pulled open violently. Francois’ body stiffened as he beheld the “Lady” now standing in front of him.