Duke: “How long until we’re back, Hank, and how come I didn’t get talked to?”

 

Hank: “Why, pressure infected my throat causing me to gasp a panic. My countrymen resided there, mind you, for I had a public to impress. What sight would it be for a good and honest king to engage conversation with a ruffian blown in from the streets? The very thought is a disgrace in of itself.”

 

“My brother’s debonair, if you haven’t noticed.”

 

“Debonair, why your intellect is surprising.”

 

“I picked it up from a book.”

 

“Now, now, dearest nincompoop, books are your weakness. It was mother who first said ‘this opus is not of his liking. It is the very downfall of his existence, a shriek in the nude night. ‘ Yes I’ve edited out some words,  replacing them with my superiority but the context remains.”

 

“No, I—”

 

“We’re on, we’re on. Quick, before they fade away. Topic, they like being educated. Choose something of much relevance.”

 

“I like this game — Hank.”

 

“I do not answer to a bowlegged squire such as you.”

 

“But, Hank—”

 

“Inexcusable, I say not to speak a word, I say I shall not answer and yet this imbecile continues flapping his gums. If only we have not fallen from that hawk’s mighty talon, we could be among my kingdom. Instead,  I find myself lost within a  dichotomy of trees unfamiliar to me and my memory. This has to be a neighborhood infested with squires for the castles here are flat and simple.”

 

“Hank.”

 

“It’s about time you soften your throat. As your ruler, I demand you keep quiet.”

 

“Hank.”

 

“You best be silent so I can govern a way down.”

 

“Hank, can I tickle it. ”

 

“To what needs — oh, my word.”

 

” Isn’t it—”

 

“Adorable, absolutely not. The very sight of it sends a shockwave down my spine.”

 

“Is that a—”

 

“A cat, indeed. Quite large and hungry, a well-kept creäture. Orange with dashes of white spread across its furry breast, licking its lips while glaring. Oh, what a rather fascinating predicament. Bah, to whom am I ribbing? Leave it to the family derelict.”

 

“Don’t know no one named Darrel, sorry Hank. How come you’re a-scared?”

 

“Because it is a serial killer. Not to worry, for my trusty robes shall vanquish evil.”

 

“It’s cute and doesn’t care what fabrics you wear. You said it was a con artist or something, remember Hank? That’s not a nice thing.”

 

“I never uttered such profanes.Curse you once then again for slandering my name. Don’t trust that backstabbing waste of adipose tissue either, for it is no friend.”

 

“And, remember when you told Mom that they keep humans busy until the house catches fire at which time they say C’est la vie suckers, or something. Never majored  in speak. So sorry I can’t speak straight, Hank. Truly. Then you spoke to me another time and said to record them roaring. You then said to play it backwards because they say terror repeatedly or something. You’re a ham.”

 

“Silence you delusional lunatic, for it can hear your every word.”

 

“And then, remember that one time you wished all of them lazy bums would pack for Germany, which is where exactly Hank?”

 

“Atop your head if you do not keep quiet. You are speaking out of turn and have risen your voice to a pitch so shrill all the birds have flown south. August, illiterate hawse mother should  have—”

 

“Don’t know if we can trust you, Hank. You fib and hurt kitty’s feeling; he’s just a kid.”

 

“Do not buy in to that mischievous grin.”

 

“Say, kitty, why are you looking like that? I think it’s sick, Hank. We should take it to the doctor.”

 

“I told you it could not be trusted, for that is a look of intent. See, it crouches low like that because it sees us as an entrée. At any moment, it shall pounce.”

 

“Okay, you sold me, Hank.”

 

“Good, now hold on to my robes and jump when I say. Ready, one—two—”

 

“Two and three-quarters, right Hank? I want kitty to come with us, can he?”

 

“The cat stays here for, if you want to live, you will hang on to my robes and forget about that thing.”

 

“Why can’t he come, Hank, something isn’t right.”

 

“Oh, loving God, why must my brother be my burden?”

 

“Mom said you were dropped off first, and I’ve always walked behind you. Don’t ask the tree people though, Hank, because they don’t say much.”

 

*The cat lunges forward seconds before Hank utters three, forcing Duke up with him. The tree branch they were standing on gives way. Hank realizes his attempt was a failure, as him and Duke descend at high speeds. Ironically enough, gravity pushes the end of Hank’s robe up snagging a piece of splintered wood as they come down.*

 

Duke: “No, kitty, are you okay? Kitty needs to see someone, Hank, because it’s not okay. Will it see tomorrow?”

 

Hank: “Do not address me now, brother, for I am using the last of my energy  to pull us to safety.”

 

“How come?”

 

“Oh, never mind. You’d probably skip blindfolded in a land mine field. Better yet, you’d rescue a worm from a fisherman’s hook even if that hook was in shark infested waters. That feline is best left alone, for it is not of earth.”

 

“Why’s that, Hank?”

 

“Because a fall from here would have permanently injured an ordinary beast. That, beneath you, is a synthetic cyborg.”

 

“So, can I keep the kitty?”

 

*A fire truck blares past, scaring off the vengeful cat.*

 

Duke: “A vehicle with lights and noise. Did you see it, where’d it go. Are we doomed?”

 

Hank: “Only if you do not keep your lip sealed. I have not much time, brother, for your weight is exerting all of me. Instead of pulling us to safety, I’m going to swing you out. You are to let go once a branch is beneath you.”

 

*Hank swings forward. Duke lands safely.*

 

Duke: “Stupendous fun. I like this vacation, Hank. I knew you cared about me. What next?”

 

*Hank struggles as exhaustion hugs him. Heavy breaths continue long after he is standing.*

 

Hank : “Tell no one of this exchange, for this is my campaign to win.”

 

Tags: adipose tissue, adventure time, campaign, cats, con artist, C’est la vie, duke, friend, Germany, Hamelin, hank, pounce, trees

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 19th, 2012 at 12:26 pm and is filed under Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.