x
There was one resident of Timbrook that had inadvertently missed out on the great feast the night before, and the amazing entrance of Oldsmobill — as well as his rather unceremonious exit. Johann O'Really was his name, and whereas the rest of the townspeople awoke with bellies full of roasted horsemeat and assorted fungicides, he was waking up under a tree with an empty stomach and a crick in his neck.
He yawned and made several contortions of his body, which produced a number of loud cracking sounds. He was stoutly built, and though a bit shorter than average, was certainly tall enough to meet the minimum height requirements for most amusement park rides. He had a round, pleasant face that usually had one or two dirty smudges across it at acute angles. He was wearing a black hoodie with some faded writing on the front, which read: "Property of the Valdorlok Monastery Athletic Dept."
His bottom-half was covered by a pair of burlap pants that were frayed along the bottom cuffs, as well as a pair of shoes that looked as if two muddy rodents had swallowed his feet.
After treating his body like one large knuckle ― followed by several minutes of intense scratching ― he took two steps forward and tripped over an exposed tree root. He waved his arms about in the air, before collapsing in a heap at the base of the tree. He then sighed, and began wiping the wet leaves and mud out of his eyes while attempting to get back to his feet. It was at that point that he banged the top of his head on a low branch, which caused him to lurch forward and trip over a large rock, which next led to him becoming entangled in a small bush, where he slipped again and fell into a large puddle of mud.
For several minutes he just lay there — figuring it would be safer that way.
"Jeez!" he barked, "This is no way to seize the day."
He was just about to step out of the puddle when he suddenly heard what he could have sworn was a muffled giggle.
He stood up and wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, which did little good, but perhaps was worth the effort. The giggling sound had begun to rise in volume and Johann's bruised bean started to swivel back and forth to see where it was coming from. He quickly noticed that each time he pivoted his head in one direction or another, the giggling seemed to increase. Soon, it had become a fit of uproarious laughter and it was at that point that Johann spotted the culprit.
About thirty feet away, crouched behind a small wiggleberry bush was a slim, muscular man with blonde hair and slightly darker roots. He was quite dirty and almost completely naked except for a bundle of swamp grass that was tied about his waist. The strange-looking figure was pointing at Johann, and occasionally even looked directly at him between bouts of uncontrollable laughter.
"Wha'...?!" Johann cried out, "You think that's funny, huh?!"
The stranger paused briefly. He stared intently at Johann, but his mouth started to quiver in rhythmic waves until he couldn't hold it any longer. Soon, his laughing was at full volume again.
Johann rubbed his hands across his scalp ― an action he often did when his blood was starting to boil ― but a quarter of the way across his average-sized skull, he felt a large chunk of mud, topped off by a nice divot of moss. He angrily pushed the makeshift hat off of his head and peered over at the laughing stranger, who was too busy holding his stomach and slapping his knee.
"Funny, huh...yeah, we'll see..." Johann hissed. His anger began to swell up inside him. His face ― though nicely concealed beneath the mud, and bramble, and leaves ― was turning beet red. 'I may be a bit clumsy,' he thought, 'but I'm sure as hell not going to let some nude man covered in swamp juice and a few strands of grass laugh at me'. He began to scan the ground for a large stick or rock to hit the offender with.
The stranger noticed this action and raised his head up to see what Johann was doing. He went so far as to get up on his tippy-toes to get a better look. "What are you doing now?" he asked.
"Looking for something to crack your skull with," Johann replied in a strangely straightforward manner.
The stranger's eyes widened and he became very quiet. He wiped the remaining tears of laughter from his face and slowly took a couple of steps back ― all the while making sure that he kept one hand upon his belt of turf for fear of it falling down.
"Please, sir," he pleaded, "do not crack my skull with some foreign object. I meant you no harm."
Johann looked over at the strange figure. "Who are you?" he demanded, "and what right have you got to laugh at me?"
The stranger stopped his slow retreat and rose from his slightly crouched position. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Johann now started laughing himself. "I mean...well, I may have woke up on the wrong side of the root this morning, but at least I don't have to traipse around the swamps wearing only a swamp-grass kilt." Having said that, Johann pointed at the man's midsection. "I mean, really, how can you laugh at me when you can't even afford a proper loin cloth?"
The stranger sadly bowed his head, but within seconds, seemed to find some type of confidence return from within. He proudly stuck his chin out and raised his head a few degrees upward.
"I am Oldsmobill!" he bellowed. "I come from Allegoria, past the western mountains of Ouji, and beyond the Ham-o-gram River. I was given a mission to come to Timbrook and build a stronghold."
Johann rolled his eyes. After a few moments of rather uncomfortable silence, he resumed his search for a weapon.
"What are you doing now?" Oldsmobill asked.
"I'm looking for something to crack your skull with," he replied in the same monotone as before.
"But, why?"
"Because you're obviously as nutty as squirrel dung," Johann replied, never even bothering to look up.
Olds put both his hands to his mouth in a vain attempt to squelch a faint squeak. His eyes bugged out of his skull. Sweat began to pour down his forehead — and like other moving bodies of water ― brought with it a variety of silt, mud, and other debris across his face.
It was at that precise moment that the tuft of grass covering his genitalia suddenly fell to his ankles.
Johann was still searching and mumbling to himself about two things: the first was how he wasn't going to let some refugee from a cheap theatrical version of 'Tarzan' ruin his day by laughing at his obvious lack of deftness, and the second was how you can never find a good rock when you really, really need one. He glanced over his shoulder to see if his target was still within range and caught a glimpse of Oldsmobill's poor basket-weaving skills.
"Hey!" he yelled, "What are you trying to do, give me a reputation?"
Olds, suddenly realizing his lack of covering, quickly bent down to retrieve his green, fibrous underwear. Unfortunately, as he tried to pull the grassy bundle upward, it all fell apart in his hands. "Oh, dear..." he cheeped, before quickly covering his manhood with his muddy paws and pleading with Johann, "Oh, please, kind sir, could you spare a few threads on a poor, down-on-his-luck, knight-errant on a mission?"
Johann looked upon the dirty, crumpled figure that was now crouching like a schoolgirl desperately needing to urinate. Even though the whole laughing bit had caused a vein or two to pop out on Johann's temple, he was beginning to calm down, and although the stranger was obviously insane, he didn't seem to be particularly harmful. Still, Johann pondered the possibilities. He couldn't decide if he should run, give the guy a pair of pants, or just put him out of his misery with a large, blunt object.
The stout, little rumbler sighed and walked back to the tree that he had slept under the night before. He reached inside a brown knapsack and pulled out a shirt made of burlap and a pair of faded, gray, jogging pants. Olds smiled and repeatedly thanked Johann for being so kind. "Bless you, bless you..." he bubbled.
"Don't mention it...please," Johann replied.
Johann leaned against the tree and glanced down. It was then that he spied a perfectly-round and smooth rock, which just so happened to be the perfect size and shape to launch at some naked idiot's head.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't you know it?" he mumbled to himself.
ns 172.70.38.128da2
