As happens with most things I take on, when I signed up to participate in the Community Story Board’s Chain Story Event, I immediately checked to see if I had in fact, fallen off my rocker. Turns out it was a lot of fun and I got to be inspired by a heap of imaginative peeps. The first seven parts are linked below and my bit, the eighth bit, follows after the first seven links and there’s a link at the end to what will soon be the ninth bit. I hope you enjoy!
Part Eight of “Squirrels: This Time It’s Personal
“Oh Shit,” McAdams murmured. “Now we’re done for.” She was staring at Sauron who had fallen to his knees, blood soaking his gilded gown.
All Gosling could see through his watery eyes and the smoky billows were her deep, red lips. He tore his gaze from them just in time to watch Sauron’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he fell, face first, into the dirt.
“What now, genius?” She continued. “We’ll only have every nefarious creature in the Kingdom after us. That’s all. Nothing to worry about here, folks.”
“Oh c’mon, my little steam pot,” Gosling soothed as he hauled himself up, swatting dusty debris from the sheen of his pants. “You know he wasn’t gonna let the goat-poker thing go. I did what had to be done.”
“Listen loverboy, we’re Canadian. We are not equipped for this kind of nasty. It’s just not, well, polite!” McAdams had also managed to stand and was fixing her skirt and fluffing her hair.
Damn. All that broad had to do was bat her lashes and Gosling was a goner. He attempted to shut out her porcelain skin, gold locks and tiny waist.
Ahem. Clearing his throat, he straightened his shoulders in an attempt to appear macho. “Since it seems we’ve forgotten our manners then, I may as well help myself.”
He stooped to pick up Sauron’s gold fedora and proceeded to place it on his own head. When he saw disgust cross McAdams’ face, he simply said, “Don’t think I didn’t hear your gun go off as well, killer.” and with a wink, he started along the path.
“She’ll be hot on our trail, you know.”
“Who?” He asked, already aware of the answer.
McAdams kicked a rock out of her way further scuffing her already destroyed designer pumps.
“The Goddess, that’s who. I’m sure she somehow already knows what we’ve done.”
Gosling had no time to worry about the Goddess. He’d deal with her when the time came. Right now he had to get them to Rivendale in one piece. He knew McAdams was behind him, knickers in knot, twisting her fake diamond ’round her slender finger, fraught over stinking like Cayenne, but he could not let anything distract him. Well, maybe he could indulge in a few impurities from this morning’s romp with her just to keep him motivated. A man has needs, after all.
Back at the old Smokeasy, Sam stood polishing glasses and wiping the bar. He was restless. The place was empty but for one and the cleaning kept him busy. He sliced limes and restocked the ice, folded the drying towels that were fresh out of wash.
But all the while, he kept an eye on his one customer who sat with her back to him, long tendrils of smoke curling up above her head, the pink bow of her apron jutting out below the back of her chair, a blood stained pencil sticking out from her disgruntled bun.
The intermittent clink of ice from her glass reminded him every once in a while, that he wasn’t alone.
And with that, I pass the torch over to Treyzguy who seems more than capable of keeping it lit.
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