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Jan. 2nd, 2008 12:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
titusnowlMore Jen-fic! It is perfectly acceptable to be as emo as you like with the Spy, because the French are a naturally emo people.
"Take ze next left and - "
"FUCK!", then a clattering sound that shorts out the microphone for a second.
"Scout? Scout, do you read? Michel?"
Silence.
The Spy is already making his way in when the line opens back up.
"Fuck - Spy, do you read?"
"Scout! What 'appened?"
"Fucking Scout tried to cream me. Asshole knocked my fucking hat off and it took the comm with it. That fucking chav'll have a headache the size'a my balls if he wakes up - "
The Engineer is one of those guys who has a story for everything. It's usually a long story and it's usually a bullshit story but it's usually entertaining. Let somebody mention snakes, for instance.
"I seen a snake one time," he'll begin in a reminiscent tone, "long about ten years ago," and if they're in the common room he'll be strumming along on his guitar as if he's Johnny fucking Cash. "Now, this was out in Laredo" (a riff from the old song "Streets of Laredo" sneaks in) "and I don't know how familiar y'all are with that area of this great nation, but back in the old cowboy days that town was home to a feller by the name of Ten-Foot Tom. Now, he was called Ten-Foot Tom on account of he was ten foot tall. In fact, I reckon if you slapped a ten-gallon hat on the Heavy here, you'd have yourself the spittin' image of that-there bad old hombre. Ten-Foot Tom was a cattle rustler. He'd just walk himself right into the middle of a herd, pick out a couple of the choicest beeves, and walk off with 'em tucked under his arms. Now, obviously the cattlemen weren't too terribly appreciative of Tom's rather acquisitive nature, so one day they got up a posse and went after him. Them boys chased Ten-Foot Tom day and night for twenty-seven and one-half days. I tell you, they was tired. They plumb wore out four hundred and sixty-three horses between 'em. Tom was on foot, and he run his boots clean off, and then he run his feet clean off, and he was about down to just havin' stumps to his knees when they finally cornered him. Now, them boys wanted to hang him, but they didn't have a long enough rope. Instead they figured they'd just shoot him. Seventeen bullets they fired at that man, and they all just plumb ricocheted off of him. One of them killed a lawyer in Denver, Colorado, and they still celebrate it there today. Next they figured on drowning him, so they dragged him down to the Gulf of Mexico - "
"Laredo's nowhere near the Gulf of Mexico!"
"You don't reckon they spent them twenty-seven and one-half days runnin' in circles around Laredo, do you? That'd just be silly. Anyhow, they towed him out and dumped him, and he just sunk like a rock. Then he started drinkin' in that water 'til he got his head above it, and he walked on in to shore. Long about that time them ranch boys figured they'd just about give up. And after all that, you know what finally done Ten-Foot Tom in? A snakebite." (Two bars of the Dead March and a moment of silence.)
"Now, harking back to the occasion previously alluded to, I found my own self in Laredo for reasons which fall beyond the purview of this anecdotal recitation. Now, I was leaning over with my hands on my knees, and I felt something poke me. I looked down to see the snake. It was seven feet in circumference, with a head the size of an alligator's. I never did see the end of it, so allowing for the curvature of the earth and my height being five foot ten I reckon that snake was in excess of eight miles long. How far in excess I do not care to guess, because I would hate y'all to think I was exaggerating. Them fangs was gone in through my boot-heel and the tips of 'em was sticking right out of my knee, and that was what I felt poke me. Luckily I had a couple of fellers with me who had a double-ended logging saw between 'em, and they commenced to saw them fangs off at the root just like a couple of trees. Took 'em two days and a night, but I got loose of that snake, and we took them fangs in to show 'em to a feller at Texas A&M. He counted the rings in 'em just like a log, and that snake was about two hundred and fifty-seven years old. Furthermore, it turned out upon investigation that it was that same old snake as killed Ten-Foot Tom."
A pause to allow the story to sink in.
"I see snake once," says the Heavy, and everyone looks at him expectantly. "I step on it."
"Take ze next left and - "
"FUCK!", then a clattering sound that shorts out the microphone for a second.
"Scout? Scout, do you read? Michel?"
Silence.
The Spy is already making his way in when the line opens back up.
"Fuck - Spy, do you read?"
"Scout! What 'appened?"
"Fucking Scout tried to cream me. Asshole knocked my fucking hat off and it took the comm with it. That fucking chav'll have a headache the size'a my balls if he wakes up - "
The Engineer is one of those guys who has a story for everything. It's usually a long story and it's usually a bullshit story but it's usually entertaining. Let somebody mention snakes, for instance.
"I seen a snake one time," he'll begin in a reminiscent tone, "long about ten years ago," and if they're in the common room he'll be strumming along on his guitar as if he's Johnny fucking Cash. "Now, this was out in Laredo" (a riff from the old song "Streets of Laredo" sneaks in) "and I don't know how familiar y'all are with that area of this great nation, but back in the old cowboy days that town was home to a feller by the name of Ten-Foot Tom. Now, he was called Ten-Foot Tom on account of he was ten foot tall. In fact, I reckon if you slapped a ten-gallon hat on the Heavy here, you'd have yourself the spittin' image of that-there bad old hombre. Ten-Foot Tom was a cattle rustler. He'd just walk himself right into the middle of a herd, pick out a couple of the choicest beeves, and walk off with 'em tucked under his arms. Now, obviously the cattlemen weren't too terribly appreciative of Tom's rather acquisitive nature, so one day they got up a posse and went after him. Them boys chased Ten-Foot Tom day and night for twenty-seven and one-half days. I tell you, they was tired. They plumb wore out four hundred and sixty-three horses between 'em. Tom was on foot, and he run his boots clean off, and then he run his feet clean off, and he was about down to just havin' stumps to his knees when they finally cornered him. Now, them boys wanted to hang him, but they didn't have a long enough rope. Instead they figured they'd just shoot him. Seventeen bullets they fired at that man, and they all just plumb ricocheted off of him. One of them killed a lawyer in Denver, Colorado, and they still celebrate it there today. Next they figured on drowning him, so they dragged him down to the Gulf of Mexico - "
"Laredo's nowhere near the Gulf of Mexico!"
"You don't reckon they spent them twenty-seven and one-half days runnin' in circles around Laredo, do you? That'd just be silly. Anyhow, they towed him out and dumped him, and he just sunk like a rock. Then he started drinkin' in that water 'til he got his head above it, and he walked on in to shore. Long about that time them ranch boys figured they'd just about give up. And after all that, you know what finally done Ten-Foot Tom in? A snakebite." (Two bars of the Dead March and a moment of silence.)
"Now, harking back to the occasion previously alluded to, I found my own self in Laredo for reasons which fall beyond the purview of this anecdotal recitation. Now, I was leaning over with my hands on my knees, and I felt something poke me. I looked down to see the snake. It was seven feet in circumference, with a head the size of an alligator's. I never did see the end of it, so allowing for the curvature of the earth and my height being five foot ten I reckon that snake was in excess of eight miles long. How far in excess I do not care to guess, because I would hate y'all to think I was exaggerating. Them fangs was gone in through my boot-heel and the tips of 'em was sticking right out of my knee, and that was what I felt poke me. Luckily I had a couple of fellers with me who had a double-ended logging saw between 'em, and they commenced to saw them fangs off at the root just like a couple of trees. Took 'em two days and a night, but I got loose of that snake, and we took them fangs in to show 'em to a feller at Texas A&M. He counted the rings in 'em just like a log, and that snake was about two hundred and fifty-seven years old. Furthermore, it turned out upon investigation that it was that same old snake as killed Ten-Foot Tom."
A pause to allow the story to sink in.
"I see snake once," says the Heavy, and everyone looks at him expectantly. "I step on it."
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Date: 2008-01-02 09:50 pm (UTC)