Feeling Thiborish of late. So this. To be completed.
“Okay. Am giving up. You win.”
Thibor managed from between clenched teeth. He took a step back, his
huge chest rising and falling in an obvious effort not to flee
screaming.
“We haven't fought yet.” His
opponent looked perplexed; or at least what passed for perplexed on
the beaked face of a twelve foot tall bipedal triceratops.
“Is not ruining it.” Thibor
continued. “Am still holding on to rapidly fleeing fantasy that
will not actually have to touch you. Please is not taking this away
from me.”
* * *
“Papa! Papa!” A blonde missile hit
his knee in a fashion that immediately convinced Thibor that his
daughter was not made, as were other little girls, of sugar and spice
and everything nice, but rather industrial strength rubber bands,
rhinoceroses, and farrier's anvils. Little Liesel used his momentary
stagger to climb up to his shoulders, her small, freakishly strong
hands grabbed handfuls of his shirt and the chest hair underneath;
the reinforced fabric of the shirt held out far better than the hair.
“Liesel. Gentle.” Thibor warned
as his daughter hugged his head from behind, arms around his
forehead, legs around his neck. “Urrrk!”
“Auntie Charcoal said you fought
dinosaurs today!” Liesel enthused, “Danger! Danger! Tell me all
about it!”
Managing to unwind the squirming five
year old and hold her out at arm's length, Thibor considered his
response carefully.
“No.”
* * *
While his inner monologue was clear on
the point that he was engaging in a tactical delay, allowing
civilians to clear the area and thus reduce their potential as
potential hostiles or collateral damage, Thibor did not believe it
for one second. It might have been true; he just wasn't willing to
give the tactical consideration the weight it deserved in the face of
what he had just jumped into. After decades in the special operative
game, the more jaded might think they had seen everything, but they
were deluding themselves. No matter what horrors you faced, no
matter how strange your foes were, things could always surprise you.
Not in an enjoyable surprise it is your birthday kind of way. More
of giant naked clown with a meat cleaver, trained baboon, and an
erection kind of way. The irony being that the latter was not
actually that surprising and was not quite a yearly occurrence, but
frequent enough to be strangely comforting.
A twelve foot bipedal triceratops was
not comforting. A twelve foot bipedal triceratops dressed, in the
saurian equivalent of a seventies uber-pimp costume even less so.
Purple crushed velvet pants and long coat, trimmed in leopard
patterned faux fur. Platform shoes that added another foot of
height, a hat, and a long silver cane topped with amber.
“No one messes with
Superflyceratops!” The creature announced loudly. “The Saurian
Shaft, the Dolemite of the Devonian, the Prehistoric! Pimp! Of the
Year!”
“Have been waiting all day to say
that.” The museum gallery was mostly clear, sure there were
several huge mounted dinosaur skeletons, each worth several million
dollars, not to mention the special exhibit of precious stones that
were the likely target of the attack. Thibor was sure he could, with
minimal property damage, deal with the situation as it now stood.
The moment that reassuring thought crossed his mind, he knew he was
truly fucked.
* * *
“Papa!” Liesel unwrapped herself
from his arm and dropped lithely onto the ground. Her cute little
face bunched up in a fierce pout, but no tears were forthcoming.
Liesel didn't cry. “Tell me or...or... I'll fight you!”
Thibor considered his daughter. She
was at that special age and height that made all children dangerous
in a fight. Well perhaps not dangerous;
highly-likely-to-punch-you-in-the-junk-because-that's-as-high-as-they-can-reach
was not dangerous; having that that, it was something to be avoided
if at all possible. Especially as Lethal did not punch her weight;
rather she punched the weight of her entire senior kindergarten
class, the teacher, the teacher's aide, and the school bus.
He considered telling her.
“No. Am not telling. Is going to be
fight.”
* * *
One of the areas of research that
rarely, if ever, makes it into general books on the subject of
dinosaurs is mating. Reproduction through laying eggs is covered,
including brooding behaviours, nest patterns and the number and size
of the eggs were all there, but the actual mechanics of dinosaur
reproduction were absent. Due to soft tissues not fossilizing, the
subject of dinosaur junk, though under study, just didn't make it
into the big book of Dinosaurs. Thibor knew that someone, somewhere,
was likely writing their doctorate on whether or not you could
effectively kick a dinosaur in the dick. More power to them.
For his own part, Thibor was a
practical individual, and did not linger on the possibility of
Superflyceratops having junk that could be effectively kicked. A
kick from Thibor could shatter stone, it would be an effective
attack, there actually being testicles there would be a bonus, not
necessary, but a bonus. At the last moment the ceratopsian pimp
shifted, catching the kick on the large muscles of his thigh. The
force of the blow knocking him backwards.
“Motherfu...!” Superflyceratops
managed. He stomped his leg and danced in a quick, pained circle.
“Oh now you're going to get it! Dinowhores!” The gem on his
cane flared with a sickly amber light, bathing the room in a piss
coloured glow; a urinal cake's view of the world. Several of the
mounted skeletons stirred and pulled themselves free, glowing green
flesh manifesting, wrapping around the bones.
“That T-rex has tits.” Thibor
managed, suitably horrified. “Why does T-rex have enormous tits?
Cannot even reach around them with tiny little arms.”
“T-rex? None of those here.”
Superflyceratops crowed. “You're looking at a super-fine,
hot-blooded, Tyranosaurus Sex.”
* * *
“Okay. Am giving up. You win.”
Thibor managed from between clenched teeth. He took a step back, his
huge chest rising and falling in an obvious effort not to flee
screaming.
“We haven't fought yet.” His
opponent looked perplexed; or at least what passed for perplexed on
the beaked face of a twelve foot tall bipedal triceratops.
“Is not ruining it.” Thibor
continued. “Am still holding on to rapidly fleeing fantasy that
will not actually have to touch you. Please is not taking this away
from me.”
* * *
“Papa! Papa!” A blonde missile hit
his knee in a fashion that immediately convinced Thibor that his
daughter was not made, as were other little girls, of sugar and spice
and everything nice, but rather industrial strength rubber bands,
rhinoceroses, and farrier's anvils. Little Liesel used his momentary
stagger to climb up to his shoulders, her small, freakishly strong
hands grabbed handfuls of his shirt and the chest hair underneath;
the reinforced fabric of the shirt held out far better than the hair.
“Liesel. Gentle.” Thibor warned
as his daughter hugged his head from behind, arms around his
forehead, legs around his neck. “Urrrk!”
“Auntie Charcoal said you fought
dinosaurs today!” Liesel enthused, “Danger! Danger! Tell me all
about it!”
Managing to unwind the squirming five
year old and hold her out at arm's length, Thibor considered his
response carefully.
“No.”
* * *
While his inner monologue was clear on
the point that he was engaging in a tactical delay, allowing
civilians to clear the area and thus reduce their potential as
potential hostiles or collateral damage, Thibor did not believe it
for one second. It might have been true; he just wasn't willing to
give the tactical consideration the weight it deserved in the face of
what he had just jumped into. After decades in the special operative
game, the more jaded might think they had seen everything, but they
were deluding themselves. No matter what horrors you faced, no
matter how strange your foes were, things could always surprise you.
Not in an enjoyable surprise it is your birthday kind of way. More
of giant naked clown with a meat cleaver, trained baboon, and an
erection kind of way. The irony being that the latter was not
actually that surprising and was not quite a yearly occurrence, but
frequent enough to be strangely comforting.
A twelve foot bipedal triceratops was
not comforting. A twelve foot bipedal triceratops dressed, in the
saurian equivalent of a seventies uber-pimp costume even less so.
Purple crushed velvet pants and long coat, trimmed in leopard
patterned faux fur. Platform shoes that added another foot of
height, a hat, and a long silver cane topped with amber.
“No one messes with
Superflyceratops!” The creature announced loudly. “The Saurian
Shaft, the Dolemite of the Devonian, the Prehistoric! Pimp! Of the
Year!”
“Have been waiting all day to say
that.” The museum gallery was mostly clear, sure there were
several huge mounted dinosaur skeletons, each worth several million
dollars, not to mention the special exhibit of precious stones that
were the likely target of the attack. Thibor was sure he could, with
minimal property damage, deal with the situation as it now stood.
The moment that reassuring thought crossed his mind, he knew he was
truly fucked.
* * *
“Papa!” Liesel unwrapped herself
from his arm and dropped lithely onto the ground. Her cute little
face bunched up in a fierce pout, but no tears were forthcoming.
Liesel didn't cry. “Tell me or...or... I'll fight you!”
Thibor considered his daughter. She
was at that special age and height that made all children dangerous
in a fight. Well perhaps not dangerous;
highly-likely-to-punch-you-in-the-junk-because-that's-as-high-as-they-can-reach
was not dangerous; having that that, it was something to be avoided
if at all possible. Especially as Lethal did not punch her weight;
rather she punched the weight of her entire senior kindergarten
class, the teacher, the teacher's aide, and the school bus.
He considered telling her.
“No. Am not telling. Is going to be
fight.”
* * *
One of the areas of research that
rarely, if ever, makes it into general books on the subject of
dinosaurs is mating. Reproduction through laying eggs is covered,
including brooding behaviours, nest patterns and the number and size
of the eggs were all there, but the actual mechanics of dinosaur
reproduction were absent. Due to soft tissues not fossilizing, the
subject of dinosaur junk, though under study, just didn't make it
into the big book of Dinosaurs. Thibor knew that someone, somewhere,
was likely writing their doctorate on whether or not you could
effectively kick a dinosaur in the dick. More power to them.
For his own part, Thibor was a
practical individual, and did not linger on the possibility of
Superflyceratops having junk that could be effectively kicked. A
kick from Thibor could shatter stone, it would be an effective
attack, there actually being testicles there would be a bonus, not
necessary, but a bonus. At the last moment the ceratopsian pimp
shifted, catching the kick on the large muscles of his thigh. The
force of the blow knocking him backwards.
“Motherfu...!” Superflyceratops
managed. He stomped his leg and danced in a quick, pained circle.
“Oh now you're going to get it! Dinowhores!” The gem on his
cane flared with a sickly amber light, bathing the room in a piss
coloured glow; a urinal cake's view of the world. Several of the
mounted skeletons stirred and pulled themselves free, glowing green
flesh manifesting, wrapping around the bones.
“That T-rex has tits.” Thibor
managed, suitably horrified. “Why does T-rex have enormous tits?
Cannot even reach around them with tiny little arms.”
“T-rex? None of those here.”
Superflyceratops crowed. “You're looking at a super-fine,
hot-blooded, Tyranosaurus Sex.”
* * *
