"COME ON, THEN!" Darien shrieked, shaking his fists, "HAVE AT THEE, YOU BORSCHT-EATING BASTARDS!"
A Cossack grabbed him by the head and pulled him up onto his horse.
I laughed.
But Trent and Shad didn't seem to share my appreciation of the situation's humor. They were preoccupied with the whole "angry Russians riding horses around us" thing.
And then we were tied up and riding back to the Cossack camp, prisoners of war.
"We're so cool," I grinned to myself. "I wonder if we'll be able to pull some kind of 'Great Escape' shenanigan? I call dibs on being James Coburn."
"Ix-nay on the escape-ay," Trent cautioned, jerking his eyebrows towards one of the Russkies.
"Ah, don't worry kid," I said, "These dumb vodka-suckers don't speak English, and we're lucky enough that our translator's gone deaf."
"Really?" Darien sneered, "We're lucky? You're saying that we're lucky that our translator, the guy on our side who can actually speak this heathen language, is deaf?"
I thought it over for a bit, than nodded. That was exactly what I was saying.
The Cossack camp was a grand spectacle. Drinking, dancing, smoking, gambling, displaying feats of strength, womanizing… Every Russian stereotype you could imagine was embodied here.
"My kind of place," I smiled wickedly.
"ZAVALI YEBALO!" One Russian shouted, finally boiling over. The whole ride to the camp I had been doing what I do best – bugging the crap out of some unsuspecting (and probably totally innocent) asshole. Over the course of the ride, I had focused my energies on the man who now finally snapped, and shoved me off of my horse.
"Owee," I whined after my arm broke, tied behind my back.
"Jesus Christ," Darien winced.
For some reason, the horseback riders kept moving. I let out a defeated sob as I sat and watched them meander off.
"You bastards!" I cried. "You goddamned, cockjuggling, skullshitting MEANY FACES!!!!"
I looked around, writhing in pain. "HEY! RUSSKIE!" I yelled at one of them. He bobbed around to look at me, moving like a confused puffin (which he also looked like). "VODKA!"
"Shto?"
"YEAH, THAT TOO!"
I had managed to find a spot, sitting in the mud, where my pain was minimized. Still prevalent, no doubt, though slightly diminished. "You gonna bring me that vodka or not?" I murmured. The puffin-man most not have heard me, or maybe my presence offended him, because he waddled back around, turning his back on me.
"Professor!" Darien came running up to me, a Cossack Guard in hot pursuit, "Professor, let's get out of here!!!"
I made no effort to move, instead retorting as disinterestedly as possible, "What do you want now, Darien?"
The Guard tackled him into me. Which wasn't the most pleasant feeling in the world. In fact, I would now rank it among the top twenty most painful experiences I've ever had the misfortune to experiencize.
But I was soon gathered with my comrades in the command tent of the Head Guard. I had been given some sort of medicinal tea shit that tasted awful but took away the pain. Which confused me, because herbology is bullshit. As I pondered this, there was a sudden thud. I looked down at my feet. My broken arm had been painlessly lopped off by one of the henchmen in the room. I frowned.
"What the hell…"
"Keep drinking tea," the Head Guard smiled, "New arm grow. Like lizard, da? Will be stronger than weak one; will not break."
At the prospect of having an unbreakable arm, I chugged the remaining scalding, awful tea.
And there it was.
I flexed it. Indeed, it was stronger than the other one. "Impressive…"
"NOW THEN!" the Head Guard boomed, "Let us down get to business. You Americans?"
"You kiddin' me?" I chuckled. "We're the most flag-waving, Canadian-strangling, bald eagle egg-eating men who have ever walked the world."
He looked at me like I was crazy.
"Yes," Darien spoke up, "Yes, we're American."
"Hmmmm," the Head Guard pondered this. He then turned to his closest henchman and shouted "GUILLOTINE!"
"Lolwut?"
And then we were all being dragged out of the command tent and up wooden stairs as the Cossack civilians gathered around, cheering. The executioner kept pulling the rope, over and over, causing the blade to rise and fall, rise and fall, menacingly. It wasn't lopping any heads off, and I gathered from the executioner smiling at us like a brain-dead monkey that it was all in the spirit of intimidation. Which I could respect.
Going up the steps, I inhaled deeply, bringing the frozen, Siberian air into my lungs. I then began my speech quietly, volume steadily rising, as my group approached the guillotine machine. "It is a far, far better thing I have ever done… It is a far, far better rest that I go to… AND BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL," I snatched the blunderbuss from a guard's hands in one fluid motion, leveled it at the executioner, and cried "I HAAVE THE POWERRRRRRRR!!!" before unleashing a blast that sent him flying through the air.
It was at that precise moment that the yetis attacked. Spread the Word Email
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