Jason Jones sat in front of the television set, watching sports. Mr. Green sat next to him, occasionally casting worried glances Jason's way. When Jason got home, covered in blood, Mr. Green had made it very clear that he wasn't pleased with the danger Jason had put himself in. Jason didn't see what choice he had; and his mother had expressed no such qualms, so he was content.
Then came a knock at the door. Mr. Green got up to open it. Before him stood the county sheriff. "We'd like to talk to your son," he said.
Jason panicked - but, as he learned over the next five minutes, the long arm of the law had not yet reached out its hand for Jason. Rather, the police were there to talk to him about the centaurs he had so brutally slain yesterday. The police had found their tracks at the edge of town, and before finding out where they came from, they wanted to have the experience of someone who'd fought the centaurs. That meant bringing Jason's instructor; who, for whatever reason, had suggested that they bring Jason.
Jason picked up a few things before he went with them; the cell phone his father had gotten him after his return, a pocket-knife, $50 and a flashlight. He didn't know how long this hunt would take.
They took the sheriff's car - sheriff and deputy in front, Jason and his instructor in back. Jason asked his instructor why he asked Jason to come. "It will be a learning experience for you," the instructor replied.
Jason asked, "Really?"
The instructor thought about it, then answered: "If there's not a fight, then you'll be fine. If there is... you're the nastiest fighter I've seen. If there are more of those centaurs, I think that you could either kill them, or force them to talk."
Jason smiled.
-
After two hours of driving through fields, a herd of centaurs appeared on the horizon, traveling east. The sheriff stopped the car and gestured everyone out. Minutes later, a small group of centaurs broke off from the herd and jogged toward the car. They loomed over the sheriff, who seemed intimidated; seeing one dead on the floor was not quite the same as seeing one in the flesh. Nonetheless, he gathered himself and told the centaurs, "We want to see your leader."
One of the centaurs, armed with a rifle and pistol, strange gray leg-wings half-spread, seven feet tall, looked the sheriff up and down several times. He hefted his weapons. Then he said, "All right," in a thick Southern accent.
The leader of the centaurs was large and grizzle-maned, with a beard that fell down past his breast. He carried no weapon. His expression was contemptuous as he examined the small human party. "I do not care what you weaklin' humans have to say," he intoned before the sheriff could say a word. "If you want to speak to me, you will have to defeat my champion: Threshnar the Invincible." Beside him stood a nine-foot tall centaur, monstrously muscled and armed with an axe the size of Jason. He hefted it as his chieftain spoke, then roared dramatically to punctuate his point.
Jason stepped forward eagerly, cracking his knuckles loudly. He faced off with Threshnar; then he stopped as a shotgun blast rang out. The sheriff stepped forward, confronting the chieftan. "I don't know what games you're trying to play, but I am a duly appointed representative of the law in the United States of America, and you are attempted to obstruct a criminal investigation. You will stop this posturing right now because I don't give a damn what you are, if you interfere with a homicide investigation I will have you up on charges faster than you can blink. Do you hear me?"
The centaur chieftain stared at the sheriff. The sheriff stared right back. The centaur chieftain blinked first. With a sigh, he waved Threshnar back, and Jason Jones regretfully lowered his knuckles. Leaning forward, the chieftain asked, "Before we begin, what's your name?"
The sheriff responded, "I'm Sheriff Al Brown. This is my deputy, Mr. Hiram Smith, and two witnesses, Mr. Worthy and Mr. Jones. And you are...?"
The centaur chieftain lowered himself slowly to the ground. "All right then, y'all. I am known as Killforth the Magnificent, victor of a hundred combats, master of a thousand warriors."
"Let's talk."
Then came a knock at the door. Mr. Green got up to open it. Before him stood the county sheriff. "We'd like to talk to your son," he said.
Jason panicked - but, as he learned over the next five minutes, the long arm of the law had not yet reached out its hand for Jason. Rather, the police were there to talk to him about the centaurs he had so brutally slain yesterday. The police had found their tracks at the edge of town, and before finding out where they came from, they wanted to have the experience of someone who'd fought the centaurs. That meant bringing Jason's instructor; who, for whatever reason, had suggested that they bring Jason.
Jason picked up a few things before he went with them; the cell phone his father had gotten him after his return, a pocket-knife, $50 and a flashlight. He didn't know how long this hunt would take.
They took the sheriff's car - sheriff and deputy in front, Jason and his instructor in back. Jason asked his instructor why he asked Jason to come. "It will be a learning experience for you," the instructor replied.
Jason asked, "Really?"
The instructor thought about it, then answered: "If there's not a fight, then you'll be fine. If there is... you're the nastiest fighter I've seen. If there are more of those centaurs, I think that you could either kill them, or force them to talk."
Jason smiled.
-
After two hours of driving through fields, a herd of centaurs appeared on the horizon, traveling east. The sheriff stopped the car and gestured everyone out. Minutes later, a small group of centaurs broke off from the herd and jogged toward the car. They loomed over the sheriff, who seemed intimidated; seeing one dead on the floor was not quite the same as seeing one in the flesh. Nonetheless, he gathered himself and told the centaurs, "We want to see your leader."
One of the centaurs, armed with a rifle and pistol, strange gray leg-wings half-spread, seven feet tall, looked the sheriff up and down several times. He hefted his weapons. Then he said, "All right," in a thick Southern accent.
The leader of the centaurs was large and grizzle-maned, with a beard that fell down past his breast. He carried no weapon. His expression was contemptuous as he examined the small human party. "I do not care what you weaklin' humans have to say," he intoned before the sheriff could say a word. "If you want to speak to me, you will have to defeat my champion: Threshnar the Invincible." Beside him stood a nine-foot tall centaur, monstrously muscled and armed with an axe the size of Jason. He hefted it as his chieftain spoke, then roared dramatically to punctuate his point.
Jason stepped forward eagerly, cracking his knuckles loudly. He faced off with Threshnar; then he stopped as a shotgun blast rang out. The sheriff stepped forward, confronting the chieftan. "I don't know what games you're trying to play, but I am a duly appointed representative of the law in the United States of America, and you are attempted to obstruct a criminal investigation. You will stop this posturing right now because I don't give a damn what you are, if you interfere with a homicide investigation I will have you up on charges faster than you can blink. Do you hear me?"
The centaur chieftain stared at the sheriff. The sheriff stared right back. The centaur chieftain blinked first. With a sigh, he waved Threshnar back, and Jason Jones regretfully lowered his knuckles. Leaning forward, the chieftain asked, "Before we begin, what's your name?"
The sheriff responded, "I'm Sheriff Al Brown. This is my deputy, Mr. Hiram Smith, and two witnesses, Mr. Worthy and Mr. Jones. And you are...?"
The centaur chieftain lowered himself slowly to the ground. "All right then, y'all. I am known as Killforth the Magnificent, victor of a hundred combats, master of a thousand warriors."
"Let's talk."
2 comments:
Centaurs obey the law with Southern accents?
Preposterous!
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