Remaithance Man

An intestinal horn wailed pathetically across the just-about-night, scattering the odd bird and irritating the odd bat. The scuffing of paws followed and we began to see ominous red and white flashes through the trees. Stan stuck his fist into his mouth and prayed. I kept still, looking intense. Suddenly a dirty great hound burst through the clearing and shook vast webs of saliva in furious, putrid arcs. Being a dedicated reactionist, Johnny was the first of us to load his musket and bring it up to his eye. But before he could add an inch of steel to the foaming beast, its heavily armed employers appeared from the foliage and surrounded us. Stan covered his eyes. I kept still, looking intense.

"See? What did I tell you? The dog never fails," said one of the shorter soldiers. "And you said we'd never find 'em."
The recipient shrugged.
"Well? Don't you have something to say?"
The recipient shook his head.
"Go on."
The recipient sighed.
"I'm glad we dragged the guillotine all this way," he said, rolling his eyes.
"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Johnny Beehive raised his musket defiantly.
"Vous ne nous ramènent alors que nous sommes vivants !" he cried, accidentally firing a shot in the air and killing a displaced pigeon.
"Well, of course not," said the short solider. "What the hell did you think the guillotine was for?"
Just then the unwieldy wooden structure rose into view from behind the trees, and with it three very tired looking men and a tangle of shipping rope.
"Lambinent," said Stan.
"C'est l'extrémité, garçons," I sighed. "Nous avons eu une bonne course."

Suddenly a phlegmy baritone thundered out of the darkness.
"Unhand esas comadrejas, sucios aristócratas!"
The guards turned, waving their muskets uncertainly in the diminishing light.
"Los lobos ciego no ve el travieso búho," came the voice again.
The guards began firing randomly into the trees, scattering all manner of odd birds and bats.
"No golpearás la blanco si no tienes los vidrios apropiados."
Desperately, they tore apart the foliage, scraping and scratching and musketting. Then, flashing dramatically across the moonlight, a tall, gangly silhouette swung squarely into frame and posed a bit. It was Ben, wielding six steel posts and a fetching brown vest. After distributing three of the posts to Johnny, Stan and myself, he briefly attempted to take on the guards with the remaining three, but only began to do so successfully after the awkwardness of the his methods forced him to drop two of them first. Soon, however, we realised our posts were no match for the reloaded muskets and legged it. Led by the jungle-literate Ben, we escaped our captors in no time and wound up by a secluded river with breath to spare.

"Remercier la baise de Ben !"
We raised invisible glasses.
"El ano del mono nunca se lame enteramente. No ha terminado."
We looked at our saviour and nodded sagely.
"Néanmoins," said Stan, "Nous avons léché cette soirée. Buvons loin et caressons la nuit."
And, putting our hands to our lips, we did just that.