Wednesday, March 27, 2013

The Return of the Princess

'Allo luffs.

So I finally got a bit more of that Princess story written, and at long last, I think I know where it's going. The end should come in just a few more posts, hopefully sometime before the Last Trump sounds and the skies roll up like a scroll and so forth.

Thus, for what it's worth, here is another chunk.

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Finally. He’s decided to stop stammering and start talking like a normal person. Took him long enough, too; I think he was sitting against the wall staring like a madman for almost an hour. I guess being in an army with all those so-called modern weapons doesn’t really prepare a person for something like this. I’d be pretty shocked, too, if I’d come from a world with guns and then gotten chased by a dragon.

This brings an interesting thought to my mind. Why didn’t Fowler just use his gun and shoot the dragon? I would imagine he can use it decently well; he is a soldier, after all. Soldiers are supposed to know how to work their weapons.

“Why didn’t you shoot the dragon?” I ask him. He shakes his head and looks down at his gun, which is in his lap.

“I tried. My gun doesn’t work here,” he says. This is intriguing, and perhaps explains why no one from his world has tried to take over mine. I think it also might have something to do with the fact that the only apparent point of entry to my world is out in the middle of nowhere in his world, and vice versa. Minor details.

Fowler rises from the floor with all the grace and coordination of al dente noodles, and promptly falls back down again in the same likeness. For a few seconds, he groans incoherently; then he decides to try it again. This time, he succeeds, and manages to stay on his feet, wobbling slightly. He scowls at me.

“Lot of help you are,” he snaps. I am too incapacitated by laughter to notice.

Soon enough, I get over my merriment. There’s still a flipping huge dragon sitting right outside the nearest entrance to the cave, and I’m stuck with some goof from another world who’s not worth cave beetle spit in a fight with any of the creatures that roam yonder lands. Suddenly I realize just exactly how fantastic this situation is, and I go from happy to annoyed. Great. How am I going to get back to my parents?

Wait a second, though. Do I want to get back to my parents? Won’t they just slap me right back in the dragon-guarded tower? That would definitely be a drag. I mean, I just sprang myself out of that joint. I sure don’t want to waltz off to my parents and get put in the same situation as before.

Then again, they probably think I’m dead, and it’s not quite nice of me to let them think that, though I have to admit I’m having a pretty great time seeing the world and all that. Worlds, I guess, in this case. And a totally useless foreigner. I keep forgetting that part. Darn.

“Hey, so, um, not that this isn’t fun and great and whatever, but is there some way out of here? I know, we just got here, but it’s kind of chilly and I want a weapon that actually works…”

I look at Fowler like he’s crazy. Really? This kid wants a weapon. He’s got to be kidding. He can barely stand up. I don’t even know if he could lift one of our super-mega-broadswords right now. I doubt it.

But then… there’s something in his eyes. Maybe it’s determination. Maybe it’s a piece of leaf from running through the forest without looking where he was going. I don’t know. But it’s there, and I’m starting to think that maybe he could fit in here. Maybe this is actually where he belongs…

“…Because, you know, what if we run into terrorists? I’ll need something that does some damage.”

Yeah, never mind. I think it might be awhile before this guy figures out there’s never been a terrorist in my world. Ever. People have enough trouble staying alive with all the dragons and tree goblins and whatnot running around eating their children. They certainly don’t need any help in the dying department.

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