The Adventures Of An Aromantic Asshole (In A Shockingly Cliché World)

Chapter 2 | So Is This A Beastiality Thing?

Werewolf Cliché Part 2

Well, shit.

I don't think they would have found me if I hadn't been laughing uncontrollably.  

But it just so happens

That I was.

After kicking flannel-bitch straight in his solar plexus I had retreated to hide in the forest. I may not be in the best physical shape, but you would be surprised how fast you run when chased by a weird canine-themed cult. It's also unexpectedly difficult to stay professional.

So yes. I was caught snickering under a pine tree. 

Pardon me if I don't take the three buttsniffers seriously.

Mr. M - Or Kyle, as it appears to be his name - came trampling through the forest. I think he may have mowed a couple of trees down in his way. Or deer. When he spotted me it kinda went like this:

We got eye-contact.

"Hi." I said.

He stormed towards me, possibly killing some wildlife in his path.

I did my best to climb the pine tree.

He caught me.

Then he carried me under one arm all the way back to the mansion-house. I was swaying from side to side as he walked with long strides. This must be what a sack of potatoes feels like before it's gonna be chopped up and fried into fries, I thought to myself. 

I wonder if Mr. M ever had that thought.

I looked up at him.

"Can I sit on your shoulders?"

He didn't even look at me. Rude.

"Sooo," I dragged the word out, "What do you do here? Are you just like, y'know, the 'carrier'? You just carry people around, stop prisoners from escaping? That kinda thing?"

No answer. I was starting to embrace my new self as a sack of potatoes and went silent for a while.

"You get paid?"

Still no answer. 

Gasp. 

Maybe he is a mute? 

"What a waste man, I've been firing all these awesome jokes off to someone who can't even laugh at them." I sighed. "Wait can mute people laugh? How does 'muting' even work..."

And so, I speculated out loud the entire way back. Topics like mute-ness, aliens, the inevitability of death, and that the whole thing about a ducks quack doesn't have an echo is actually a fake myth. Poor Kyle probably wished he was deaf instead.

¤~¤~¤

Once we got back, the not-so-gentle-giant threw me on the floor by the feet of Beagle Boy. He had even bothered putting a shirt on. More fucking flannel.

"Hi, hubby." I said, rubbing my lower back that was twinging with pain from the landing.

He didn't say anything. Kyle must have infected him. 

Though he didn't look happy. Rather, he was fuming and doing the puppy growl thing. It kinda looked like he wanted to kick me back.

"Jarold," He said through gritted teeth, "Please take her to her room. Lock the door. Lock every lock in the building. She won't leave again."