Luther's Adventure Log

Bitchin' Tree House

Babysitting a drugged-up village ride isn't as much fun as it sounds, especially not when she's skipping through a forest full of drugged-up wolves who all want to chew on her strategically placed meaty bits. "Back off, Hokey! Those are works of art!" I cried, throwing firecrackers at them. I'm really glad that fat yellow-suited Jesus looking guy was nice enough to teach me how to summon an infinite amount of firecrackers from beyond space-time, because while it doesn't really do a lot, it sure is fun.

"You'll ne'er hit them swinging blindly." Monica said absently, criticizing my every fucking move, as always.

"I don't see you doing anything to help!" I snapped back. Of course, just as I said this, she gently waved her hand upward, summoning a thirty foot column of fiery destruction, destroying five wolves in one forest fire waiting to happen.

"They hate fire." She retorted, shooting me the most sickeningly fake-sweet-but-actually-smug smile I have ever seen on an eldritch abomination and batting her eyelashes innocently. I've backhanded inbred five-year-olds for less. Cthulu's bitch-ass daughter wasn't getting away with mildly sassing me!

"Wolves hunt in packs!" Ted interrupted urgently, preventing me from throwing firecrackers at Monica. I settled for throwing them at him instead, then chased after Quina, who was chasing invisible butterflies. I could relate. Valmiro and I almost got eaten by the Brine the other day when we were on the Witchweed because we'd been chasing those same butterflies.

"Look! There it is! Come on, Cos!" She giggled, pointing to the most bitchin' tree house I've ever seen. Wondering briefly if this was where my parents lived before they were brutally murdered for giving life to the most electrifying man in monster-slaying entertainment, and if Uncle Dad hadn't found me, would I be doing sweet-ass tree surfing tricks to Phil Collins music, I followed after Quina when Monica dug her staff into my back and cleared her throat, interrupting my awesome daydream montage.

A terrified thirteen year old girl lay huddled in a corner as Quina, still high as balls, demanded to know about Dragon language and herb ale and dead grandmas. "Quina, come on. Back off. You're scaring her." Patting the poor traumatized orphan on the head, I tried to calm her down, but by following her horrified expression, I turned to find David and Ted smashing up her things and frantically stuffing her junk into their pockets. "I'm really sorry about all this. Oh my god, they're so high. So sorry. High as balls. Really, we're leaving. Oh, man, I'm sorry. We're just gonna go."

By the time I pulled Ted and David out of her personal effects, Quina had taken off up another path on a dead run. There was no way I was catching up to her now. Monica was laying some seriously judgmental eyes on me right now, with the slightest hints of a smirk on that facsimile of a human face. "Oh, like you could do any better."

"I fear I've naught to say, Arisen." She replied smugly.

"You don't need to say anything. Your face speaks volumes. Do you want to try this shit?"

"I'll have that."

"God damn it, Ted, stop stealing shit! David, don't put that in your mouth! Monica, a little help here?"

She leaned in very close, her face barely an inch away from my own. "I fear I've naught to say."

"You bitch."

"Arisen."