Longhorn Stories

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I. Don't. Fucking. Know

Nobody can cover me

Prologue The action takes place deep in the African continent in the early 20" century. It is in the colonial mansion of Governor Thorne Macay, high up on the plateau overlooking the wide, wild plains of Kutula Colony. The living room reflects the lavish tastes of its present occupant. Upon the high walls are Lee Enfields 303, prize heads of a (surprised) king-size lion, kudu and antelope. There are leopard skins, an elephant tusk propped against the corner and zebra skin crucified across the back wall. Beneath all these, is a somewhat grotesque mural of black Kutula Natives caught in various stances of servitude while doing their best to ward off the whip from the white be-helmeted overseers above and behind them. Dominant upon the central wall is a large splendid painting of His Imperial Majesty (King something or other) in imperial purple, his cold blue eyes staring our space out of countenance. A crown dazzles in an array of diamonds above his head. On the ground and immediately beneath His Majesty, is an imposing throne. Imposing doors yawn into this room, one leading outside, another (L) to the hall, (UL) into the inner rooms and the fourth (UR) to the royal bedrooms. It is evening and the low golden ray of the sun illuminates the throne. On the throne sits His Excellency, Thorne Macay, Governor of Kutula. He is a solid stone of a man, his bubbling ferocity enhanced by a long and well-tended boar-tusk moustache standing dark against his pale-golden skin. For moments, he sits silent, staring intently at the mural, hands clasped behind the small of his back.