|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- CLOWN CENTAUR ARCHITECT--CUP 7--"MY BIKE" <-------  ||  Severe Repair  ||  Clown Centaur Architect  ||  -------> (Cup SRcc007, Created v2 (6/7/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = "You really are a lost soul, Dailan." Finjear said. "Anyway, what I was saying, was how the male and female perspective on love... and sex... is so vastly different." "I've heard this argument a thousand times." "What argument?" "The... the argument about men and women being different." "You know--you call yourself an intellectual, but you're nothing but a poser. You can't handle even the simplest debate. We're not going on any book-bundling mission. You're coming with me to the Clown Centaur Architect tomorrow and start your bartending training. A lot of bars have been damaged in the war, and god knows that drinking becomes that much more popular when the world is falling apart around you. And I don't want to miss that profit." "Why me, though?" "You fucking little fool! Can't you stop lying to yourself long enough to identify an act of pure mercy when it comes your way? You act so high and mighty, Mr. Big Architect, but how big are you when you sleep in the woods, and nearly die from the exposure? I'm giving you a chance--a safe and easy job that'll carry through the remainders of this war--maybe you can even make enough to put away some savings--and who knows--in a few years, you might really be in a position to start your own architecture business!" Dailan said nothing. "Look my friend," Finjear continued, "you've built a mighty structure in your mind to protect your ego--damn, maybe you really ARE a good architect, but just in the construction of damn excuses--see--you have to jump right into the deathly jaws of life, be ready and willing to be chewed up and spat out, within an inch of your life, if you ever hope to get anywhere." "I... I..." "Listen to me. My emotions absolutely worn as thin as they can get. I can be a real bastard if I want. I'll throw you out and have you murdered if I so much as catch a glimpse of you. I have the connections--you know I can do it without any fear of reprisal. And like I said--I don't really like you. I just... the thought of you tending that bar... it pleases me at some level." "You have... no... common decency." "Listen to me Fogordy! This is it! I'm not going to put up with any more bullshit! I'm giving you your last chance. You do exactly as I say--no arguments, no shenanigans. If you feel like stepping out of line, you better fucking well disappear, because I will HAVE YOU KILLED. Understand?" Dailan shook his head uncontrollably as Finjear stood up, with some difficulty, using his cane. "Not another word from you. Go into the guest quarters. And... and if I ever see you again, it means that you accept my offer. If you don't... well, I better... I BETTER NOT FUCKING EVER SEE YOU AGAIN OR YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!" Dailan began to weep. "So--the plan--you go into the guest quarters--accept my offer, and I'll see you tomorrow morning. Reject me, and you better escape into the woods. If you understand this much, just nod your fat head." Dailan nodded frantically. "And... uh, and Dailan... if you harbor any thoughts about stealing my bike tonight, I'd erase them from your stinking skull. Because, if you do that, I'll use every resource in my possession to track you down and make sure you--and all your architectural documents--and ruined and destroyed in a most uncomfortable fashion, eh? Steal my bike, and you're going to suffer much before you die." Dailan started shivering. "Get out of my sight." Finjear said with an icy finality. Dailan scurried to the guest quarters and gingerly closed the door. Finjear huffed and puffed heavily as he regained his composure. Transferring my anger at the women to such a pathetic little rodent, he thought as he sat down on the couch. But if he's good even as a target for my frustrations, then at least he's good for something. I wonder if he'll try and kill me tonight? Only him and me in the house. Well, if I lock my quarters, there's no way he could get in. A crafty man, a resourceful man, maybe. But a fool like him--what am I worrying about? -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----