01 May 2007
A Shot in the Arm
April, 1856
Following the gun shot, I slumped back onto the couch, dazed. It took a moment for my senses to catch up with recent events, but when they finally did they confirmed that I had, indeed, just been shot in the arm. I put my hand upon my stricken limb, seeking a second opinion, and felt blood seep from the freshly-made wound. I grimaced.
As I lay bleeding, I watched helplessly as Botter charged at Ivan Romanov, and then saw him recoil as Romanov fired off another shot at the poor man. Fearing that I might have to go back through the rigamarole of finding a replacement servant, I decided to try and haul myself back up and attempt to remedy this situation.
“See, Likely?” Romanov sneered as he slowly slotted some fresh bullets into his gun’s chamber. “Already your nation is falling under Russian might. Do not fight it. It is inevitable and unstoppable.”
“Rrrrromanov,” I gasped, slurring my words as unconsciousness threatened to engulf me. “I am afraid I do not take too kindly to being shot at. It is simply something I just will not abide.”
“Please, Likely. Look at the state of you. You can barely stand. Just be a good chap and hurry up and die, will you?”
I put my hand up to my chin, and began stroking my increasingly tattered fake beard. “Not bloody likely,” I said, then withdrew a tiny pistol from within the phoney facial hair.
Romanov eyed the miniature gun with clear derision. “Well, that is disappointing, to say the least. I am finding it harder to see exactly what the late Miss Nipples ever saw in you, Likely.”
“I…I can assure you, Romaonv, that contrary to popular belief, the size of one’s weapon is in no way related to the size of one’s penis. Besides which, it is not the size that counts, but what you do with your weapon, that counts.”
“And what exactly do you propose to do with your weapon, Likely?” snorted Romanov.
“This.” I replied blandly, as I took aim and shot the Russian rapscallion right in the groin. Instantly, Romanov doubled over in pain and yelled in agony. I smirked feebly. “Despite my current state, I believe I could easily blast the right testicle too, without any problem,” I said, raising my arm once more.
Romanov looked up at me, then shouted something in Russian. Suddenly, I felt a tight, vice-like grip around my chest, as someone or something grabbed me from behind.
“Oh, you stupid fuck, Likely,” Romanov wheezed, clutching his privates. “You did not suppose for one minute that I would be working alone, did you? May I introduce my partner in crime. He is called The Bear, on account of his great strength and extraordinarily hairy back.”
“He sounds puh-positively delightful,” I gasped, trying to maintain a shred of dignity as the grip tightened around my chest. “Buh-but I usually ask to be wined and dined buh-before I allow anyone to take me from behind.”
Romanov straightened up, wincing at the pain in his nether-region as he did so. He glared at me, then nodded to my unseen assailant. Immediately, I felt the force around my torso increase, as if The Bear was trying to squeeze my very skeleton out of my anus.
“Huh…he certainly has…developed…a…crush on me,” I managed to quip as the air rushed from my lungs.
“I…I have heard enough of your terrible one-liners, Likely,” Romanov snapped. “I am afraid I simply must bid you farewell.”
“Yuh…you are a cuh-cuh-cunt,” I mumbled, as the world began to swim violently before my eyes. Romanov smiled a twisted, evil smile, then addressed his brutish co-conspirator once more.
“You may kill him now,” Romanov ordered. “Kill him…TO DEATH.”
I groaned. Things were not developing exactly as I had hoped.
- Lord Likely.
