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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8469)	3/4/1998 4:49:00 PM
From: Jacques Chitte	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

Bub awoke briefly. He struggled half-upright, and he felt the bond around his wrists give way. Apparently the leather strap had been raw enough to... interest the leeches. The head of the mystery blonde - Angina? - appeared over the edge. She winked, then threw a spiky fruit into the mud. Her eyes told a story. This is all I can or will do. You remind me of someone who owns my heart. His word is my bond. Then she disappeared. The mud boiled around the half-submerged durian as the leeches made perfect radial grooves in their haste to get away from that smell. Bub gratefully picked up the fruit and drank deep of its contents. A surge of energy coursed through his body, ending with a clanggg! in his oversized forearms, the ones with the dual anchor tattoos. He shook himself like a big dog, spraying hapless leeches. With one mighty bound, he was out of the pit No no no no no. Delete key. Hold it down. Lessee now... right. "...from that smell." Bub peeled back a corner of the odorous fruit's tough shell and ate a wedge of the putrid curdy flesh inside. It went down hard, but after two days' not eating, hunger overcame a perfectly understandable revulsion. The fruit's sinister essence suffused his body within minutes, and the half-pound leeches let go of this tainted host and fell back into the mud. Bub was too weak to move quite yet. What to do? The leeches had fed well at his expense. Well, why not turn the tables? Bub picked up a particularly sleek specimen. He bit off its back end and treated it like the Frozen Fruit Pops he used to sneak from his elementary school best friend's mom's freezer. He ran thumb and forefinger up the smooth pouch of the worm while sucking out the nutritious red paste inside. He let the empty wormskin fall onto the mud. Needs durian, he reflected. He finished off a few more before feeling half-decent again. The intoxicating scent of barbacoa wafted over the rim of the pit. Bub would have to be there. If the guests were friendly, all the better. But if they weren't, he meditated upon the wise counsel of his Teacher. "If'n ya cain't beat'm - shoot'm!" Oh. Right. Taht won't work. He reached under his mud-soaked vest and drew a fat leech out of the holster concealed there. He tossed it into the mud, where it promptly squirmed out of sight with a wet sucking sound. He got a firm handhold on the rim of the pit and began to pull himself out. He skinned his elbow a good one on a protruding chunk of shale.