LOG; when i crack dat whip; FLURR ET AL.
Post-war; dead people coming back to life, people becoming younger, older, and so on.
I have... no idea.
Somehow within the last day or two.. Flurr couldn't remember.. -- it seemed that he'd de-aged about ten years, give or take. Even his clothes had changed. Flurr was now dressed a pauperhat, with black, shiny shoes, high-waisted shorts, and black suspenders. Where had Vilers gone?? Nuk... nuknuk.
Curled up in a box in a dark, abandoned alleyway, Flurr snored rather innocently, dreaming of more gruel and better days.
Bailey Bailey, on the other hand-- in addition to being suddenly alive again-- seemed to have aged forward. His his feet were now too large for his shoes, his thighs too large and muscular for his pants, his neck too bulging for his baleiyhat. Snorting and trembling, Bailey used a burlap sack for clothing, and planks of wood rubberbanded to his feet for shoes.
The scent of Flurr had been pulling him along for hours, and when he finally found his beau, he nukked loudly, burying his face in Flurr's buttocks.
"Imee Bailey Bailey... Flurr... ees Bailey okai... waik to me Flurr... ohhh Flurr..."
Flurr was awakened from his doleful slumber with the very strange sensation of someone trying to inhale his buttocks. He woke with a start, eyes wide and darting about wildly before scuttling away madly.
"OU VAT.... OU VAT!!!!!" he whispered loudly, before noticing that it was.. Baleiy. Not the adorable fifteen-year-old Bailey he so often dreamed of, but a rather mannish looking one.
"OU.....vat? Ou......Baleiy?"
Although he appeared to be a forty year old man, Bailey still had the mind and maturity of his fifteen year old self. He rubbed his palms on the ashy ground of the alleyway in reassuring little circles and snorted softy at Flurr.
"Ees bailey... I haf waik een ze water... haf drownt... haf resuricted.. imee jaysus? ees tres day ou theenk? I haf not know.. of why I am here... but yair flurry scent calls to Bailey, oh yais. Nuk."
Just then there was a crash from above, and glass shards rained down along with a middle-aged but still ruggedly handsome man who looked vaguely like a terrorist. He screamed in pain and clutched his arm, and spoke many words in Spanish, before he got to his feet.
"What's going on here?" he demanded. He remembered suddenly his disguise, and he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a monocle, which he held in front of his eye. It was very hard to get it to stay. "I am reporter Clark K--Rodriguez of Spanish newspaper, Madrid Times. I report on crimes. Sometimes I stop them, we are all heroes in our hearts. You there!" He squinted hard at Bailey. "You smell of criminal scum. What is your business!"
"HAGGER?!?!?!??!!?!?" screamed Flurr at the sky, as glass shards impaled themselves into his pauperhat. But he was lucid enough to understand what the reporter was saying, and he was ccusin a cuse.. accusin a cuse. "Wat... wat wat wat.." he snorted confusedly and pathetically.
Flurr crawled to Baleiy, heroically throwing himself in front of the disgusting ex-model.
"VAT EES YOU THINK," he bellowed. "FLURRS A FLURR... O... BALEIY..... O... OLÉ????"
Bailey saw only the silhouette of Raoul's wild, fierce hair against the moonlight before he assumed that the tall Spanish man was Tyra Banks.
"Ees wickid witch.. tyra.. ou flurr... bailey haf obleegate to kill ze wikid witch.. dingin a dong the witch is dead... heh.. heheh..."
Bailey broke off into hoarse, grunting laughter, staring up at Raoul through the filthy disgusted matted rat nest of hair that he wore on his head attached to a Russia hat.
Raoul understood nothing of this, so he reached into his pocket again and whipped out a dictionary. Unfortunately it didn't help, but the older man was clearly Russian, which meant KGB.
"QUECHIBI!" he shouted, pointing at Bailey. "I know you when I see you! You are trying to rule everything out of Russia! From Russia! I know your...your hat! I know what national hat of Russia is! Drop your weapon!" He assumed that all Russians were armed. "Get away, innocent boy!" he added, glancing furtively at Flurr. "This man is dangerous!"
Meanwhile Damon could hear some strange foreign yelling coming from somewhere. He had no idea why he was in London's ghetto (every city had a ghetto, it was a fact). Actually, he had wandered into it to find Flurr, who had texted him with the message, "F1NDIN AFIND DMOAN... DEMMON... OU..... OUI". On the way over, Damon decided to pick up a huge box of chocolates for Ambykins and roses.
"Hello?" his voice cracked as he called out into the darkness.
"QUECHIBI?!" Flurr repeated after Raoul. "EES BALEIY, OU VAT, VAT.... WAT..... WAT WAT WAT...." he trailed off into a confused chant of 'wat wat wat wat wat wat.
When he heard Damon's voice, though, he immediately recognized it as his familiar friend and called out, "Demmon.... DEMMON?!?!" His voice cracked, too, as he was still kind of prepubescent Flurr.
The mysterious chanting of a French man's voice echoed in Damon's ears before he saw the young lad before him.
"FLURR!" Damon opened his arms but then froze immediately. "Wait, you're not Flurr."
No, he looked much too young.
...
"FLURR'S... SON???"
"NON," Flurr cried out, shaking his head vehemently. "HIM NAME FLURR... FLURR WAKES UP, SUDDINLY FLURRS A FLURR... UN PETITEFLURR.." and ran into Damon's arms.
Damon screamed, not wanting Flurr to suddenly come around the corner and think he was molesting his son.
Right when he was about to crash-land into Damon's arms, Damon screamed, which caused Flurr to make a halting stop and fall backwards onto his buttocks.
Flurr looked up at Damon, looking and feeling rather betrayed.
"Ou.... vat?" Flurr whispered.
"You... shall not... pass."Damon didn't have a clue what he was saying. He would just wait for Flurr rather than do the logical thing and question his tiny look-a-like.
".....wat.... wat....." Flurr scooted backwards, feeling so very confused about Damon's behavior, about the man who looked and smelled like Bailey, and about the hairy Spaniard who had fallen from the sky. Suddenly his eyes were wet and all the elation and excitement spiraled downwards into an ache in his tummy from hunger and a lonely feeling in his heart.
Now he had made his friend's son cry. Damon panicked and dropped the things he was carrying, bending over and wrapping his arms around the mini-Flurr.
And began to sing a lullaby to him.
Flurr hiccuped rather pathetically, tears dampening the front of Damon's shirt.
"Demmon... tinth doan't remember.. Flurr? Ou... vat.... sacre bleu..." he babbled.
Tinth?
"Flurr??" Damon's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "What? But-- WHAT?"
He wasn't sure what to make of the scene. Flurr looked younger than usual and that wasn't... possible.
"TINTH! IT'S FLURR.. C'EST FLURR, FLURR'S A FLURR," he said frantically, eyes wild. He gestured wildly to his suspenders, to his shoes, and his pauper hat. "Flurr gits up, instead of gits the hoase Flurr gits a hat... grits.. porsidge.. nuknuknuk..."
If he was understanding correctly, Flurr had somehow turn back into a child... with a pauper hat.
"What... do I do..."
Well, Damon was still only about three years older than Flurr.
"It's okai.. okai.. nuk nuk nuk.. nuk nuk nuk.. nuknuk.. himname.."
Meanwhile, Silver was also getting used to some rather peculiar changes. He hadn't been given a new wardrobe, however, and had been forced to raid the kid's section of a department store a few hours earlier. Was this a temporary condition? He hoped so.
Suddenly, he heard a noise that he would recognize anywhere--nuk.
Peering his head into the alleyway, he wasn't surprised to see Fleur. The suspenders and pauper hat were a bit alarming, though.
"Good evening, Mister Pot," he said in a tiny eight-year-old voice.
Flurr whipped around, hearing the familiar nickname, and seeing a familiar face.. which was alarmingly cute, and alarmingly non-threatening.
"Sssss.....sssss...," Flurr hissed, but not maliciously. Just in a confused kind of way.
His brain spelled "V-I-L-E-R-S."
I have... no idea.
Somehow within the last day or two.. Flurr couldn't remember.. -- it seemed that he'd de-aged about ten years, give or take. Even his clothes had changed. Flurr was now dressed a pauperhat, with black, shiny shoes, high-waisted shorts, and black suspenders. Where had Vilers gone?? Nuk... nuknuk.
Curled up in a box in a dark, abandoned alleyway, Flurr snored rather innocently, dreaming of more gruel and better days.
Bailey Bailey, on the other hand-- in addition to being suddenly alive again-- seemed to have aged forward. His his feet were now too large for his shoes, his thighs too large and muscular for his pants, his neck too bulging for his baleiyhat. Snorting and trembling, Bailey used a burlap sack for clothing, and planks of wood rubberbanded to his feet for shoes.
The scent of Flurr had been pulling him along for hours, and when he finally found his beau, he nukked loudly, burying his face in Flurr's buttocks.
"Imee Bailey Bailey... Flurr... ees Bailey okai... waik to me Flurr... ohhh Flurr..."
Flurr was awakened from his doleful slumber with the very strange sensation of someone trying to inhale his buttocks. He woke with a start, eyes wide and darting about wildly before scuttling away madly.
"OU VAT.... OU VAT!!!!!" he whispered loudly, before noticing that it was.. Baleiy. Not the adorable fifteen-year-old Bailey he so often dreamed of, but a rather mannish looking one.
"OU.....vat? Ou......Baleiy?"
Although he appeared to be a forty year old man, Bailey still had the mind and maturity of his fifteen year old self. He rubbed his palms on the ashy ground of the alleyway in reassuring little circles and snorted softy at Flurr.
"Ees bailey... I haf waik een ze water... haf drownt... haf resuricted.. imee jaysus? ees tres day ou theenk? I haf not know.. of why I am here... but yair flurry scent calls to Bailey, oh yais. Nuk."
Just then there was a crash from above, and glass shards rained down along with a middle-aged but still ruggedly handsome man who looked vaguely like a terrorist. He screamed in pain and clutched his arm, and spoke many words in Spanish, before he got to his feet.
"What's going on here?" he demanded. He remembered suddenly his disguise, and he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a monocle, which he held in front of his eye. It was very hard to get it to stay. "I am reporter Clark K--Rodriguez of Spanish newspaper, Madrid Times. I report on crimes. Sometimes I stop them, we are all heroes in our hearts. You there!" He squinted hard at Bailey. "You smell of criminal scum. What is your business!"
"HAGGER?!?!?!??!!?!?" screamed Flurr at the sky, as glass shards impaled themselves into his pauperhat. But he was lucid enough to understand what the reporter was saying, and he was ccusin a cuse.. accusin a cuse. "Wat... wat wat wat.." he snorted confusedly and pathetically.
Flurr crawled to Baleiy, heroically throwing himself in front of the disgusting ex-model.
"VAT EES YOU THINK," he bellowed. "FLURRS A FLURR... O... BALEIY..... O... OLÉ????"
Bailey saw only the silhouette of Raoul's wild, fierce hair against the moonlight before he assumed that the tall Spanish man was Tyra Banks.
"Ees wickid witch.. tyra.. ou flurr... bailey haf obleegate to kill ze wikid witch.. dingin a dong the witch is dead... heh.. heheh..."
Bailey broke off into hoarse, grunting laughter, staring up at Raoul through the filthy disgusted matted rat nest of hair that he wore on his head attached to a Russia hat.
Raoul understood nothing of this, so he reached into his pocket again and whipped out a dictionary. Unfortunately it didn't help, but the older man was clearly Russian, which meant KGB.
"QUECHIBI!" he shouted, pointing at Bailey. "I know you when I see you! You are trying to rule everything out of Russia! From Russia! I know your...your hat! I know what national hat of Russia is! Drop your weapon!" He assumed that all Russians were armed. "Get away, innocent boy!" he added, glancing furtively at Flurr. "This man is dangerous!"
Meanwhile Damon could hear some strange foreign yelling coming from somewhere. He had no idea why he was in London's ghetto (every city had a ghetto, it was a fact). Actually, he had wandered into it to find Flurr, who had texted him with the message, "F1NDIN AFIND DMOAN... DEMMON... OU..... OUI". On the way over, Damon decided to pick up a huge box of chocolates for Ambykins and roses.
"Hello?" his voice cracked as he called out into the darkness.
"QUECHIBI?!" Flurr repeated after Raoul. "EES BALEIY, OU VAT, VAT.... WAT..... WAT WAT WAT...." he trailed off into a confused chant of 'wat wat wat wat wat wat.
When he heard Damon's voice, though, he immediately recognized it as his familiar friend and called out, "Demmon.... DEMMON?!?!" His voice cracked, too, as he was still kind of prepubescent Flurr.
The mysterious chanting of a French man's voice echoed in Damon's ears before he saw the young lad before him.
"FLURR!" Damon opened his arms but then froze immediately. "Wait, you're not Flurr."
No, he looked much too young.
...
"FLURR'S... SON???"
"NON," Flurr cried out, shaking his head vehemently. "HIM NAME FLURR... FLURR WAKES UP, SUDDINLY FLURRS A FLURR... UN PETITEFLURR.." and ran into Damon's arms.
Damon screamed, not wanting Flurr to suddenly come around the corner and think he was molesting his son.
Right when he was about to crash-land into Damon's arms, Damon screamed, which caused Flurr to make a halting stop and fall backwards onto his buttocks.
Flurr looked up at Damon, looking and feeling rather betrayed.
"Ou.... vat?" Flurr whispered.
"You... shall not... pass."Damon didn't have a clue what he was saying. He would just wait for Flurr rather than do the logical thing and question his tiny look-a-like.
".....wat.... wat....." Flurr scooted backwards, feeling so very confused about Damon's behavior, about the man who looked and smelled like Bailey, and about the hairy Spaniard who had fallen from the sky. Suddenly his eyes were wet and all the elation and excitement spiraled downwards into an ache in his tummy from hunger and a lonely feeling in his heart.
Now he had made his friend's son cry. Damon panicked and dropped the things he was carrying, bending over and wrapping his arms around the mini-Flurr.
And began to sing a lullaby to him.
Flurr hiccuped rather pathetically, tears dampening the front of Damon's shirt.
"Demmon... tinth doan't remember.. Flurr? Ou... vat.... sacre bleu..." he babbled.
Tinth?
"Flurr??" Damon's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "What? But-- WHAT?"
He wasn't sure what to make of the scene. Flurr looked younger than usual and that wasn't... possible.
"TINTH! IT'S FLURR.. C'EST FLURR, FLURR'S A FLURR," he said frantically, eyes wild. He gestured wildly to his suspenders, to his shoes, and his pauper hat. "Flurr gits up, instead of gits the hoase Flurr gits a hat... grits.. porsidge.. nuknuknuk..."
If he was understanding correctly, Flurr had somehow turn back into a child... with a pauper hat.
"What... do I do..."
Well, Damon was still only about three years older than Flurr.
"It's okai.. okai.. nuk nuk nuk.. nuk nuk nuk.. nuknuk.. himname.."
Meanwhile, Silver was also getting used to some rather peculiar changes. He hadn't been given a new wardrobe, however, and had been forced to raid the kid's section of a department store a few hours earlier. Was this a temporary condition? He hoped so.
Suddenly, he heard a noise that he would recognize anywhere--nuk.
Peering his head into the alleyway, he wasn't surprised to see Fleur. The suspenders and pauper hat were a bit alarming, though.
"Good evening, Mister Pot," he said in a tiny eight-year-old voice.
Flurr whipped around, hearing the familiar nickname, and seeing a familiar face.. which was alarmingly cute, and alarmingly non-threatening.
"Sssss.....sssss...," Flurr hissed, but not maliciously. Just in a confused kind of way.
His brain spelled "V-I-L-E-R-S."