Flummox-fling Sp'Lashes

It’s best to hearken when your conscience comes a-Calling. I swatted it down and lunged for the Dick’tater’s jagged little face, imagining raking it to shreds like a puma before we could even sink into the water. Dallas threw out his forearms in a useless haphazard reaction. But he was saved as massive arms sternly yanked me around the waist, and a flurry of Orange hair burst betwixt my path to the staggering Tyrant.

All things considered, I might have weaseled through the blockers and beat some respect into the fiend (I did play defense for the football squad after all, despite being average size.) Instead, the female blockade wilted my instincts to dodge or weave, as Phoenix Prowley, the Tall radiation of Flame had taken a stance mere inches from having her stomach being pressed against mine.

Feathery, auburn hair ruffled upon her shoulders, doing nothing for softening a frame around her lean facial structure. Pale arms dusted with freckles and muscle-definition planted ruggedly around my bicep. Her brother Rovone, had me from behind like some kind of emo Ogre, but his restraint fell away from my reality as her smooth rigidity & Bosom proximity consumed my senses. Bathing amidst this Beauty, I reasoned further disputes were a waste of time.

After a second, I drug my gaze away to where Siggy and Trent had together overtaken the brute of my focus, fidgeting with him well out of my range.

“Get your greasy mitts off!” Dallas squeaked defiantly. “I’ll teach that two-tongued, slimebucket some manners!” Tubby little trent looked like he was having trouble controlling one thrashing arm, while jiu-jitsu loving Sigmund had sent a reluctance into Teeth’s resistance by angling his elbow at an awkward position.

“Be a team player, huh, Pyram?” Sigg chided me; thin frown lines triggered around the cleft jaw of his round, but bumpy face. “The chips aren’t in our favor to begin with.”

“Sure, we’ve been dealt a bad hand, but I bet if we traded in that card,” I jerked my head towards Teeth, “we’d end up takin’ the center Pot.” At this, the mentioned Kingpin snarled, flooding color through the scumbag into an eruption of nigh incoherent quacking.

The 6'4" mass of Rovone edged around my body, nullifying my line of vision with a gnarled, sand-blasted Trident in hand, significantly deflating my inward inferno. By sand-blasted, you should know it was made of trinitite (which is the glassy residue from Nuclear blast sites). But A’Gain, the current mushroom Cloud of Pheo’s sharpness far outshone little brother, fracturing the hazy segment of climate around us. Two embers seemed to sizzle in her face, nearly on par with my level, deflecting & melting away my aggressive ploys. Oddly, i thought i saw them spinning at each pupil’s perimeter, but I had to write it off as my own mind falling prey to hypnotic waves.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, hazel eyes intruding blank defenses. Half my thoughts shifted to somehow inviting a kiss from this ripe, full mouth of pearls bouncing and peeling before me. “Your childish games could put us all in jeopardy. If you are against one of us, you are chafing against us all. Don’t get all self-righteous just because the opportunity arises to pat yourself on the back. Got it? You better get it!”

She had a reputation for deterring people with that Ghost Rider glower. I sorta jiggled my head in defeat.

Self-righteous!? Everybody seemed to think I was being inconsiderate by trying to do justice on Too-Cool-for-School over there. But I wasn’t going to bark anymore with my affections for her in the way. Besides, if I tried to retort, she might deck me in the ribs or something, and I couldn’t seem to find my voice anyway.

Siihhgh. She had a point. My tactic to exploit the isolation of the group had failed: because of the Posse’s already tense situation.

“Give it up man,” added Rovone. Although scarcely a year younger than her, at 17, she wasn’t about to let him wander off into some danger zone alone -- even if he was a brick wall. Being the eldest of four, and their parents deceased, she watched the remaining nest like a mother hawk.

“Do I look like I’m still in attack mode? Go gang up on punk-ass Capone! Jeepers guys, Trent looks like he’s riding a merry-go-round,” I brought to the Prowleys’ attention.

Averting their gazes, they beheld the scene. There was pudgy Trent Shore jackknifing all over the place, barely hanging onto a custom-fit button-collar, faded blue sleeve. He looked a little green around the gills. “Ah,” they remarked in unison, and Rovo released me to discourage turbulence, while Pheo stayed at my shoulder.

When Shore saw him coming, a look of relief seeped into his widened eyes and he plopped down rather dramatically into the water. The exertion hadn’t lasted 15 seconds, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and say maybe it was the previous slogging that was the Biggest take down factor. As far as Siggy’s physique, he only gave the appearance of being slim, unlike his deadbeat prisoner, yet when Trent suddenly aborted, the still smoldering Dictator nearly wrenched free—only to watch Rovone stretch out a monstrous hand against approaching.

All resolve to reach me vanished from the Tryrant’s face. His breath stalled a few gasps; before he acknowledged that conflict was at an impasse and settled to flip me the *Ugly bird*. “You’ll pay Pyramis. Big time,” he uttered, shaking off the last of Sigmund’s hold.

Hostility crackled through the air like fragile ice crunching underfoot, his hazel orbs spewing bullets at me. I began to feel slightly ill. Back in everyday stomping Grounds, I had just earned an exclusive place on The Man’s hit-list. My sporadic spell could cost me peace of mind for who knew how long.

When we got out of this bog, I was expecting multiple grimy violations toward sources nearest my heart—I'd have to keep a sharp Lookout. I swear a single atom made up the guy’s heart.

Buck was propped up against a mossy tree trunk delighted as ever, if not a smidgen disheartened that the fisticuffs had resolved without living up to much of its twisted potential. Trent strained to take the offered hand of Phoenix. His gray pants did an imitation of a waterfall as he rose sluggishly. We were all standing more or less now in a circle, aside from the Dick’tator who had stormed off hastily in the direction of our destination.

I clapped Trent on the back. “See, not so funny when it affects you.”

“Your fault. Meathead,” he wheezed.

“More like not funny in the slightest,” Phoenix dis-engagingly spat.

Dudley made a point of stretching, and then mused, “I think it’s awful cute how you two are always getting along happily ever after.”

“I must applaud your social skills,” Sigmund attested.

“Nobody asked for extra inputs,” I shot back, & stomped at a soggy branch.

Rovone snorted. “Inputs? What are we now, droids?”

I rubbed at my forehead, suppressing the urge to tell him that being so hard-boiled his sister probably was one, but suddenly espied some Tyrant tantrums. His denim jacket sleeve had a rip in it. No way it wasn't bothering him. Hurrah for trivial victories! He only fastened 2 buttons low on his belly, casually dislodged open to reveal his midriff, ever taking advantage of Florida’s summer heat to strut himself.

I shifted the focus. “Let’s go.”

Our purpose would better be served with a collective strain of nobody being a Prick -- for all manner of dear sweethearts skulk amidst the swamp realm. Pushing each other to the boiling point could prove detrimental; but when you mix all the paint buckets together it ends up a repulsive brown color so what could anyone expect from a misfit bunch as us?

And so we resumed our stroll deeper into the bog—still bickering impishly.

* * *

In the aftermath, I felt sorta dumb for lighting his fuse, but grandfather Time seems rather penny-pinchy with the mulligans. Dallas is a demented snake, why am I even giving a shit? The only reason to even act hospitable is on behalf of the group objective to get away clean with the Payload from those Waylaying Sea ro---

A gurgling, wet hiss shattered my train of thought.

I looked for the source and identified it just up ahead to my left, in a fury of flabbergasted Humanity & splashing. Holy Moses! I blinked hard. Surely as soon as I re-introduced my eyes to the Scene I’d find that my eyes were playing tricks!...

*back Open*

Scatter-shot sunlight shed rays down to reached the tropic floor… exposing a grey pair of hooks flailing and clipping at Buck’s ankle. Every repetition flashed saw-toothed spines. I was at a loss to identify what these… pinchers? belonged to -- and I was a native.

A shriveled little head the color of mucus was jiggling above the dingy water. My chest tightened, violent constriction developing straight to my core. I wanted to look away and roar to action - but my body froze - enchanted by a vortex garden of ichor on its chest that slipped over and around one another, whipping and fluXuating like a swarm of piranha, sending out some bony clicks right before it lunged out onto Dudley’s shoe.

Comprehension collided with my world, and I snapped out of a trance as an Uproar of shouting began and Buck stumbled backward through the water, arching his foot waist high in desperation to dislodge the pest.

Everyone minus Buck had a weapon (go figure): as you know Siggy wore a Cross-bow, Trent sported a golf club, The Dictator clutched a crowbar, Rovone wielded an actual Trident, Pheo had strapped on a rusty machete and a pocket of ninja stars before we embarked, while my tranqs were going to be fairly useless against a submersible adversary.

A mottled greenish shell stretched over its midsection, although its pincers seemed somewhat furry, with a bifurcated tail mostly shaped like a lobster but separately cone-tipped like a wasp. I’m sure Rovo would have hurled his spear at any threat within 20 paces, but in this case, not if it would risk skewering Buck’s leg into an extra pair of shoe-laces. I charged ahead to see what I could help accomplish.

I noticed Dallas was just staring frozen, and I figured he wasn’t going to react in time to make use of his weapon. So as I sped past him, I snatched the crowbar from his loose grip and swept my toes firmly against his achilles heel (cause I hadn't got to hit him earlier & he’d never be able to prove I did it deliberately.) I heard, “What thu-- Flipp...AGgs'Hell, Pyro!” as I began to secure the metal & brought its energy toward a more effective pose.

Trent got there first by chance, and swung his golf club off-balance through a narrow miss, impacting mostly water. He took a second pass but slipped and tumbled down aside the creature. Rovo was only a few steps behind, and tried to scrape the assailant from Dudley’s long shoe all in one motion as he approached. He made a fairly good connection but the bastard didn’t come loose, only shifted warily in position.

Dud let loose a primal howl amidst his thrashing, as maybe he sensed its grip was immense if a 90 kilogram dude with Poseidon’s Fork couldn’t pressure it to detach. Maybe also there was a bit of blood in the water; I couldn’t tell under the dank canopy and commotion.

Rovone changed tactics, Stabbing at its scorpionic tail spread, which actually made it pause and look his way with a loud thudding noise as he wrestled with it like overgrown spaghetti, unable to quickly untangle. “LOOK OUT!” I screamed, upon arriving, to which Rovone clamped his ears in writhing motions -- I know I'm yelling, I vaguely thought, but that’s kind of an odd reaction in the midst of emergency. Yet I was more intent on driving the tip of the bar right into the center of the aquatic nightmare.

A sound like steam curled into my ears, rising and sweeping relentlessly like a Train whistle wails. I twisted to one side, losing balance, and saw the crustacean hurtling at me in a disorienting fashion, like a bounding discus after it impacts the ground. There was a vibrating in my ribs like a rattlesnake echo, and all I could manage to do was lift the Crowbar at a beneficial angle to prevent the beast from its goal of my stomach. My body tipped backwards as it's shell blasted into me, & I felt a slicing and burning across my left wrist as it scuttled off to one side -- next thing I knew my head plunged beneath the water.

Time seemed to slow as the marsh cushioned my fall. My sight was obscured by syrupy green liquid and I had a greater understanding of how gators and crap could sneak through the water so well. At least the High-pitched wail in my head literally seemed to be flushed away by the submerging. I swiveled my head to check if the vermin was closing in from anywhere, & was relieved to conclude it didn’t seem to be pursuing me. That's when I noticed something strange. There was a soft crimson glow coming from maybe 5 yards just north of my head. And it wasn’t just a glow, i realized; it looked like… a patch of thin looping tubes.

I extended my left arm to grab hold of a thicker log and pull myself toward a straighter view of it. The red iridescence rippled, and an image simply Pressed into my retinas like a stamp... some abstruse symbol. In the lingering flash, I could tell it had smaller depictions mingling inside of it, but I just tried to absorb the overall shape in hopes i could chew it down later if i needed to.

Drinking in its Fullness, had me thinking of an emblem you might see on a vagabond Ship’s flag from several centuries ago, like a mustachioed dragon with lips pulled back in something of a slippery grin, that curled around itself to give the broader impression of a Skull. I didn’t like the wiggly impression it sent through me. Shortly after my eyes hooked onto the spot, I realized I was seeing an illumination emitting from the actual undercarriage of that odd Armored beast. At least it wasn’t coming my way, as I observed the lower body dancing madly and re-situating in some kind of power struggle above the surface.

A second later, an Arrowhead pierced into the mud, severing a portion of the tail. Siggy, I thought. The stroke was followed by a larger scimitar shape of what must've been Pheo’s blade. This lopped away two of about a dozen legs. The crabby thing recoiled & tucked up completely under the surface; and when it did so the hideous Face angled almost squarely toward me. Cranium short and narrow, giving something of a wispy motion, and a muzzle resembling the snout of a Razorback with crooked, pineapple like spines dribbling down around its chin area. I convulsed, as it furiously began digging its way into the swamp bed.

I jolted up from my prostrate position sucking for air in the direction I'd last seen combat taking place. Siggy was actively back-peddling, stunned twitches locking over his tawny face. Pheo was close by in a crouch, hair dangling on the water's surface, scanning the the liquid with machete at attention. Sigmund locked gazes with me as I sprung up. Frantically I gushed, “You hurt it, but It’s burrowing! Run to Gutterson’s now!”