A 1-post collection

Challenge #01115-C018: On the Road Between Nowt and Nowhere

"Is your brain EVER attached to your mouth?" -- Knitnan

Of all the demons in all the multiverse that Raflgast the Sable could have snagged, he had to ensnare one who was lacking a brain-to-mouth bypass. And not much going on in their brain, by the sound of things.

"...Na if yer goin' wi' a cosine limit between plus an' minus Plank's by Pi by th' factor o' current gravity in inches per second per second..."

"Demon," Raflgast growled.

"...the relative brane strength o' this reality aught tae--" she finally interrupted her own prattling. "Yeah?"

"Is it possible for you to close that mouth and not make a sound for five consecutive miles?"

"Which ones? Ye got Kleesto miles, Fallarin miles, Geddari miles, an' Torbun miles tae say the least. And then ye got whatever local flavour of miles those wee markers plot out, ye ken. Ye got yerself a very confusin' measurin' system is all I'm sayin'."

"Just don't say anything! I am trying to concentrate."


"A spell to properly control you. I don't need a half-wild demon on my hands if I'm to journey into a heavily populated area..."

Shayde joined in, "Because me insatiable bloodlust will cause havok among the people, too many deaths tae bear, alarm an' despondency, dogs an' cats livin' tae'gether, blah blah blah blah blah... Hae ye never thought that I'm no' a demon? I'm just some luckless schlub as landed in t' wrong time an' place?"

"I'm certain you'd love me to believe that of you, demon. Now silence your ever-flapping maw until I give you leave to speak!"

"If ye let me write it down, I would'nae have tae think out loud," argued Shayde for what felt like the millionth time.

"Ha! As if I would surrender my magical ink and paper to the likes of you."

"Ugh. So gimmie a stick o' charcoal an' a piece o' bark, I don't care. Jus' le'me think about where I am and what sort'a fix I'm in... And if there's anythin' tae be done..."

"The sooner you submit to my will, the sooner you will earn you leave to return to the bowels of the pit from whence you came, foul shade."

She blew a raspberry. At least she was silent thereafter. For the passage of six mile markers, when she said, "Are we there yet?"

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