Bad and White, in the woods.

[badinlatin]

Why is this my life?

Blanche and Mal have been walking for the past hour.

A very long hour.

"You do realize that I'm not the Prince you're rutting waiting for," Mal reiterates.

Again.

For the fifth time.

Comments

[badinlatin]

The mob running after Hubert (because like rutting hell would Mal ever call him something respectable like Jack) is about to careen into all of them, but seeing thief and dagger and damsel Mal only has a couple of seconds to spare.

Sort of.

So he moves between the mob and Hubert, hands outstretched to keep one group away from the other.

"Whoa-kay, time for everyone to slow down a tick. Blanche?" Mal asks, all false calmness and aloof attitude, "Do me a favor and keep still, dong ma?"

[ordinary_sorts2]

Blanche whimpers but, miracle of miracles, she holds still.

Jack (who refuses refer to himself as Hubert in his own narration) watches the crowd stop and turns his attention to the man who has stopped them.

"I don't wanna hurt anybody."

He's a society burgular. He doesn't expect people to rush about chasing him.

"He stole the mayor's purse!" someone yells from the crowd.

"And my sister's favorite necklace!"

"And a bun from my cart. With raisins!"

[badinlatin]

"Forget your bun, baker-man; ain't worth it."

"Hey!"

To Hubert: "Do you mind if I, you know -- get a little closer? So's we can talk."

[ordinary_sorts2]

n"All right, but No funny business," Jack-Hubert says. "Or I'll . . . I'll . . . do something drastic."

"Mal, you 'ave to save me," Blanche cries.

[badinlatin]

"Bi zui oh why don't you speak Mandarin," Mal groans.

Business at hand.

Mal steps closer once - twice. His long strides bring him to about a yard in front of Blanche and Hubert, and he can hear the take from the job rattling around in a belt pouch.

Whispering, "How are you thinking on takin' out everyone, and still getting away? Looks like you need some help. The mayor's purse - split that and you've got your man."

[ordinary_sorts2]

Hubert-Jack blinks.

"Wait. You want me to cut you in on the job? Now? After I've done all the hard work?

"I don't think so."

[badinlatin]

"Alright then."

A quick lunge gets Mal in range to punch Hubert in the nose to the sounds of a rather satisfying crunch.

He pulls Blanche by the wrist back to him and picks up Hubert's knife off the ground.

"Ain't even sharp, good gorram."

Disrespecting the career path, Hubert. How rude.

[ordinary_sorts2]

"My 'ero!" Blanche cries, while a cheer goes up from the assembled crowd of pursuers.

Two of the men of the town come forward to drag the quietly whimpering thief off to face his crimes.

A rather round little man with an almost-gold chain across his shoulders comes forward to greet Mal.

"Welcome, welcome, good sir, to Lorlisfax Bridge. I am Sir Lionel, the mayor here. We owe a great deal of thanks."

[badinlatin]

"Perfect! If these thanks could come in the form of directions to Amber, some food, and -- "

See? He does think of Blanche.

" -- a cobbler, that would be great."

[ordinary_sorts2]

"Of course, my good fellow, of course," Sir Lionel says, heartily.

"It's no trouble at all to get to Amber; you just follow the King's Road.

"Come, we will dine, and fix your lady's shoe, and see you safely on your way.

"And you will always have friends here in Lorlisfax Bridge."

[badinlatin]

"Can't have too many o' those, can one."

Things are looking up.










After eating, and reminding Blanche about seventy times that she should play nice with the generous man cobbling her shoe for free, they are prepared to set out on the King's Road towards Amber.

"Traveling with me ain't so bad at all, is it Blanche?"

[ordinary_sorts2]

"It would still be nicer eef you 'ad an 'orse," Blanche says.

Which is sort of like agreeing with him.

A little.

But then, they'll be at the castle soon.

And everything will be all right.

[badinlatin]

"You sound like my mother."

Sallie thinks everything's better if there are horses involved.

"Take it easy, there," Mal calls out to Hubert - now kneeling in the stocks for the earlier theft.

(His wave as they leave town is probably far too chipper.)

[ordinary_sorts2]

Prince Perseus would like to believe it was his unparalleled tracking skills that led him to the tiny hamlet of Lorlifax Bridge.

In fact, when he relates the tale of his heroic pursuit of the Princess Blanche, doubtless the wood will have been twice as thick, the path only half as traveled, and ravening wolves besetting him on all sides.

Here and now, however, he is realizing just how difficult it is to wrest information from a local population that has a great affection for the one whom he seeks to catch. Lesser men would give up in despair.

Greater men would probably utilize tracking skills.

Alas that Perseus is neither.

He sags a little in the center of town, pausing to rest his elbow against --

What ho? Who is this prisoned in the stocks? Is there a nefarious villain ravaging the countryside that he might manage to wrangle back to his home territory, thereby gaining much renown? Could this prince be half so lucky?

He's lucky enough to get Hubert babbling about the vicious mountebank that punched him in the face.

Woe betide that foul creature once Perseus catches up to him. Thinking on what might already have befallen the beauteous Princess Blanche leaves him ill.