Fleeing Into the Night

There are several rules by which I lead my life.  It seems pertinant to review them here.

First, go where the hot chicks are going.  This is the principle by which 'Ladies Night' is a popular feature at bars and clubs.

She eyed me rather derisively, "Whatever it take to get you out the door.  Now get your pants on."

"Fine, fine," and I fumbled into my jeans.  My eyes kept going back and forth between her curves and that sword slung on her hip.  She kept both eyes on me and one hand on the hilt.

That brings us to the second rule, avoid people who carry weapons, especially medeival ones as the person is more likely to be not only violent but weird and unpredictable.

"You say we're not safe here," I challenged while pulling on the dirty T-shirt and reaching for my sweater, "but how do I know I'll be safer out there with you?"

"You don't," she spat, then nailed me square in the chest with my shoes.  I was about to ask the usual impertinant question about what would happen if I didn't, but she just glared and slid the sword out an inch or two.

This highlights the third rule, the weapon rule.  There are a lot of variations, but it comes down to the person with the best weapon gets to make the rest of the rules.  And so it was that I went fleeing into the night with a beautiful, mysterious, archaically armeed woman.

The End

35 comments about this story Feed