“Alright, I’ll take it from here on out Harry.” Cecile said. She worked her fingers underneath the dinosaur mask and started ripping it off, her hair coming loose underneath the gaps of plastic like straw-textured blood in the very visceral decapitation performed. Harrogate unstrapped his leather pieces, ripping the belts off him and closing his exposed chest with his robe.

Turnus put his hands on his ass cheeks and tried to stop the air from entering his crack. It didn’t work. He got the shivers.

“I don’t think so, Cecile.” Harrogate said.

“No, no. Hear me out Harry. We’ll go assassinate each one of these mafiosos.” She started leaning over and acting. Again. “We’ll go in, pew pew. Swish swish. The blood - Oh god, all over my face. It’s her, Cecile. Pew pew. Get what I’m saying?”

“No. Not a clue.” Harrogate said. “We’re not killing anyone.”

“Why not Harry, they’re chasing after us. We’ll kill em and rip off the millions in their vaults. It’ll be the perfect plan.”

“We wouldn’t last ten seconds before they killed us brutally.”

“Then we’ll kill ‘em in nine.” Cecile said.

Harrogate shook his head and leaned over the wall, his face towards the sidewalk where a white striped man at a street corner turned. So he turned, back in.

“There’s too many of them. We couldn’t kill one of them before the others got rid of us. So we’re not going to try going for them.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“What are we going to do?” Ceciled asked.

“Hey. I feel a little cold.” Turnus wrapped the leather straps around his bare ass. His face went tight. “And now I feel a little hot.”

Harrogate walked over to him, going through the gentle flowing blankets and shirts of linen wrung underneath drying ropes. They stretched across the alley, up above the brick roofs of the little gothic-looking homes.

Harrogate found the bottle and popped it up. He passed the flask to Turnus.

“We’re going to apologize to Aldous.”

“We’re what?” Cecile asked.

“You heard me. It’ll be easier dealing with him than everyone else. Go say sorry and be done with it, we can leave tomorrow morning and hopefully I can get paid by then.”

Turnus drank, his eyes widen open as he looked from in between the two.

“I’m not apologizing to that freak.”

“You’re going to have to.” Harrogate said. “I’m not going to get hunted down. I don’t want to turn head around every corner waiting for the knife in my back, I lived that life already. Not again.”

“Harry. Harry. Harry.” She raised her hands. “He’s a pervert, Harry. The guy dreams of toes and sleeps on feet. He’s a creep.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a foot fetish. There are worse things, trust me.” He shivered. The elf. The orc. Him in the corner getting - nevermind. “Much. Much. Worse things.”

“But Harry.” She moaned. “He tried to feel my feet up.”

“Let him god damn massage you then. Let him take pictures. Let him paint your nails, whatever, just get him to stop hunting us down.” He said.

She scratched the back of her head. Her body went in and out of the racks of clothes, a woman with a pipe leered over a balcony with the smoke of tobacco enveloped around her like a shawl. She huffed at Harrogate.

“So you’re saying I just need to get him to stop the hit on us?” She turned to Harrogate, finger pointed.

“Y-yeah. But I don’t like that look on your face.” He said.

“You said it. All I need to do is make sure he never. Ever, hunts us down ever again. Right?”

Turnus took the bottle out of his mouth. It thumped from the suction. His eyes came about that yellow glaze, his body teetered both directions. Then his head leaned away. He pointed at Cecile.

“Oh. I don’t like that look.” Turnus said. “Why are you smiling?”