Unprepared Castaway Chapter 4

> Greg wore a grin that, had anyone seen it, would have had them quietly backing away and bolting their doors. Fortunately for him, no-one did, partially because of his motorcycle helmet hiding his face, but mostly because he was in a different universe from anyone who knew what a 'grin' was. > Then the grin was joined by the chainsaw, and things got a whole lot worse. > "Right," declared Greg, suitably armed for his task. "I need water. The freaky poison tree has water. Time to teach it to share." LUL > Chainsaws weren't generally the quietest tools around Well, that's the understatement of the century. LUL > He swore again—this time rather more colourfully, both metaphorically and literally LUL > Regardless of comprehension, any human present would be able to take a reasonable guess at the topic, simply based on timing and the fact that they were where a human really shouldn't be. Heh. I had to read this a second time to get the joke at the end there. > At that display, almost every shape upon the cubes started making noises all at once, Crepusculum Concilio subject to more activity than it had experienced in a hundred pulses. Why does a gathering of creatures that don't speak any human language have a name that's in Latin. (Though, I must admit, "Twilight Council" is a pretty cool name.) > It burned a little, but not anywhere nearly as bad as when he'd breathed its fumes earlier. Alcohol? Yeah, that's probably too optimistic. > On the downside, it no longer anything. He had no feeling at all, nor could he move it. Yikes. That's not good. > Another trip down the hill, this time travelling light, followed by a brisk walk to the unidentified pool of glowing blueness, was enough time for the blisters to spread halfway up his arm. That's *really* not good! > His flesh had taken on a blue tint, too, but at least had the common decency to not be luminescent. Heh. > "Screw this. I'm going to bed." LUL. As am I. It's 1 AM here.

Tim Burget