The pair eyed Batya Belef toiling beneath his mashina. Of course, the mischievous spunk activated Gass-Boy to action: He scooped up a handful of wet snow and quickly packed it into a ball in the palms of his dirty gloves. Malinconico’s eyes darted from Gass-Boy’s hands to the supine gentleman, putting together what was about to take place and took a few steps backward.
Gass-Boy launched the snowball in a long arc. The projectile splatted on the asphalt inches from Belef’s head. Eyes locked and the flight response kicked in.
Gass-Boy and Malinconico fled from the Nottingham Weg as fast as the thick snowfall would allow. Through the Olkiewicz marshes and Condemnation Alley they pushed onward. A backwards glance showed Belef slipping on the slick ground even as he was gaining in pursuit.
Teary panic set in as the furley youth reached the Sheffield verandah with the man on their heels.
The young men slid to a stop in front of Courier One, his arms folded. They spun around to see Batya Belef standing there, arms also folded.
Silent disapproval often seems the loudest.
As often realised in hindsight, our proximity to trickster archetypes acts as cautionary tales to guide our witnesses down the road.
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