Suffer the Little Animals
Part Seven (or, the Elizabethan chapter)
Author's Super Ultra Quick Note:
All right, you little monkeys, listen up. For those of you who have never read anything by Shakespeare or any other "really, really old and dead" writers, you may be lost as far as the dialogue goes. I do this to torture you all. And I like Shakespeare. So there. Has anybody ever read a play called A Midsummer Night's Dream? It is a cool play. S'got fairies. Hee hee.
* * *
(We see Totokeke now, playing a lute instead of his usual guitar. This confuses us. He's also dressed like something out of the Renaissance era.)
Totokeke: (Sings.)
My heart doth weep
For the sorrowful beasts,
At the mercy of hither villain
That hails from the east.
(We now cut to Octavian and Opal waddling through the woods. I'm not exactly sure how an octopus would waddle, being that it has tentacles instead of feet. Then again, I'm not sure how an octopus would be able to stay alive on land for very long. Then again, I'm not sure about a great many number of things. ARGHY BLARGHY! MY MIND!)
Octavian: I feel that we should travel not in yonder woods on this night, my dear lady. Methinks we would be safer in yon cabins, away from the ever-present danger of the devilish rogue who roams the sylvan settings long after the sun has laid its head to rest among the heavens.
Opal: Aye, for even the ever-snooty Opal feels the cold breath of fear upon the back of her neck, calling out for her to turn and face its hideous countenance only to find that it is Death itself, in all its ungodliness.
Octavian: A terrible thought!
Opal: Indeed, I have dedicated great thought to it, and it never ceases to arouse old nightmares and visions I had as but a calf. Perhaps it would be best if we dismiss such depraved fantasies. The night is young, let us find the counselors.
(There is a snapping of twigs. Someone starts "singing" the Friday the 13th theme, which is basically just saying "choo-choo-choo, ha-ha-ha, chi-chi-chi" in a spooky whisper.)
Octavian: Hark! What are these reverberations that befall upon mine ears?
Opal: I hear no such noises. Thou art but a lowly octopus; thou dost not possess ears in any way, shape or form.
Octavian: Have I not?
Opal: Foolish mollusk, thou have not.
Octavian: Ah, but if an octopus were not to possess a pair of ears, then why is it that an octopus can hear a stuttering oaf such as thou, and still be able to comprehend such nonsense that spills out the orifice labeled as thy mouth.
Opal: I object to such insults, sir!
Octavian: … Quoth the beast who art no smarter than a dumb moose.
Opal: Now, see hear, good sir-! (Is interrupted by a Jason, who is standing over the two little animals, wielding a machete.)
Jason: …
Opal: Who goes there, oh masked stranger?
Jason: (Says nothing, but for some strange reason, subtitles appear at the bottom of the screen, as if he were speaking in another language, which he isn't.) (Lo, a more capricious zephyr has more design than I, for I have resolv'd to murder thou forthwith.)
Opal: Surely you jest with us, kind sir.
Jason: (Lo, I do not.)
Octavian: If I may quickly interject, but how dost thou understand yonder masked wastrel?
Opal: Why, the subtitles at the bottom of the screen, foolish knave.
Octavian: Ah, but of course.
Jason: (Do not detain me from slaughtering thou like lambs for a feast, for I am resolute to see what the color of thy blood is.)
Opal: My blood, good sir?
Jason: (Aye, your blood.)
Octavian: Opal, I fear we must quit this place forthwith, before thy masquerading scoundrel decides to give us the taste of his cold, steel blade.
Jason: (Ah, but my mind has already been made. I shall tickle thy ribs with the blade of my machete; I am your angel of death, sent to snuff the fickle candle that is your mortality. But do not struggle, for the more difficult thou dost maketh it for me, the longer and more painful thy death shalt be. So, greet thy doom with open arms, and it shalt be easier for all of us.)
Opal: But why dost thou wish to kill us?
Jason: (I am not at liberty to say, for I am but a simple monster, who knows nothing but seething abhorrence for all who come to hither cursed campgrounds. I shalt rest not, until the death of my mother hast been avenged with the blood of every fool who sets foot upon these grounds.)
Octavian: Opal, let us not stay at this place! We must flee, so that we may have a chance to live to see the light of another sunrise!
Jason: (I shalt not give thee that pleasure. Die, damned dog!) (Swings the machete in one clean sweep, lopping off Octavian's head. Just before the little octopus dies, he manages to squirt a considerable amount of ink, so that Jason has now been splattered with both blood and ink.)
Opal: Oh, cursed monster! Oh, lowly beast! Poor Octavian was not even a dog, but an octopus!
Jason: (I know this.)
Opal: Then why didst thou call him a damned dog?
Jason: (None of thy beeswax.)
Opal: I suppose that this be the part where I run hither and scream like a banshee as thou chases me through yonder woods.
Jason: (I shalt give thee a head start.)
Opal: I thank thee. (Runs hither and screams like a banshee as Jason chases her through yonder woods… argh, this way of speaking is hard to get out of. Opal is running still when she trips over a tree root. She picks herself up off of the ground and looks around the woods, terrified. There seems to be no sign of Jason, and yet the theme music is still playing. You know, the "choo-choo-choo, ha-ha-ha, chi-chi-chi" noises. You ever try doing that when you're alone with someone in a dark room on a dark and stormy night? S'fun. Wheeeeee!)
Opal: Who goest there?
(No answer. The theme music is still playing. Opal starts backing up, looking at where Jason should be coming from. She then backs into something. She turns around and looks up to see Jason's silhouetted form. She screams, and Jason brings down his machete and proceeds to chop Opal in half vertically. There's blood and elephant guts everywhere. Truly, it's just awful.)
(We then cut to Lobo and Blanca, who are still wandering through the woods. Lobo's ears perk up, as Opal's final scream is more than audible.)
Lobo: What was that?
Blanca: Faith, I know not, for no sound has passed into mine ears save the chirping of crickets, snapping of twigs 'neath our paws, and the voices in my head speaking in a Spanish tongue.
Lobo: …Why are you talking like that?
Blanca: How have I wronged thee with my speech?
Lobo: Like that! You're talking like something out of Hamlet! What is wrong with you? What is wrong with this place?
Blanca: I do not understand what thou means by that, good sir. I only know of my love for monkeys and shining metallic objects.
Lobo: You know what? Just forget I said anything. This place is a regular funny farm. (Grumbles to himself beneath his breath.)
Blanca: Dost thou thinkest me mad?
Lobo: Put a sock in it!
(Behind a tree, well out of the sight of Blanca and Lobo, Totokeke is playing the lute again, occasionally blowing the feather from his hat that falls in front of his little doggie face.)
Totokeke: (Sings.)
Our hapless heroes are still lost
In yonder never-ending wood,
And yet they persist onward,
In the name of all that is good. (Stops singing.) This epic of folly and carnage shalt be continued in Part Eight of Suffer the Little Animals! (Exeunt.)
