A/N: To be completely honest, I'm rather disappointed that my story got about fifty times more hits than I got reviews. Oh well, such is the harsh reality of fanfiction. Anyway, I hope the three who left me reviews enjoy this chapter, AND they all get cookies. I bet all the rest of you wish you all had cookies. Oh, and I hope that anyone else who enjoys it this time around leaves a good word. Y'know, cause that's real encouraging and all...
Ch.2: Demon Dogs and the Most Graceful Leap In the Universe!
The fat Spaniard turned to face our semi-competent hero and grasped his hatchet tightly.
Meanwhile, Leon had finished scolding himself and suddenly whipped a photo out of his cargo pocket, startling the homely man before him with his snazzy photo whipping skills.
Stopped dead with Leon holding the photo just fractions of an inch before his face, the man made eye contact with his foe, stimulating undesired conversation. Leon was much faster than he had anticipated.
Leon drew a deep breath to start shouting, because he figured that if talking at normal volume in a language the guy didn't speak didn't get him anywhere, then shouting ought to get something across. "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL! RUMOR IS THAT YOU BASTARDS CAPTURED HER!"
The man chortled. "Ah. Entonces eres el idiota que mandaron para rescatarla?" ("Ah. Then you're the idiot they sent to rescue her.") He shook his head and clucked his tongue. "La pobre..." ("Poor thing...)
"Damn!" Leon said, slapping himself in the forehead. "The SOB's still speaking Spanish!" ...as if he ought to be speaking English by now. Leon rubbed his temples and sat down at the man's dinner table. "Man, I think this job might be too much for me."
The man joined him. "Crees que si?" ("You think so?)
"I mean, they never mentioned anything about foreign language! Even the Policia spoke English!"
He gave Leon a surprised look. "En serio? No te habian mencionado nada del idioma?" ("Seriously? They hadn't mentioned anything to you about the language?")
"Nothing! I got nothing to work with here!"
"Pues, se como es. Lo tengo todo muy duro tambien." ("Well, I know how it is. I've got it all pretty hard, too.")
"I'll bet you have it hard-- I mean, you live in a freaking craphole. Like living in a freaking armpit."
Fat man looked around and shrugged. "Es verdad." ("That's true.")
Leon sighed and stood up. "Well, I kinda have a job to do." He had to stop and think about what he just said.
"Y yo tambien."("As do I.") The fat man said, standing up to meet him.
Yeah... A job to do." He confirmed to himself, taking the fat man's hand and shaking it. He turned and started heading to the door.
"Oye, mis vecinos estan esperandote afuera, asi que ten cuidadito." ("Hey, my neighbors are waiting for you outside, so be careful.") The fat man called after him.
"Yeah, gotcha." Leon stepped out the door, waving off the Spaniard's last comment. As he walked down the overgrown path from the house, he burped and then suddenly realized how hungy he was. Yes, hungy. Leon knows no grammar or spelling. How badly he wanted some peanut butter toast right then and there could never be expressed in words. Or maybe it could. But he's not the most articulate guy around. Anyway, that was when he felt the scythe handle smack the back of his head.
A fountain of unwritable expletives poured out of our hero's mouth as he cradled the huge goose egg on his head in his hands. Furious, he swung around ready to beat the living crap out of the first living thing he laid eyes on. And darn it all, it was the only thing that could put a damper on his fury; a party of three armed Ganados, and he couldn't believe what they were saying.
"Cabron!"
"Miralo! Esta vivo!"
"Te voy a hacer picadillo!"
It was time to put the smack down. He would tolerate no more of this "foreign language" crap. "Y'all want some of this?"
The Ganados stopped and stared.
He drew his handgun and cocked it. "Come get some!" he declared, gun brandished, with his free hand beckoning them in that hardcore Kung-fu style.
The youngest glanced questioningly at his older and fatter counterparts, who just shrugged in reply. Plucking up his courage, he pulled a scythe out that was magically magnetized to his rear and charged. "AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Leon got out his combat knife, but then decided in favor of roundhouse kicking the guy in the side of the head instead of attempting to hack him limb from limb. Then he capped him once and declared him dead. Leon was feeling really cool until he remembered Hatchetman and Pitchforkman still wanted a piece, that he, quite frankly, was not ready to dish. He suddenly remembered he valued his life far more than anything else, and thus pushed past his foes, running as fast as his little legs could carry him.
As soon as he reached the road, he heard tires squeal and what sounded oddly similar to the only bridge out of town being destroyed along with the Policia's SUV go crashing into the ravine. But hey, that's just what it sounded like.
Nevertheless, he didn't bother to go see, as he didn't care much for the Policia, and he wouldn't have gone anyway, because he was being pursued by a couple of bloodthirsty maniacs.
The tannish-brownish-yellowish scenery seemed to fly past him. He picked up at least three more raving psychos along the way, making him feel like he was heading the pack in some sort of large and reputable marathon. He'd always wanted to be a marathon runner. Of course, he was never willing to put in the endless hours of training, but that didn't stop him from aspiring to it. Actually, it would have been nice to succeed in anything, but what can you do?
A whimpering, whelping sound drifted into his ear, and as soon as he put two and two together, an awkward-looking husky dog came into view. It appeared to be caught in a bear trap. He dashed past the dog, laughing heartily at its misfortune.
One of his pursuers suddenly collapsed, his leg caught in a bear trap. The thought never crossed Leon's mind that there could be more than one trap set in the area. He began tiptoeing and prancing his way through the field as traps snapped at him left and right. While striking a ballet pose to dodge a hatchet, he became painfully aware of the tripwire that was rapidly approaching. It was hooked up between two trees to something that looked suspiciously like dynamite on both ends. Dynamite or not, he had to take his chances.
He sped up his pace and performed the most graceful leap the world had ever seen. The kind you could watch in slow mo and put to classical music. But, unfortunately, the only people to witness such a feat clotheslined the booby trap and were vaporized, even the guy standing ten feet up the hill.
Leon brushed the villager dust off his clothes and determined it was safe to go back and laugh at the trapped dog, so he did just that.
"HA HA HA! YOU STUPID DOG!"
The dog whined and looked up at him pitifully.
Leon snorted. "It's your own fault you got in there. Why don't you figure out a way to get yourself out?" He snickered; the dog would never win.
The dog stopped struggling and hung its head. When the dog didn't move for a while, Leon got a bit nervous. He began reaching out his hand when suddenly the husky snapped at him. He shrieked and recoiled. Its furious eyes met his and the beast began growling and snarling wildly.
"YOU'LL RUE THE DAY YOU CROSSED ME!" The dog's demon voice bellowed, sending a wave of evil energy over the field, flattening all the grass. Then it disappeared in a cloud of blood-red and black smoke, leaving Leon to think about what he just did.
That was another one of those moments that he wished hadn't happened, so he stood up and continued on his way as if nothing had happened.
To Be Continued... Next chapter: Character Building Riots! Will Leon put an end to all the Spanish Speaking, or be torn apart doing it!
