@jadesondondrite

‘Pressgang X’.

Jade: “I was running circles ‘round her clitty, as you do’ then bam! Got straight in there. Hehe. Made her cream.”

Mikail: “You’re wicked, man.” Jade: “I know.” “What are you two talking about?” Lucy came over and sat directly between the two men of the Goode Lorde. “Nuffin’ for your sweet ears babes.” Jade kissed her on her right ear and goes to stoke the fire a bit more. Michael sez, “Huh. Luce, ‘member the boat times?” “Yeah. Which ones though?” Answers the sweet angel of L.ight. “When you had a mangina.” Breezily chuckled Michael and comfortably leant himself back onto an elbow. One leg was lain straight and ‘tother cocked at the knee. His garbs were of garbled white. No dirt. Honest. Lucy laughed to herself before she laughed a little more audibly. “Always had one – he’s over there. Jay, Mike sez you’ve got a mangina.” Jade, from beside the campfire essential exclaims, “I’m Olde Gregge!” And reveals his underwear from weneath his jade green, clean thobe. “D’you know what, right?” Jade says “What?” She answers. “Well, I’ve just had the notion or idea that we should call ourselves ‘The Press Gang’. What do you think? Gabe! Hey, Gabe!” “What?” The Archangel Gabriel was over by the mouth of the cave in a black and red thobe, himself blind-folded with a red blindfold, practising some ancient, arcane tai-chi based system of moves. “You know what right? I was just thinking….how’s about I call Us, ‘The Press Gang?” “Why?” Fished the Master as he continued his moves, cooly. The night had begun drawing in and the sky began turning a cobalt blue from a brighter one earlier. Jade walked over and leant onto the side of the cave’s mouth, a foot lightly caressing its edge, wearing green, vegan, Timberland booties. As he came closer to the Angel that he literally owed his entire education to whilst he had spent his time living on Earth, he noticed that Gabriel had a slight scratch behind his right ear. Probably acquired from off of a bramble or thorn as they had collected firewood earlier. “Dunno. I think that we’ll write all this down one day, you know, kinda, I don’t know….immortalise it. For God. Ah, friggin’ ‘ell. Watch out, Bro – He’s, He’s back. Mind your back. Grab your stick.” The atmosphere of the camp changed in an instant from peace to panic. Gabby groaned from toward the back of the cave. “Tch! Ahhhh! Not ‘im again!” It was ‘The Watcher”. For the fourth time that week. “Is it the prose or the pose which maketh the man” Jade sighed. “Gabe, grab your stick, Mr. Biscuits is back.” Gabe raised the right side of his red bandana cum blindfold and ceased his katas. ‘Mr. Biscuits’, he’d been dubbed. ‘He’, or at least they supposed ‘it’, being a ‘he’, had been the bane of their lives ever since they’d reached the otherside. They’d called what they’d later come to know as ‘The Watcher’ ‘Mr. Biscuits’ on account of him being a bit dodgy looking, like those edible food-like substances that the English had gone a bit mad for once upon a time. Mr. Biscuits’ tentacles quickly embraced the full cave mouth and he unwelcomedly forced his big, fat, eye-ball self into it, muttering something that sounded remarkably like Olde English London BackSlang, reversed and amplified loudly. Almost deafeningly so. Gabby was the first to take up arms. “Go away you friggin’ twat. You’re not wanted!” But it was of no use. Mr. Biscuits had foreseen what he wanted, and set about claiming it. Gabby went straight at him. Stabbing her long wooden javelin at the monster in a desperate but controlled fashion. “It’s okay, Gabby. I got it.” Michael had already climbed to his feet. “ALRIGHT, YOU, YOU…BISCUIT! HERE AM I! DO YOUR VERY WORST, YOU BOTHERSOME, BRUTISH, BALL OF BALEFULNESS!” This seemed to please Mr. Biscuits everso. He’d been focussing his efforts on attempting to rend Gabby’s Javelin off of her. She’d been giving him a right good rogering with the pointy end and was indeed having a decent go of it. The miscreant, mischievous eyeball with no eyelid turned toward Michael who had taken to standing with his arms wide open in a Christ-Like pose. Everybody in the cave had risen to their feet now, including DanHeart who didn’t quite know whether he should run and try to punch the eye in it’s ‘face’, or take a step back. His golden skin glistened with Angelic moisture in the humid evening all-the-while. He decided quickly to take up a semi-sprung fighting stance, poised, in a realm which lay between the two decisions. Once again, for the fourth time this week, Mr. Biscuits had unceremoniously claimed his prize. The Archangel Michael.