Lord BigBalls, Supreme Commander of the Army of Snarkia, looked around the table. “Are we in agreement?”
They nodded. Lord Pusiwhipt of Land Ownership, Lord Corrup of Treasury, Lord Retard of State Affairs. What a CABAL! sneered BigBalls inwardly. Bunch of Marys. Sure it was about assassinating that pussy of a king, Fairi Kween of Rabbitania, but still! A muffin probably had more backbone than these three.
“Good,” said BigBalls CRISPly.
They left. BigBalls threw off the heavy hood and cloak. Disguises sucked. Well, almost the end of this fun ENTERPRISE.
“My lord, the DRAGOON is here,” came the voice of sniveling RETAINER Frickin STRAUSS in the outer chamber.
“Oh. Yes.” The specially trained dragoon to accompany the lord across the dangerous highlands to view those pesky border tribes. The Hins? Huns? Whatever. They’d kicked Nero’s ass but what can you expect from a drunk.
“Says he has new heavy armor.”
“He has specific instructions… he will help you put it on.”
What? BigBalls turned around. “Can’t you do it?”
“No… he says only he can.”
BigBalls glanced through the peephole. Big pile of metallic armor. The dragoon looked forbidding. BigBalls turned back. Drat! Palace intrigues were nothing. The Church, an inconvenience. Wars were fun. But this! BigBalls stared in the mirror at her nicely shaped boobs. The dragoon would be pretty surprised to see those. No, Supreme Snarkian Commander could not be a woman. She sighed. Male chauvinists were so fragile.
Miss Snark feels an identity crisis coming on.