Skins and Shirts

“Oh dear.”

“Not again.”

Ben and Thom exchanged a look that asked a rhetorical question. That question was really existential in nature, but mostly it was a contrary bugger intent on making their life as interesting as it possibly could.

“You know,” said Ben, “this reminds me a of City game I went to. Or rather the end of the game, when I was leaving the ground with my ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend.”

Thom utilised another look in his repertoire. This look edged towards a rolling of his eyes, but that rolling never actually transpired, instead it merged with a look of loving indulgence that only a special kind of friend can successfully bestow. Thankfully, Thom was just such a friend and so the look landed fairly well. Wars had been started with an ineptly landed look.

As his bestest friend told him about the rivalry between City and Rovers and how this was always going to bubble over into a friendly exchange of thumps, kicks and light-hearted taps with sticks, punctuated with a well-intentioned lob of a half brick, Thom marvelled at just how extensive Ben’s library of anecdotes was. This was not entirely surprising because Ben’s list of ex-girlfriends was also extensive and many of his anecdotes seemed to include reference to at least one of these lucky ladies. And Thom wasn’t being flippant with that word luck. He’d encountered many several of Ben’s ex-squeezes and they all loved him and the time they had shared together. This, Thom knew, was quite unusual. Nearly as unusual as Ben.

“So there we were, me and Phil, walking towards the Bell and Brush, talking about how Brenda could do this interesting things with her toes, right in the midst of…” Ben was saying.

Thom shook his head, “is this going to take long?”

“It never took long, not when she did the thing with her toes,” chuckled Ben.

Thom raised an eyebrow, but he knew better than to bite. Ben would be right in there with a vivid description of a sordid toe-related act that would indelibly etch itself on the inside of his eye lids. Ben had defiled the inside of Thom’s eyelids one time too many and Thom wasn’t for any more of that erotic eyelid graffiti.

Ben sighed, “well we had a moment like this. Where we unwittingly stepped out from a battle line and into the no man’s land of two opposing sides.”

Ben and Thom gazed about them. This was a very nice spot for a picnic. A green and pleasant hillside with a line of trees gazing down upon a field that spent most of its time indulging a handful of ruminating mammals. Today though, it was busy and a picnic was probably not the wisest of ideas.

However, the lack of ideal picnic conditions was not an impediment for Terry Bull and his team of dedicated food purveyors. This enterprising team were doing a roaring trade selling eggs wrapped in meat. The purchasers of said meat eggs were wise enough not to enquire as to the source or provenance of said meat. Suffice to say that if the field were sentient, it would miss its ruminating chums, and in this loss it would be entirely wrong in its thoughts of the source of the meat wrapped around Terry Bull’s eggs. 

Interestingly, no one thought to ask about the eggs. Which was just as well really.

Ben and Thom watched the proceedings from a spot that afforded them a good view of the two opposing battle lines. This was one of the best seats in the house. Unfortunately, these seats were about to become a stage and the acts upon this stage were going to be very violent indeed.

“At least there’s not a police horse about to mow one of us down,” mused Ben, “I had to pull Phil out of the way of an impressively well-hung stallion.”

Thom’s eyes widened with this todger-related revelation. Only Ben would notice a horse’s willy in a moment of dire peril. Observation was one of his many gifts.

“Whoa!”

This was wailed by a ducking Thom.

“Wow!” gasped Ben as he watched the dragon swoop over their heads before crashing into enemy lines.

The boys watched the trail of destruction that the dragon created. The trail exposed the depth behind the initial lines. There were a lot of soldiers. Or rather, there had been a lot of soldiers. There weren’t quite so many now that a battalion or three had been cremated.

“I don’t think that’s very fair,” muttered Thom.

Ben held up a finger, “I know what you’re saying, and possibly what you’re thinking, but give it a moment before you jump to their defence, OK?”

Thom’s brow creased, but he stayed his hand. Between the two of them they seemed to have a knack. Neither of them knew how the knack worked and they hadn’t tried too hard to suss it out. It was enough that they had the knack and they didn’t want to push it, force it or do anything that might upset it and make it think about leaving them for pastures new. The knack appreciated this and it wished it could communicate its thanks and reassure the lads that it was going nowhere, but unfortunately, the knack would never be able to convey these sentiments or that it too supported City and would like to go to a few more matches with Ben.

Nonetheless, Thom felt an itch that was a prelude to action and only action would scratch this particular itch. His left leg lifted his foot six inches in the air as he tried to remain calm and patient.

“Do you need to pee?” asked Ben.

“What?” asked Thom, then he looked up at his raised leg, “no, I…” he began to explain.

But Ben’s attention was already elsewhere, and when Thom noticed that attention of Ben’s, he swiftly followed suit in time to feel the ground under his right foot tremble in an announcement of a pending eruption and emergence of what looked like a gargantuan worm, because that was exactly what it was, a worm.

This mighty and corpulent worm smashed into the front line of its enemies and thrashed this way and that in what looked like a messy and undisciplined manoeuvre but was in fact highly efficient at reducing the numbers of the enemy in tragically brutal fashion.

“Is that…?” said Thom, stifling the remainder of his words with his hand. Something about what he was seeing made him gag.

“Some sort of mutated acidic slime?” ventured Ben as he looked on in fascination at the partially dissolved corpses of the fallen soldiers.

Thom had composed himself sufficiently to speak again, “that’s deeply unpleasant,” he said. He’d not yet caught a whiff of just how unpleasant it was. In twenty second’s time, he was destined to lose his breakfast.

“Yeah,” agreed Ben, for there was no disagreeing with just how unpleasant the acidic slime secreting worm was, “but then, so is that,” pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the fire breathing reptile barbequing vast swathes of humanoid life.

“Bleurgh!” said Thom in the stead of a more suitable form of agreement.

“You should have had a bacon roll,” observed Ben, “muesli really is not a suitable breakfast in circumstances such as these.”

Thom scowled at Ben. They both knew that these circumstances had not been foreseen, let alone planned for.

Ben met that scowl of Thom’s with a shake of his head. Thom would have been best served with a breakfast of bacon in any case. Bacon was the plan and bacon was the answer, whatever the circumstances or the questions that those circumstances may conjure.

“So…” said Ben surveying the carnage all about them, “I was in two minds as to what we were doing here, let alone which side we were supposed to help out.”

He put his hands on his hips and nodded in determined fashion. He now knew why they were here.

Thom was behind the curve. The discombobulation of his breakfast loss was to blame for this. And this delay left him a witness to Ben’s actions. Trailing in his wake, he desperately attempted to catch up mentally and see if he could find a discarded programme that contained an order of service, or whatever it was that they called the itinerary on battlefields.

What remained of the two battle lines rippled with grim and violent intent. Generals rode three-legged steeds along their lines and prepared for the fatal action their men would take. 

It was all about to kick off, and then some!

STOP!

Ben shouted this, and yet he did not. It wasn’t a shout and it was far more than a shout. What it most certainly was, was a noise that got everyone’s attention.

The strange man rose up into the air between the assembled warriors. This was a man who was strange wherever he went, but was even more strange on a planet that had never come up with the concept of a clown, let alone executed it. This was a man made stranger still by his casual contempt of the force of gravity.

Thom watched his friend and considered joining him in the air, but decided against it. His aerial abilities were no match for his friend, and he was still to catch up with what Ben was intent upon.

HOLD YOUR HORSES!

Bellowed Ben inside the minds of everyone assembled. There was much puzzlement at this. Only two of those present knew what a horse was, so there was something quite disconcerting about being asked to hold an object of indeterminate shape and nature, more so by a floating man garbed in a garish and odd manner. A really pale and hungry looking man at that. This last was because Ben also happened to be a zombie. 

Ben looked about him and picked up on the confused consternation of his audience.

WAIT!

This order was far clearer, but the confusion remained. These warriors were here to do a job and up until a minute ago, they thought their blood was up. It still was, but now they weren’t sure what they were supposed to kill. The prospect of killing the strange floating man was something that went beyond daunting, popped into a dark and unsavoury alley and whispered promises that were most unsavoury.

The brave, but not entirely stupid, warriors decided waiting was a good idea, but were not clear as to why it was a good idea. This avoidance strategy was largely wise, barring the dragon and worm wreaking awful destruction in the ranks of these soldiers. There remained a huge desire to run and keep running. Swinging an axe or sword or hammer and shouting a lot was also a desirable course of action for all assembled.

“Take your shirt off,” Ben whispered to his chum.

“Why?” asked Thom. Thom was one of those sorts who wasn’t comfortable with mindlessly obeying anyone, even his bestest friend. He’d have made an awful soldier and he’d been a poor employee according to the sorts of bosses who only wanted people to mindlessly obey and of course take the blame in the aftermath of a set of badly executed and ill thought out orders.

“Your skins and I’m shirts,” explained Ben.

“Oh,” said Thom, not quite so mindlessly removing his shirt. This was a habit born of a childhood of playing team games that required one team to remove their shirts in order to be differentiated from the other team. This was why girls did not play with boys. 

For slightly different and even more sensible reasons, there were no girls present on the field right now. Not unless you included the dragon and the worm.

RIGHT YOU LOT, YOU’LL WAIT HERE AND WATCH WHILE WE SORT THIS OUT, OK?

Ben looked around him for a response that did not materialise.

OK?!

The assembled nodded and shuffled around uncomfortably. Most of their discomfort was being generated by the ongoing carnage being wreaked by dragon and giant worm.

“Right mate,” said Ben, and before Ben went on with his plan, Thom knew that he had drawn the short straw, “you grab that worm and follow me.”

Thom wanted to protest. He also wanted to cry. His overwhelming urge to cry silenced him and secured his wormy fate.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he took to the skies unsteadily, muttering the immortal words, “not again.”

From his elevated position he saw the worm bestowing wrigglesome death upon the amassed ranks of soldiers, and he knew he had to act. Just as he was about to dive down and do his worst, or his best, or something somewhere between those two, he heard a voice. His friend’s voice.

“Here mate! Use these!” cried Ben as he threw two objects towards Thom.

Thom caught them and examined them for just one moment. Gauntlets! Top notch! He would thanks his friend later. These hand garments were just the ticket. He donned them and swooped down to battle with the wriggly-war-worm. 

Grabbing its tail, Thom pulled for all he was worth, backwards and upwards he pulled, removing the worm from the ranks and saving many a soldier from a slimy death.

There was a chorus of cheers as Thom removed the worm related danger and he realised that those cheers were being echoed from behind him. Risking a look over his shoulder he saw his bestest friend dragging the fearsome dragon away in a similar manner.

Ben turned to his friend and grinned, but his grin was short-lived, “look out!” he shouted to Thom.

Thom heeded that warning and in the nick of time. The huge worm’s tail was opening up before his very eyes and the revealed aperture contained row after row of pointy teeth.

“You have got to be kidding me,” sighed Thom, but the worm wasn’t, and as though to prove its point, it swung it’s other end around to show Thom another gaping maw containing far too many teeth. A dentists dream was that second mouth.

“Swing it this way!” cried Ben.

Thom nodded affirmation, now understanding Ben’s simple plan. Let the titans fight and save the warriors pointless deaths against creatures they had no hope of defeating. Or something like that anyway.

Thom braced himself in readiness for the swing that would bring the goliaths together and enjoined in a bitter fight to the death.

SPLOOP!

Thom’s world was transformed in a thrice. In his past life, Thom had been floating in air and unencumbered by anything other than the worm in his gauntleted hands. Now he was encased in a moist material that made him feel about as unclean as he had ever felt. Worse still, he could feel a strange fizzing sensation and too late did he realise that this was the effects of the acidic slime that the worm not only secreted but apparently also spat from its many toothed gob.

Thom would have given forth with an EWWW! But had the presence of mind not to open his mouth. With a grim and blind determination, he swung the wriggling menace around towards his friend and the dragon. 

SLAP!

Even in his blind state, Thom was safe in the knowledge that worm had come together with dragon. His slime muffled ears heard the roar of the dragon and he felt the struggles of the worm as it fought for its very life.

He thought it about time to let go of the hideous creature and gently fall back and away from the danger it and the dragon presented.

“Oof!” Thom cried involuntarily as he landed heavily on the ground.

“Oh sh…” he began as the folly of his initial utterance made itself known and the slime entered his mouth.

“Bleurgh,” was the sound of him expelling said slime and last night’s tea. Not dinner. Dinner was for special occasions.

Rolling to his hands and knees, he attempted to shake the slime from him in a fashion approximating a dog ridding itself of rain drops. Thom was no dog, but somehow he did a good de-sliming job of it all the same.

As he dared open his eyes, he saw the familiar oversized shoes of his chum, “has it worked?” he gasped.

“It’s working” was Ben’s reply, “and everyone’s watching the fight. Those guys are back with the meat wrapped eggs. Fancy one?”

Thom gagged, “not right now, no.”

“Think I’ll have two,” said Ben. Ben always seemed to be hungry.

“Ben?” said Thom, “before you go?”

“Yes,” asked Ben warily.

“Why’d I get the worm?” asked Thom.

“It was your turn,” replied Ben.

“But you have the everything-proof and self-cleaning clothing,” pointed out Thom.

“That’s why I got you to be skins,” Ben told him.

Thom smiled and a flame of hope ignited within him, with that hope came energy and purpose. Almost springing to his feet, he reached out his hand for his shirt, asking, “so where is it?”

“Ah,” said Ben.

“Ah?” enquired Thom.

“It’s there,” said Ben.

“Where?” asked Thom, before looking over at where Ben was pointing, “under that pile of slime?”

“Unfortunately, so,” Ben confirmed, “you sure you don’t want a meaty egg?”

“Can I wear it?” asked Thom tersely.

Ben shrugged, “not unless you want to sport a pretty obscene and quite likely illegal look,” he grinned before wandering off to find a purveyor of meaty, egg based snacks.

Watching him go, Thom became acutely aware of his nakedness. Later, he would wonder and worry at a few things that vexed him. 

Why he always ended up naked. 

Why he didn’t think to ask Ben to provide him with clothes when his bestest buddy always had garments available in his pocket.

And what kind of meat it was that surrounded those eggs. Surely something so tasty shouldn’t have fizzed as you bit into it?