You've Got Another Thing Coming

So, to conclude the immediate events of my life at that moment:

I was sitting on a very uncomfortable wooden log.
This was placed outside some sort of tent.
This tent was located on the premises that went under the subject of lands occupied by a certain notorious villain called Robin Hood.
Aforementioned man had placed me and my husband under the care of an over-emotional hippo-shaped man, because Robin Hood had made off to see that I and my husband were to be executed for his – Robin Hood’s – own gory fun.

Now, let me tell you that I am extremely happy to be writing that sentence in a past tense, because that means I am all done and over with it, but there is one thing I think I might have forgotten to mention to you, as if you would ever forget: in the previous chapter I fell in love with my husband.

Gasp, you say, and I agree. Gasp indeed.

I shall make the retelling of the hours that passed after the revelation – this being me and Cherokee understanding we were in love and, for some reason, meant to be together – somewhat short, as it consisted of nothing more than Cherokee and I holding hands and staring deeply into each other’s eyes as Roderick our warden wept piteously into his hankie because of all the romance.

It never dawned on us that we should try and escape, because we were too wrapped up in each other to notice such trivial things like impending death and everlasting doom.
This went on for, as I said before, a couple of hours. Then it chanced that Robin Hood happened to walk past our little scene of impenetrable happiness and take note of how joyful his hostages seemed, and how copiously his entrusted man sobbed.
This seemed a curious thing to him, and so he walked up to the man, Roderick, and patted him on the shoulder. As Roderick turned his crying face towards Hood, Hood’s fist connected amorously with Roderick’s cheek. Hood’s fist found this meeting so pleasing that it felt an urgent need to bond more thoroughly with its target, and so repeated the action until it bled with happiness.

Hood sucked his knuckles as Roderick touched ground with a deafening thud. He looked pleased, and so clapped his hands together in order to get mine and Cherokee’s attention. But, ah, he had so underestimated the power of newfound love, and so he actually had to step between us in order to gain his desire which was, in short, for Cherokee to become furious.

Sadly, Hood’s plans were thwarted. As Cherokee’s gaze left mine we both blinked in surprise.

“Oh, is that you?” said Cherokee pleasantly and looked up at Hood’s towering figure. “I didn’t notice you there. Was there something you wished?”

Hood’s face was a picture of… well, many things which can not be mentioned when writing a PG-13 story. He was angry, to say the least, but one could also detect an air of uncertainty at Cherokee’s mild response. Normally, if my dear reader would care to remember, Cherokee would at this point be reaching for the nearest blunt object with nothing much on his mind except inflicting as much pain as possible.

Hood collected all his wits, all his vile temper and his persistent love for violence and came up with a stunning remark:
“No, there was nothing much I wanted to tell you and your wife,” he paused to sneer theatrically, “more than except that I have now cunningly arranged for you two to die by hanging at sunrise tomorrow.”

I felt my ears take in this information and my brain process it. It did not seem to matter much, though. “Wonderful,” I said and smiled beatifically at my husband. “A double hanging; could it be more romantic?”

Cherokee squeezed my hand and kissed it softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I think not.” He then looked up and Hood and nodded politely. “Thank you for arranging it so.”

Hood’s face grew so hot it threatened to explode at the spot. Without saying another word he stomped off in some direction and disappeared amongst the trees.

Cherokee placed another butterfly kiss on my fingers and I stroked his cheek lovingly for another minute or so before leaning forward and kissing the very place my fingers had caressed. I then softly whispered, reaching close to my lover’s ear:
“You think he bought it?”

Cherokee leaned his head on my shoulder and began to idly play with my hair. I felt a shiver run down my spine.
“Is he gone?” he wondered, looking nowhere but at my jawbone.

“He’s pissing about in the woods,” I replied. “Can’t see him.”

Cherokee grinned. “That means he fell for it. Roderick’s down?”

“Sleeping like a baby,” I replied. “Does that mean Liam can come out of hiding now?”

“Yes,” answered Cherokee. He then sat up and hissed towards a couple of bushes:
“Get your arse over here!”

And so the wonderfulness that was Liam appeared like the genie out of the lamp from the juniper bushes at the edge of the camp.

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Oh, I suppose I should have told you about Liam.
That was quite necessary for the story line, was it not? Sorry about that. Oh well, I guess I’ll tell you now.

When Cherokee and I had been sitting there, revelling in our newfound feelings for each other, Cherokee had spotted a black, curly head lurking around in plain sight. Had it not been for the green uniform, Liam would have been immediately discovered and shot at the spot, but since fortune and Roderick’s bleeding heart would have it, our warden took no notice of the extremely handsome man noisily jumping around in the bushes. Cherokee and I had started a whispering conversation that mainly insisted on not making Liam known and shot. Hence, we started acting like lovesick pigeons on a square in St Petersburg. This luckily caused Roderick to tear up even more and for Liam to stay out of harm’s way, as well as Cherokee and I to, well, have fun.
Was that all? I think it was...

Even so, Liam stealthily made his way over to where we were sitting, entangled and very much in love and mortally embarrassed about it being so.

Liam took one look at us and grinned. “Finally got it together, eh? Was about time, too!”

I grimaced at him. “Shut up and help me up from this hellish log of pain!”

Cherokee rose and grabbed my arm as Liam hauled my up by the other.

“Oh gods,” I moaned pathetically. “I can’t feel my butt!”

“Rejoice,” muttered Cherokee darkly, “for I can.”
He took a steadier hold of my arm and I clung to him like a baby giraffe walking its first steps with a two metres tall crutch.
“You okay?” he enquired, and smiled when I nodded.

“Yeah, I just need to walk it off.”

Cherokee then turned to Liam. “So what’s your plan?”

Liam started and looked shocked, surprised and guilty all at the same time.
“Uhm, to tell you the truth…” he began apologetically, but Cherokee interrupted:
“Are you seriously just about to tell me that you came here with no plan, no weapons and no backup?”

That was when I realised that I had changed Cherokee in some way, but I also got proof that the old Cherokee hadn’t exactly evaporated. His face turned red, then white and then red again and the muscles in his jaw worked overtime to gnaw his teeth to dust. I put a hand on his arm to soothe him, but it didn’t have much effect.

Meanwhile, as the Cherokee Bomb’s fuse was burning fast, Liam was trying to show us something by use of charades. At least, that was what I think he was doing, because he was speaking rapid French and making rude gestures towards the woods.
It all came to an abrupt point when I decided to settle the matter and kick them both on the shins as hard as I could.

This was a proven and accepted treatment to testosterone fuelled arguments, and a very mild one at that. Both Liam and Cherokee turned to me and, howling with righteous pain, enquired why the hell I did that.

And so I said:
“Cherokee, shut up. Liam, speak English.”

In this way Cherokee and I found out that Liam had indeed not come to rescue us without a plan or weapons or backup. However, it seemed that his plan had backfired because his backup had got lost on the way and they carried all the weapons. Nevertheless, Liam had complete faith in his comrades and their ability to find their missing officer.

Cherokee and I listened with patience and were rather astounded at Liam’s apt actions and capability. But then, Cherokee came with a critical question:
“So, Liam, who are these friends of yours?”

Liam looked at us as if we were fish from Mars. “They’re from the Resistance, of course. What do you think, that I command a pack of wolves from Transylvania?”

“Ah,” said I, every muscle and sinew in my body deflating and turning to mould at the spot. “I think you hit your head on the metaphorical nail there, Cherokee.”

“Indeed, I think so too,” said Cherokee, his voice hollow. He put his arm around my shoulders and leaned on my as if I were his crutch. “So which way would you like to die, Callie?”

I looked up at him, ignoring Liam’s shocked expression.
“Personally, I would like to die with you by my side, and since Hood has already granted us that request, why don’t we just go ahead and stay here?”

And with that, we both sank down on our painful logs again and watched Liam gape like a frog.

“Excusez-moi?” he finally managed to spit out. “I come up with a brilliant plan, I get people to rescue you with big guns and you just give up? What the hell is wrong with you!”

I gave him one of my best death-glares and pointedly reminded him that La Resistance, the last time I had seen them, had been dying to get its hands on my MacGuffin (which was now safely tucked in under Roderick’s enormous body), had turned my physical body into something completely different (not that it wasn’t appreciated, though) and had last seen us blow a big hole in its reality when we departed from the Headquarters. It would not be too hard to imagine Le Président having a grudge against us, and if I had formed any opinion on that man it was that he was small, fat and ugly and definitely not a guy you want to have against you.

Liam listened to all of this and agreed. Nodding, he had nothing more to say then:
“Don’t you think I know that?”

When he noted Cherokee’s deadpan expression of death he quickly added:
“La Resistance is a threat to this land’s monarchy, and as you might have guessed, so is Hood and his merry gang of murderous bastards. Now, the funny thing is,” he barked a laugh, “you’d think the two gangs would team up, but there was once a little issue between Hood and our Président concerning something completely unknown to me.”

He looked so innocent that Cherokee and I immediately judged him guilty of being said thing, however weird it might be.

“Thus, La Resistance and the Hoodlums are sworn enemies!” Liam finished, casting out his arms widely and looking mightily proud.

I stared at him. “So my choice is now to be killed in between two bitter foes whom are both likely to rip me apart from head to toe?” I snarled. “You’re a genius, Liam.”

He blinked at me. He did a wonderful goldfish imitation before Cherokee cut in.
“I actually think he meant for the Resistance to keep Hood occupied so we can get away.” To this, Liam nodded vigorously and motioned hastily away from the camp in another charade which apparently meant to get the hell out of there.

And so we took his advice, and, parting as friends, I hugged him and kissed him quickly on the cheek.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had such a friend like you,” I said, and while he and Cherokee shared a manly hand shake, I shed a small, small tear for our dear Liam the Solider.

Cherokee collected MacGuffin and our packs from under Roderick the Hippo’s protection, and without another word we set off at a very brisk, runny pace towards the direction where Liam thought La Resistance would not be appearing.