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Whumptober Alt: “I hear you’re alive, how disappointing.” [Biggles]
Another of the alt prompts written earlier in October.
“I hear you’re alive, how disappointing.”
Biggles & EvS, 600 wds, enemies-era
"Still alive, I see." Von Stalhein's voice was the first thing Biggles heard as he stepped out of the edge of the woods, being pushed forward at gunpoint with one of von Stalhein's latest bunch of sorry associates hustling him along. Biggles was limping, scratched, and dripping wet from from his escape attempt.
Von Stalhein stood ramrod-straight beside the small cluster of vehicles on this deserted stretch of road, including a lorry half laden with crates. Biggles cast a surreptitious glance around for Algy or Bertie, but there was no sign of either of them.
"Not for lack of trying to get yourself killed, as usual," von Stalhein added. His voice was perfectly flat, his face expressionless, but Biggles thought he detected a slight twitch of his eye. "Where are your associates?"
"Likely miles away by now," Biggles said, trying not to let his breath out in too obvious a sigh of relief. That meant they hadn't been captured or killed. And Ginger would be back soon with the Auster.
"I doubt that very much." Turning to two of his remaining men, von Stalhein snapped, "Set up a perimeter. There are three more of them, so keep a sharp eye out. The rest of you, continue loading. I will guard the prisoner." He turned back to look at Biggles, then said abruptly, "Sit down, I won't have you trying to run again."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Biggles said wryly, lowering himself with care onto one of the crates beside the vehicle. He bit down on a faint pained sound as he took the weight off his injured knee.
"That was an impressive fall over the edge of that river bluff," von Stalhein remarked. "You truly have no fear of heights at all. Or anything else for that matter, do you?"
"I have a perfectly sensible concern about heights, and anything else worthy of concern," Biggles said, resisting the urge to rub at his knee. He had definitely twisted it; it was starting to swell. He was also shivering slightly despite his best efforts; the day was brisk, especially after a soak in an icy river. "There's no sense in losing my wits to fear, however. I have a dangerous occupation -- as you well understand."
"Speaking as the threat you recently jumped off a cliff to escape, I suppose I must," von Stalhein admitted, his voice still very flat.
"It may have been a slight overreaction," Biggles admitted, "but one can't be too careful, especially given the caliber of assistant you hire these days." Indeed, someone had shot at him as he rolled off the edge; he didn't think it had been on von Stalhein's orders, however, and the bullet had missed by a mile. He would have made good his escape, just a little the worse for wear, had von Stalhein had not had the foresight to very quickly send someone downriver. "Anyway, you very handily anticipated my next move, so I suppose I must congratulate you for that."
"Do not expect me to offer you a towel."
"I won't, but a slug of hot coffee wouldn't go amiss, if you have any about?"
Biggles had no expectation of that either, but to his surprise, von Stalhein retrieved a flask from the lorry's cab, unscrewed the lid and solemnly poured out a measure before passing it to him. Biggles took it in a slightly cold-unsteady hand, gave him a nod of thanks, and was just sipping it when he heard the distant drone of the Auster. He was almost sorry; the conversation had not been objectionable in the slightest.
“I hear you’re alive, how disappointing.”
Biggles & EvS, 600 wds, enemies-era
"Still alive, I see." Von Stalhein's voice was the first thing Biggles heard as he stepped out of the edge of the woods, being pushed forward at gunpoint with one of von Stalhein's latest bunch of sorry associates hustling him along. Biggles was limping, scratched, and dripping wet from from his escape attempt.
Von Stalhein stood ramrod-straight beside the small cluster of vehicles on this deserted stretch of road, including a lorry half laden with crates. Biggles cast a surreptitious glance around for Algy or Bertie, but there was no sign of either of them.
"Not for lack of trying to get yourself killed, as usual," von Stalhein added. His voice was perfectly flat, his face expressionless, but Biggles thought he detected a slight twitch of his eye. "Where are your associates?"
"Likely miles away by now," Biggles said, trying not to let his breath out in too obvious a sigh of relief. That meant they hadn't been captured or killed. And Ginger would be back soon with the Auster.
"I doubt that very much." Turning to two of his remaining men, von Stalhein snapped, "Set up a perimeter. There are three more of them, so keep a sharp eye out. The rest of you, continue loading. I will guard the prisoner." He turned back to look at Biggles, then said abruptly, "Sit down, I won't have you trying to run again."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Biggles said wryly, lowering himself with care onto one of the crates beside the vehicle. He bit down on a faint pained sound as he took the weight off his injured knee.
"That was an impressive fall over the edge of that river bluff," von Stalhein remarked. "You truly have no fear of heights at all. Or anything else for that matter, do you?"
"I have a perfectly sensible concern about heights, and anything else worthy of concern," Biggles said, resisting the urge to rub at his knee. He had definitely twisted it; it was starting to swell. He was also shivering slightly despite his best efforts; the day was brisk, especially after a soak in an icy river. "There's no sense in losing my wits to fear, however. I have a dangerous occupation -- as you well understand."
"Speaking as the threat you recently jumped off a cliff to escape, I suppose I must," von Stalhein admitted, his voice still very flat.
"It may have been a slight overreaction," Biggles admitted, "but one can't be too careful, especially given the caliber of assistant you hire these days." Indeed, someone had shot at him as he rolled off the edge; he didn't think it had been on von Stalhein's orders, however, and the bullet had missed by a mile. He would have made good his escape, just a little the worse for wear, had von Stalhein had not had the foresight to very quickly send someone downriver. "Anyway, you very handily anticipated my next move, so I suppose I must congratulate you for that."
"Do not expect me to offer you a towel."
"I won't, but a slug of hot coffee wouldn't go amiss, if you have any about?"
Biggles had no expectation of that either, but to his surprise, von Stalhein retrieved a flask from the lorry's cab, unscrewed the lid and solemnly poured out a measure before passing it to him. Biggles took it in a slightly cold-unsteady hand, gave him a nod of thanks, and was just sipping it when he heard the distant drone of the Auster. He was almost sorry; the conversation had not been objectionable in the slightest.
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Von Stalhein: sit down definitely because of Reasons and not because I think you need to sit down. Also here's coffee.
Heeee!! This is perfect and I love it and I want about 100,000 more words around this exact scenario :D As always.
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