“Don't question the ways of love.”
Randall whistled to get Jack and Bug's attention. “Hey, come on back here for a second.”
“Yeah, what?” asked Jack as they approached.
“The quest is going to be put on hold for a little bit while I climb up that cliff and pick a strawberry.”
“Sure, no problem,” said Bug. “Have fun.”
“Um, Randall?” asked Jack. “Can I talk to you for a moment in private?”
“All right.” Randall and Jack began walking forward together. “What is it?”
“This is your quest, of course, and I don't want to tell you what to do, any more than I'd want you to tell me what to do, because freedom is one of our most cherished gifts, and it's not something to be taken for granted. But you're acting like a blithering idiot.”
“A blithering one? Are you sure?”
Jack nodded. “If you don't find the reagents, you're up Spit Creek without waders, and yet you're willing to put everything on hold to pick some fruit for a halitosis-plagued woman you just met? I mean, she's got that ‘The Pure’ after her name, so you're not doing it for touchie-feelie-happy-squealie, which would be just as stupid but understandable.”
“I don't know what's going on,” Randall admitted. “It's just that when I look at her, I feel this tingling inside, as if the Spiders of Love were dancing around my innards with their tiny arachnid feet.”
“Listen, Randall, you have to control yourself. This falling in love thing—it's like I were writing a book, and I decided I needed to put some romance in it to make it more commercial, and even though the love story didn't fit in with the rest of the plot and was extremely unbelievable and forced, I put it in there anyway. Do you see what I'm saying?”
“Obviously I can't see what you're saying, but I hear it. Well, more or less, since there's also the humming of a thousand angels running through my head.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Snag the strawberry.”
Jack shrugged. “Fine. It's your life. Do what you want.”
Randall returned to Yvonne. “I'm ready to climb the cliff,” he told her. “Any words of loving advice before I go?”
“If you fall, try to land on your back. You won't linger in agony quite as long.”
So Randall set off for the cliff, as Yvonne watched with heartfelt joy. It took him a little longer than anticipated to reach the cliff, however, because after ten steps the ground collapsed beneath him and he fell into a pit of scorpions.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!” he shrieked. “AHH! AHH! AHH!”
“Can't you just hear the love in his voice?” sighed Yvonne.
The pit was about six feet deep, had an uncomfortably jagged bottom, and contained three thousand, two hundred and fifty-four scorpions, of which one thousand, eight hundred and six were already crawling over Randall. The odds that he could avoid getting stung were about as bad as the odds that in a meadow this vast he would have stumbled upon the pit in the first place. There was also a moth, but it posed a lesser threat.
“AHH! AHH! AHH!” Randall repeated, to make sure his meaning got across. Then he added an “OH, CRUD!” for clarity.
“Think it would disrupt his courtship if we helped him?” asked Jack.
“I guess we should do something,” Yvonne decided. “It would appear from his shrieks that today's wooing is over.”
“I love wooing,” said Bug.
Down in the pit, Randall pulled a scorpion from each ear and, despite their high nutritional value and low caloric content, spat out the four that had scurried into his mouth while he was going “AHH! AHH! AHH!”
“Here, grab my hand!” said Jack, reaching down to help him. “No, wait, brush the scorpions off your own hand first!”
“I can't! There are too many of them!”
“You're right! There must be three thousand, two hundred and fifty-four of them down there! Yvonne, close your eyes and come over here!”
“Just pull me out!” screamed Randall. “These things have stingers!”
“Say what?” asked Jack, jerking his hand out of the pit. “Were you planning on just letting that little tidbit of information pass by? Jeez, they've got pinchers, too! There's probably some venom in there, for all I know!”
Yvonne shoved Jack out of the way and reached down into the pit with both hands. Within three seconds Randall had grabbed her arms and climbed up them, scorpions clinging to his shirt, pants, shoes, hair, prominent facial features, and skin pores. He then began performing the traditional Get These Scorpions The Hell Off Me dance, which involved bouncing around, ripping off clothing, and making noises that would be physically impossible in other circumstances.
“They're still on me!” he hollered as the dance began to wind down.
“The pond!” Yvonne shouted.
“What about the pond?”
“It's full of water!”
“What about water?”
“Jump in it!”
“Great idea! Where is the pond?”
“Just over that grassy knoll!”
“Will I be turning left or right?”
“You'll veer slightly to the right.”
“Thank you!” Randall took off running over the knoll, then leapt into the pond. The water was nice and cool, and the scorpions immediately released him as they began doggy paddling for shore.
Jack, Yvonne, and Bug hurried over to the edge of the pond. “Are you okay?” asked Yvonne.
“Fine,” said Randall. “I don't think I got stung.”
Jack glanced at a small sign. “I wonder if they call it ‘Leech Lagoon’ just for aesthetic reasons?”
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!! AHH! AHH! AHH! I feel something slimy!”
“Leeches are slimy,” Jack noted, uneasily.
Randall rushed out of the pond, covered with muck from the bottom but no leeches, excluding the three-foot-long one attached to his back. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”
“Just what I need,” said Jack. “Another phobia for my collection. Yvonne, I really liked the way you handled our little scorpion situation. Do it again so that I can learn from your technique.”
Yvonne grabbed the tail end of the leech and began to tug, but it held fast. “You have to burn these things off!”
“So torch it!”
“Jack, go find me two sticks to rub together!”
Jack nodded and ran off.
“Randall, stay calm!”
“If this thing sucks any more blood, I'm going to be downright mellow.”
“Is there anything I can do?” asked Bug.
“Do you speak leech?” Yvonne inquired.
“Sorry, no. I'm an arthropod, he's a worm. Completely different dialect.”
“I feel another ear-piercing shriek coming on,” Randall warned them.
“I'm back with the sticks!” said Jack. “You want to borrow my magic lighter to ignite them?”
“Gimme that thing!” said Yvonne, snatching the lighter out of his hand. She flicked on the tiny flame, and held it up to the leech's tail. They stood there for a few moments, waiting.
“It's definitely getting a little crispy,” Jack pointed out.
“This could take a while,” Yvonne admitted. “We'll just have to work in shifts.”
“Not to malign cooperation,” said Randall, “but I should mention that I'm going to be dead any minute now.”
“They better be quick shifts then,” said Jack.
Yvonne tossed the lighter away and began beating on the leech, punching bag style.
“Nice form,” said Jack, impressed.
“This isn't working either,” Yvonne said. “We're just all going to have to grab hold of it and pull as hard as we can.”