As the abomination approaches, I release the fat man and instinctively ready my fists. I realize it has been far too long since I last bloodied a fellow on the dockyards of Bas or Queensmouth. I shuffle my feet in the sand while Gepetto readies his stone and Twix tries his best to blend in with the door on high.
Clearly some form of infection or madness has overtaken this denizen. My hope is that we can simply scare him off. As he continues his rasping and gesticulating, I raise my own voice in a series of shouts and howls.
It works! The fear and confusion ripples across his face. He staggers toward the lapping wavelets, neither advancing nor retreating.
"Come have a thrashing, you bastard!" I shout, hustling forward, still keeping my distance.
As the water swirls up around his ankles, my adversary leans down, quickly thrashing his hands about in the surf.
I freeze, expecting some new form of assault. Gepetto holds his stone high.
The supposed native slaps his wet hands across his face, scrubbing at the filth, slicking through his hair. He takes in some fluid and promptly spits it back out. Taking two steps forward, his eyes go wide in desperation - and then my own do the same.
"Dane?"
Gepetto furrows his brow and lowers his rock. Twix moves away from the door to get a better look.
The Fat Man sits up.
