Hark, how his cheeks had turned the bright vermilion shade of those poisonous tomatoes everybody seemed to eat these days; Barnaby could not say why. The dancing bear? The difficulty of the task that had been presented to him? Or the name itself?
“A windfucker,” Barnaby repeated, raising his voice a little louder, in hopes that they might attract attention from other passers-by in the park and Robins would go even redder. “Come, art thou a fool? A windfucker. A fuckwind. One that is easily trained, also. Although - I used to be rather talented at that, so.”
He shrugged. He supposed he could have described the creature rather than torment him so, but Barnaby was enjoying the moment a little too much to make things simpler by explaining. “Thou wilt do it, then?” he added expectantly. “Get me one?”
“A windfucker,” Barnaby repeated, raising his voice a little louder, in hopes that they might attract attention from other passers-by in the park and Robins would go even redder. “Come, art thou a fool? A windfucker. A fuckwind. One that is easily trained, also. Although - I used to be rather talented at that, so.”
He shrugged. He supposed he could have described the creature rather than torment him so, but Barnaby was enjoying the moment a little too much to make things simpler by explaining. “Thou wilt do it, then?” he added expectantly. “Get me one?”
