Conversations with the Seven Devil Nation
With a swift movement, she slapped me clear across the face.
‚He’s faking,? she said with certainty.
Dazed, I couldn’t help but wonder:
Who the fuck are you?
‚Welcome, Mr. Ridley. My name’s Charne,? pronounced like Chardonnay
without the D sound, ‚and we’re going to make this quick, as you – my lucky friend –
are ruining my shoes.? Plastic skin, a South African accent, and obviously irritated,
Charne bended down on her knees like the tall, skinny stick-like man had been doing
just before her. He was now standing next to her, looking down, the gang of angry
bandits behind them. The bandits were cursing me more and more frequently, growing
fierce and irate as they realized the poison was no longer killing me.
My back against the tree, tied and angry, I stared into her face. She had the faint
scent of plum, and the makeup on her face was beginning to smudge and smear from
the heat and sweat. For a moment, the woman became preoccupied with someone