I’m not really sure where or why I got the idea for this one. Beyond the fact that I probably wouldn’t want to be holding a cake as a bunch of dudes were trying to jump me.
Or maybe “I’d hate to be holding a cake right now.” just sounds funny…
Actually, know that I think about it, I think there has been at least one moment in my life where I was trying to open a door, or get into a car holding a precarious cake and making the joke “I’d hate to be holding a cake right now.”
© J.B. Norman — Published by Emona Literary Services™
“Man,” Roland mutters. “I’d hate to be holding a cake right now.”
Lucia frantically shakes her head and blinks in disbelief at the musclebound alchemist.
“What?”
And Roland blinks back.
“Wait. Do you not know what a cake is?”
He frowns.
“Didn’t we make a lemon-thingy cake for last Aurorean Victory Day? You were there, Lucia.”
“I know what a cake is, Roland!” the Wilderling woman cries. “What I can’t understand is why you’d want to be holding one now.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be holding a cake right now. This is, like, the worst possible time to be holding a cake.”
He points down the road, where their path is now blocked by a group of men with swords.
“Can you imagine? I wouldn’t be able to punch them if I had to be holding onto the cake. Plus, they’d be punching me and they’d probably smoosh the cake. And if I had a cake in the middle of a forest, it’s probably a pretty important cake, so it’d probably be bad that it got smooshed.”
Lucia sighs, covers her face in her hands and lets out a long stream of muffled Natalian.
“Heh,” one of the bandits giggles. “Smooshed. Funny word.”
“But, like,” Roland continues. “I’m not holding a cake. So… no big deal, right?”
The musclebound alchemist nods to himself.
“Right. Let’s fight them.”
“Them’s fightin’ words,” the leader of the sword-wielding thugs notes.
“Yeah,” Roland says to no-one in particular as he ducks under a sword and responds with an uppercut that floors one of the swordsman. “Doing this with a cake would be just the worst!”
Lucia groans again. Is there something in the water in Middlesbrooke?
How is it possible that everyone here is an idiot?
One of the swordsmen dodges past Roland and dashes towards Lucia, trying to catch her off-guard. She’s not so far gone in her bewilderment that she doesn’t notice, and she lashes out with a clawed hand.
“Should we help?” Alda asks, as she stands forgotten with Apolline and Petra.
“No,” the Aurorean sorceress answers. “They seem to have things well in hand. We’d probably only just get in the way.”
Petra sighs in disappointment. “I should have acted more quickly,” she notes.
And she feels sad, for there are no more enemies left to conquer.
The last swordsman falls, landing with a dull thud and sending up a cloud of dust from the forest road. And then he groans as Roland decides to sit down on him for a quick rest.
“Actually,” Roland decides. “These guys were such chumps, I probably could have beaten them all up even if I was holding a cake. A cake in each hand, even.”
He touches his chin.
“Mmm,” he says wistfully.
He springs back up to his feet.
“Cake. Let’s go get some.”
Lucia just stares.
He looks to the others.
“Cake?” he offers, pointing at Apolline.
He points at Petra.
“Cake?”
He points at Alda.
“Cake?”
Lucia continues to just stare.
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