The Empress' Legs

[jammi]

A short looking man in glasses and a suit wandered up to the door. Before he could enter, a tree-trunk of an arm shot out and slammed into the doorframe, blocking his progress. A small mountain of muscle, bone and pent up aggression appeared from the murky shadows to reclaim its wandering limb. It loomed over the mousey little man, who crumpled, cowering into his suit.

"SIR," The troll-like giant bellowed. "ARE YOU HISPANIC, EPILEPTIC, ALLERGIC TO NUTS, OR A MART BELLOCK, SIR?" The tiny little man wiped a thin layer of saliva from his face, before shaking his head timidly.

"I'm Harry T-Titchmarch. S-Sorry. What's a M-Mart Bellock?" he queried, shakily.

"A MART BELLOCK IS AN INDIVIDUAL BARRED UNDER THE ADVISEMENT OF THE BOWEX CORPORATION, SIR." At that, the man-troll's brain disengaged and his eyes resumed their prior glossy state. Like a giant, intimidating motion sensor, he was once more inert.

Once Harry's heart had slowed to its usual non-heart attack inducing rate, he scuttled inside and ordered a glass of mineral water. The barmaid shot him a dirty look for it.

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