Dead Men Tell No Tales (Skulduggery Pleasant)

Yellow

1861- Yellow

Larrikin adjusted his bandana tightly around his mouth, the grains flicking at his raw and tethered face as the men trekked through the desert. Their mouths were dry as the sand beneath them as they left a trail of footprints, all that was left of their passing. They of course wanted to be followed. It was quite obviously a trap, the question was would the object follow and would the setters be willing to keep up their sanity until they did.

The answer to this was no. Certainly not for this Dead Man.

Larrikin coughed meekly, no other reason to besides the feeling of passing silence between the men. The clearing of throat, quiet abruptly, turned into a hammering of the vocal chords. Anton turned his head upon the sudden noise and glared, his dark eyes robbing the light of the intense sun above.

"Larrikin. You had our attention five minutes ago. Nobody was speaking." His voice was brittle as the whipping air around them, bullets of sand flying at their eyes.

The blonde man lifted is head and chuckled. "Oh, I know. I just did it to tick you off."

He grinned and walked past the man patting his shoulder forcefully and pushing to the front of the group beside his dark-eyed comrade.

The scarred man closed his eyes and let out a low growl of vexation before continuing to trudge in the line they had formed.

There was a substantial pause,or at least an absence of words for the intense wind took it's place as it whipped their clothes and raked their faces.

"...Boop." The singular syllable hung in the air and blew away across the desert with the intense wind.

"...Boop." The blonde haired comedian poked his partner ever so often and sidled away to avoid his angered glare.

The tall, hulking figure stopped and raised a toned arm.

"Larrikin. I will not hesitate to punch you if you feel it appropriate to continue." His voice was deep and menacing, matching his stance.

"Look, I'm causing no harm m'kay? You guys go have fun having the comedic stamina of a penguin in Mexico cause I can't see no s**t in me being a part of this anymore." He stiffened and linked his arms together plopping himself on the scorned and fervent sand, his legs crossed and stance in concentrated anger. The wind was the only sound, whipping against the desert in such dedication that it blew the men of their stances.

"Nope. Don't even try. I will not move no matter how much you beg me, no matter how much you try to force me from this place I shall not budge an inch."

Not one stirred from their concentrated glares, trudging behind one another into the endless abyss of the desert and completely obvious to the straggler behind.

"I'M NOT MOVING!! YOU CANNOT MAKE ME!! EVEN IF YOU WANTED TO I SHALL NOT BE FORCED TO SUCH MEASURES!!"

None bared but a glance to him and they soon found themselves a great space from each-other. The blonde Irish-man gaped at the pure audacity of his colleagues and stood from his present spot, yelling into the whipping sand around him as he struggled past a cough, "Oh, I see how it is!! Yeah!! I'm like Super-Man... I know when I'm needed..." His call echoed none back and he started to walk following the unclear direction of the group until he saw the vague heads of his colleagues in the sun glare.

"Anton? Dude you just left me. That was entirely uncalled for. Just so you know, I'm going on strike." He approached the seven figures, their stances were of ice and they did not break a notion upon his return. He stopped and surveyed them closely as the sun faded out of his eyes and he saw the thickened black holes where his eyes used to be. What he thought were his friends where the exact thing they had been running from.