When last we left them, John Porter and his fellow Characters were plotting a cunning plan to avenge the potential complete and total dismantling of the character of their beloved Brother, Lucas. Here is the longest Sloth Fiction installment yet. Of course I don't own these characters; I just like to think I do. Hope you enjoy . . .
"His name is North. Lucas North, not John Bateman. Bateman is the legend and the fraud. The Character we all know and admire is still alive and well and living here amongst us, a true hero, not a cowardly traitor; a man of principle and of compassion. He has been loved into Being. Lady Writer has said it's so-and we believe HER, not TPTB."
John Porter's words rang out across the room, a steely resolve in his gruff tone. "But we still have a score to settle, a wrong to be righted. A comrade to be avenged. Are you with me?"
The group of tall, commanding figures, garbed in black from head to toe, nodded as one, their sober faces smeared with jet-coloured paint, balaclavas in their gloved hands.
Porter's lips curved into a grim smile, his blue eyes blazing in the dimly light room. "Right, lads. Time for Ultimate Character Force to prepare to strike back . . ."
He turned to Sir Guy, who had tied back his lustrous locks and, just as he had promised, looked devastatingly handsome in the black ops combat uni.
"Sir Guy, you've prepared the abseiling gear?"
The knight gave a courtly nod. "Yes, Sergeant. The gear is prepared and ready for every man."
Guy's kohl-rimmed eyes flickered in the direction of an athletic blonde figure, who gave him a very small, v-shaped smile in return.
Porter now focused his attention to Harry, who looked a vision in his own black ops gear, which included a non-regulation but extra-cozy black jumper. The vicar would have swooned.
"Honorary Lieutenant Kennedy, you are in charge of special tactical weaponry. Are you prepared?"
Harry suppressed his typical sunny grin and drew his lanky body to its full height. "Yes, sir, all-present and accounted for, sir."
Porter now looked in the direction of a particularly sturdy and proud figure, with close-cropped hair of a ginger-brown hue.
"Captain Macalwain, have all those on the mission double-checked their firearms?"
The captain lifted his chin and gave Porter a smart salute. Macalwain was dressed extra-warmly, the after-effects of getting, shall we say, the cold shoulder from TPTB.
Although he technically outranked the sergeant, everyone agreed Porter was the man to lead this critical mission.
"Yes, sir,"The Haughty Hottie replied. "Firearms and ammunition are in order and ready for every soldier."
Porter gave an approving nod before glancing around at the rest of the black-clad figures.
"Corporals Mulligan, Standring, Thornton. Are you ready for your phases of the mission?"
John M. flashed a predatory smile, a devilish gleam in his eyes.
"Oh, aye, aye, Captain---sorry, Sergeant." He was clearly going to enjoy a bit of mayhem, that one.
John S.'s blue eyes shown earnestly, his Yorkshire-accented words steady if a little shy. "Yes, sir, ready to help our brother."
John T. gave a grave little bow. "Prepared to enter the fray to defend the honour of our fellow Character."
"Right then-I believe Kennedy had something he wanted to say before we execute this mission?" Porter said.
Harry nodded. "Gather 'round in a circle, Characters. Remember Dumas and the good old musketeers? Well, I know they were from a different time than you, Sir Guy, but you'd have loved them. Very-dashing and gallant."
YOU ARE READING
Inspired by a comment made on Servetus' excellent blog Me + Richard Armitage, this is a series of humorous stories based around the premise of "What if RA's characters hung around my house, eating my junk food, watching the telly, sparring, and in g...