Cuthbert stroked his baby-soft, baby-sized chin thoughtfully, wondering how many more applications of Doctor Hoaxter's Miracle-Grow cream he was going to have to rub in before his full and manly beard came in. Maybe leaving it, and all his other toiletries, at home had been a mistake. He could swear he'd been starting to get a five o'clock shadow. An elevensies at least.
'No, no,' Cuthbert said quickly, 'that's all taken care of. I mean - not that I had... It actually turned out to be athlete's foot. Funny story, apparently you can get it other places as well if you accidentally- anyway, no, that's not why I'm here.'
Cuthbert watched as the distinctive expression of a person who didn't think terribly highly of him to begin with shifted into a face of disgust. He was getting quite good at recognising it. (Though it was always easier when it was unbridled like that.)
'I'm only going to get you killed,' Dave said, with a worrying amount of resignation in his tone. 'It's not a matter of if. It's when. And how,' he added gruffly. 'And how long you'll suffer for first.'
He took a thoughtful swig from his bottle.
'And how bad the suffering will be.'
Cuthbert's smile was beginning to waiver. 'Well. It can't be worse than hearing about it,' he suggested cheerfully.
'I've been looking but I can't see anything,' Cuthbert grumbled. 'Let's call it a day and treat ourselves to a pity party sundae.'
The other man didn't squeal, like Cuthbert had expected him to. In fact, he didn't react at all. He just stared. 'I need that lamp,' he intoned. His voice was low and gravelly, and he spoke slowly as if he was talking to a small, young, particularly stupid child. 'Fetch - me - that - lamp.'
'We could get maaani peeedis,' Cuthbert called in a singsong voice.
'Do you do anything in a kitten heel?' Cuthbert asked, struggling to picture how fashionable cement shoes would really be. 'She needs to dance to entrance.'
The Fairy Godmother cocked an eyebrow. 'Now that is a euphemism I've never heard. What'd she do to warrant a whole new expression, rub some other guy's lamp?'
She held up a hand to stop his loud, stammering protests.
'Don't tell me, kid. I don't wanna know. No knowledge, no motive.'
Cuthbert reached out, trying to grab a handful of Friar Tuck's hair. 'I forgot how bald you are,' he griped as his hands met nothing but sweaty forehead.
'I'm not a fisherman no more,' he grinned. 'Packing it all in, I am. I'm going to retire.'
Cuthbert had never seen anyone with so few teeth look quite so blissful.
'I can live it up large now with the money I'm going to get selling my body.'
'Ermm...'
'Found it in the lake, I did. At first I thought it was one of them wish grantin' fishes, that's secretly princes in disguise. That's the dream, that is. Only reason I got into this stinking business in the first place.'
