“Hey! What the hell are you doing in here?”
To say I’m surprised to find a lion in my usual hook up place is underestimating it.
The lion doesn’t seem happy to have his afternoon nap interrupted.
“I was sleeping and minding my own business,” he growls loudly.
“That’s not answering my question,” I say.
“It is the answer that I am giving you. Do not pursue this line of questioning Little Girl,” he grunts angrily.
“Ok, well. Um. How long do you think you’ll be here? I’m meant to be meeting a friend and you might scare him off if he sees you hiding behind that door.”
“I am not hiding,” snarls the lion.
“Why are you talking like this?” I ask him.
“Like what?” he ejaculates.
“Well it doesn’t sound realistic. All those silly speech tags and adverbs, they really aren’t necessary. And a few contractions here and there wouldn’t go astray. You just don’t sound like a real lion!”
“I do not comprehend what your words are trying to explain to me,” roared Mr Lion.
“For a start, your speech is a bit wordy and comes out sounding stiff. When most people talk they use contractions, like saying ‘I don’t comprehend,’ not ‘I do not comprehend’.” I mimic his stilted way of speaking.
“Thank you, I will try to bear that in mind.” The lion replied politely.
“Yeah, and too many corny speech tags, like ’sighs’, ‘grunts’, and who the hell says ‘ejaculates’?” I draw a hand over my face. I’m almost embarrassed to say it.
“My apologies, Little Girl. Please understand that English is my second language. I’m not even sure how I learnt it. What are these adverbs of which you speak?”
“Dude, all those words ending in ‘ly’ like ‘politely’, um, or ‘angrily’, are just not needed. It sorta interrupts the flow of the story. I can already tell you’re being polite, or you’re angry, you don’t need to announce it like that.”
“I do not mean to ruin your story. It is just the way I am written. I deduce that the author does not know how to write Lion.” He sighs dejectedly.
“Oh my lordy lordy! That’s terrible. I’m sorry you’ve been written so badly.”
“It looks like she doesn’t know how to write Little Girl, either,” chuckles the lion.
“Hey! Rude! This is how I normally speak!”
I’ve had just about enough of this lion. My boyfriend’s gonna turn up any minute and will really freak out.
“Well, if we are going for realism here, why are you holding that ridiculous pose?” He sneers.
“What’s so ridiculous about it?”
“You look like a pantomime sailor, scanning the horizon. I keep thinking you are going to break into a sailors’ hornpipe.” He makes a strange noise.
“Are you laughing? At your own joke? Maybe the writer is improving. That wasn’t bad.” I say begrudgingly.
“Did you just use an adverb?” He asks.
“No. Shut up!” I bubble enragedly.
“They aren’t even real words.” Says the Lion.
“Oh no! What is happening here? Why am I talking like this now? And standing like this without moving?” I cry.
“I’m starting to quite like this author, actually.”
The lion is nodding sagely. And my arm is starting to tire from holding it up to my brow. I fear something disastrous has happened.
“Oh please, oh please,” I beg, beseechingly to the author, “can you write this again?”
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