Before they even knew what was happening the RPS Trio were heading down the mountain in a wicked snow storm. Dressed for lesser conditions they huddled against each other as they walked, staring up ahead at Wigan who was all happy on his horse and warm coat. Occasionally Wigan would glance back over from his perch at the trio and laugh before giving some vacant encouragement that only swelled the contempt of the three looking back at him. "It is not so far that you will die from the cold. Not all of you anyway. Maybe."
All of them were very aware how far it was, years ago Mac had talked them into an expedition that led deep into the mountain in search of a mythical golf course called The Mystic Afar
. It was an old story from Mac's time in the Highlands about a course layed out on a pin's head on one of Yasuo's storied peaks. As the story went there was a cave near the top of one of the peaks that opened into a hidden landscape that only could have floated on the clouds considering the geography to the entrance of the place. Chris went on the journey because Mac was his caddie and he was very convincing, besides, the thought of a legendary round of golf on some epic level seemed like a fun way to spend the afternoon. Chris loved golf, and his caddie was his best friend, it was a no-brainer. Chewie came along because he had to, he was the intern.
They did find the course and played an epic round, as well as counting the angels dancing on a pin. It was like most journeys in a way however, once it was over there was a trip back. On the way back there was a snow storm, the mountain trail that led to the city was lost to sight before the lights broke the clouds and showed the way; Rhydin then gleamed from the distance in supernatural ecstasy.
They now found themselves once again on the same trail in a similar snowstorm, ill-prepared and freezing cold, though there was warmth in the shared hatred for the man riding ahead of them. As they huddled together on the way down the trail of nostalgia, they also conspired against him.
"There are three of us and one of him. Let's jump this bitch, kill him, then Socks can enjoy a fine meal." Mac was very much trying to show restraint within the moving huddle as he spoke. The would be animated arms were tucked to his side, hands in his pockets for warmth, but the determination in his eyes spoke volumes.
Chewie, unable to keep quiet any longer, let his feelings be known and joined in as well. "Nous devons tuer ce connard en ce moment. Laissez Chaussettes manger!" His chili was hot too.
Chris was taking up the middle and draped his arms about his friends, pulling them close like brothers to speak softly. "First off, Socks isn't going to do s***e if we kill Wigan. Maybe he would bark but then he would just lick it's dead face and look at us with confusion, and maybe judgement in his eyes. Do you want to see that?"
Mac and Chewie did not answer or look at Chris and just stared down at the snowy ground they plowed upon, shaking their heads.
Looking back up, ahead to Wigan all happy and warm on his horse, Chris could only smile. "That son of a bitch needs the parcel just as much as we do, if not more. We know where we are going, he doesn't." Loosing his grip he tucked back into the warmth of the huddle that carried it's way down the mountain and whispered, "He might be the visible madman doom but we are the wards of madtown."
Aside from the blowing wind there was silence between them for a while as they fell back into step, each trying to keep warm and close together. Finally, after some time, Mac pointed into the distance where a tower broke the edge of the mountain and seemed to light up with sound. "Is that Franklin's?"
Chris looked up and laughed, perhaps a little delirious at this point. "Wow...it really does ring like fire doesn't it?"
"Cela ne peut pas ?tre bon. Je ne me souviens pas que la tour d'?tre l? avant." Chewie was worried and seemed to be the only one so. "Les gars, cette merde n'est pas r?el...il n'y a pas d'aide sur le chemin."Grateful Dead - Franklin's Tower @ Radio City 10-31-80 Alan Ginsberg-Howl