Dear friends of latex,
we're bringing you another part of our twisted Christmas tale about Latexelf and his forced last adventure. Don't forget to read the first part, if you already haven't done that, and enjoy :)
Latexelf adjusted his hair and checked himself in the mirror. Not bad. The gloves and stockings with twisted red and white stripes were the perfect camouflage for a winter battlefield, and the legendary Diamond Heels of Death gave him ten extra movement points, thirty extra charisma points, but most important of all, they really went great with his eyebrows.
Latexelf smiled at his reflection, remembering how he had taken the shoes off the cold body of a strange demon who worshipped and even stranger god. He represented indulgence and excess, and his name was Slimesh or something like that. The god, of course, not the demon. In his youth, Latexelf rarely learned the names of his foes – the acquaintances tended to be rather short, so why bother?
Apart from what has already been described, Latexelf wasn't wearing anything at all, but that was fine. He never felt cold, and as for the outrage his appearance might cause among decent people... well, that was the decent people's problem, not his. He was almost ready now. All that remained was to reach way down into his shoe locker, rummage around to find a pair of old, worn-out boots, and take the two pieces of an... artefact hidden inside them.
He had hoped never to use them again, yet the idea of more and more gnomes disturbing his peace and quiet was way too scary. Well then, one last time it is... he thought, tucking the two small objects into the hems of his gloves. He opened the door and stepped out into the winter night. Apparently, he had to walk far far away, and the sooner this would be over, the better...
„Pssst! Hey!“ As soon as the gnome village disappeared behind the first hill, Latexelf heard a voice. It came from a nearby snow-capped hedge. Although he was in a hurry, Latexelf decided to investigate. He carefully pulled the bare branches apart to find a fox trapped in a poacher's snare.
„Hey there,“ said the fox.
„You talk,“ remarked Latexelf.
„Long story,“ answered the fox, waving a dismissive paw. „Anyway, think you could give me a hand?“
„Isn't that a rabbit trap?“ asked Latexelf.
„Yeah, yeah, by all means, just add insult to injury,“ growled the fox. „So, listen, got a knife on you? Well, now that I think about it, I really don't wanna know where you keep it, if you do...“
„I don't,“ said Latexelf. He had something much better, but he really wasn't going to discuss that during random encounters.
„Well, you could just untie me...“ suggested the fox.
Latexelf made a face. „These are hand-made,“ he said, showing his shiny gloves to the fox. „You need to cast, measure, count, glue...“
„What the fu...?“
„No, really, not an option. I can't have you biting into them, can I, you rusty little vixen. I wasn't born yesterday. Sorry, I have to go.“ Latexelf turned to leave.
„Well isn't this just perfect!“ howled the fox. „Are you really going to leave me here?“
„Try biting off your leg. I heard it works,“ shouted Latexelf over his shoulder, marching on. He had a long journey ahead of him.
* * *
Photo: Marie Pracnová
Makeup: Geen Pagliacci