Princess Bride
Jan. 15th, 2017 02:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cosmictragedy"Couldn't beat me alone you dastards; well, I beat you each apart, I'll beat you both together."
"You're alive!" Fezzik cried.
The man in black sat immobile, like a ventriloquist's dummy, just his mouth moving. "That is perhaps the most childishly obvious remark from a stranger I have ever come across, but what can you expect from a strangler. Why won't my arms move?"
"You've been dead," Inigo explained.
"And we're not strangling you," Fezzik explained, "we were just getting the pill down."
"The last thing thing I remember was dying, so why am I on this wall? Are we enemies? Have you got names? I'm the Dread Pirate Robers, but you can call me 'Westley.' "
"Fezzik."
"Inigo Montoyal of Spain. Let me tell you what's been going on--" He stopped and shook his head. "No," he said. "There's too much it would take too long, let me distill it for you: the wedding is as six, which leaves us probably now something over half and hour to get in, steal the girl, and get out; but not before I kill Count Rugen."
"What are our liabilities?"
"There is but one working castle gate and it is guarded by perhaps one hundred men.
"Hmmm," Westly said, not as unhappy as he might have been ordinarily, because just then he began to be able to wiggle his toes. "And our assets?
"Your brains, Fezzik's strength, my steel."
"My brains, your strength and his steel against a hundred troops? And you think a little head-jiggle is supposed to make me happy? Why didn't you leave me to death? This is worse. Lying here helpless while my true love marries my murderer."
"I just know once you're over your emotional outbursts, you'll come up with--"
"I mean if we had a wheelbarrow, that would be something," Westley said.
"Where did we put that wheelbarrow that the albino had?" Inigo asked.
"Over the albino, I think." Fezzik replied.
"Maybe we can get a wheelbarrow," Inigo said.
"Well, why didn't you list that among our assets in the first place?" Westley said, sitting up, staring out at the massed troops in the distance.
"You just sat up," Fezzik said, still trying to be cheery.
Westley got to his feet, then. "All right. I'll need a sword eventually.
"Why?" Inigo asked. "You can barely lift one."
"True," Westley agreed. "But that is hardly common knowledge. Hear me now; there may be problems once we're inside--"
"I'll say there may be problems," Inigo cut in. "How do we stop the wedding? Once we do, how do I find the Count? Once I do, where will I find you again? Once we're together, how do we escape? Once we escape--"
"Don't pester him with so many questions," Fezzik said. "Take it easy; he's been dead."
"Right, right, sorry."
"There are always too few perfect breasts in this world; leave yours alone." she heard. And there was Westley on the bed. It was 5:48 and she knew that she would never die.
Buttercup continued the journal alone and fell onto her very one and darling Westley.
"Gently," he said.
"At a time like this that's all you can think to say? 'Gently'?"
"Gently," Westley repeated, not so gently this time.
Prince Humperdink dove for his weapons, and a sword flashed in his thick hands. "To the death," he said, advancing.
Westley gave a soft shake of his head. "No," he corrected. "To the pain."
It was an odd phrase, and for the moment it brought the Prince up short. Besides, why was the fellow just lying there? Where was the trap? "I don't think I quite understand that."
"The first thing you lose will be your feet," Westley said. "The left, then the right. Below the ankle. You will have stumps available to use within six months. Then your hands, as the wrist. They heal somewhat quicker. Five months is a fair average." And now Westley was beginning to be aware of strange changes in his body and he began talking faster, faster and louder. "Next your nose. No smell of dawn for you. Followed by your tongue. Deeply cut away. Not even a stump left. And then your left eye--"
"And then my my right eye and then my ears, and shall we get on with it?" the Prince said. It was 5:54.
"Wrong!" Westley's voice rang across the room. "Your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish-- every baby that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries 'Dear God, what is that thing?' will reverberate forever with your perfect ears.That is what 'to the pain' means. It means that I leave you to live in anguish, in humiliations, in freakish misery until you stand it no more; so there you have it, pig, there you know, you miserable vomitous mass, and I say this now, and live or die, it's up to you: Drop your sword!"
The sword crashed to the floor.
"I suppose I was dying again, so I asked the Lord of Permanent Affection for the strength to live the day. Clearly, the answer came in the affirmative."
"I didn't know there was such a Fellow," Buttercup said.
"Neither did I, in truth, but if He didn't exist, I didn't much wan to either."
The four great horses seemed almost to fly toward the Florin Channel.
"It appears to me as if we're doomed, then," Buttercup said.
Westly looked at her. "Doomed, madam?"
"To be together. Until one of us dies."
"I've done that already, and I haven't the slightest intention of ever doing it again," Westley said.
"You're alive!" Fezzik cried.
The man in black sat immobile, like a ventriloquist's dummy, just his mouth moving. "That is perhaps the most childishly obvious remark from a stranger I have ever come across, but what can you expect from a strangler. Why won't my arms move?"
"You've been dead," Inigo explained.
"And we're not strangling you," Fezzik explained, "we were just getting the pill down."
"The last thing thing I remember was dying, so why am I on this wall? Are we enemies? Have you got names? I'm the Dread Pirate Robers, but you can call me 'Westley.' "
"Fezzik."
"Inigo Montoyal of Spain. Let me tell you what's been going on--" He stopped and shook his head. "No," he said. "There's too much it would take too long, let me distill it for you: the wedding is as six, which leaves us probably now something over half and hour to get in, steal the girl, and get out; but not before I kill Count Rugen."
"What are our liabilities?"
"There is but one working castle gate and it is guarded by perhaps one hundred men.
"Hmmm," Westly said, not as unhappy as he might have been ordinarily, because just then he began to be able to wiggle his toes. "And our assets?
"Your brains, Fezzik's strength, my steel."
"My brains, your strength and his steel against a hundred troops? And you think a little head-jiggle is supposed to make me happy? Why didn't you leave me to death? This is worse. Lying here helpless while my true love marries my murderer."
"I just know once you're over your emotional outbursts, you'll come up with--"
"I mean if we had a wheelbarrow, that would be something," Westley said.
"Where did we put that wheelbarrow that the albino had?" Inigo asked.
"Over the albino, I think." Fezzik replied.
"Maybe we can get a wheelbarrow," Inigo said.
"Well, why didn't you list that among our assets in the first place?" Westley said, sitting up, staring out at the massed troops in the distance.
"You just sat up," Fezzik said, still trying to be cheery.
Westley got to his feet, then. "All right. I'll need a sword eventually.
"Why?" Inigo asked. "You can barely lift one."
"True," Westley agreed. "But that is hardly common knowledge. Hear me now; there may be problems once we're inside--"
"I'll say there may be problems," Inigo cut in. "How do we stop the wedding? Once we do, how do I find the Count? Once I do, where will I find you again? Once we're together, how do we escape? Once we escape--"
"Don't pester him with so many questions," Fezzik said. "Take it easy; he's been dead."
"Right, right, sorry."
"There are always too few perfect breasts in this world; leave yours alone." she heard. And there was Westley on the bed. It was 5:48 and she knew that she would never die.
Buttercup continued the journal alone and fell onto her very one and darling Westley.
"Gently," he said.
"At a time like this that's all you can think to say? 'Gently'?"
"Gently," Westley repeated, not so gently this time.
Prince Humperdink dove for his weapons, and a sword flashed in his thick hands. "To the death," he said, advancing.
Westley gave a soft shake of his head. "No," he corrected. "To the pain."
It was an odd phrase, and for the moment it brought the Prince up short. Besides, why was the fellow just lying there? Where was the trap? "I don't think I quite understand that."
"The first thing you lose will be your feet," Westley said. "The left, then the right. Below the ankle. You will have stumps available to use within six months. Then your hands, as the wrist. They heal somewhat quicker. Five months is a fair average." And now Westley was beginning to be aware of strange changes in his body and he began talking faster, faster and louder. "Next your nose. No smell of dawn for you. Followed by your tongue. Deeply cut away. Not even a stump left. And then your left eye--"
"And then my my right eye and then my ears, and shall we get on with it?" the Prince said. It was 5:54.
"Wrong!" Westley's voice rang across the room. "Your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish-- every baby that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries 'Dear God, what is that thing?' will reverberate forever with your perfect ears.That is what 'to the pain' means. It means that I leave you to live in anguish, in humiliations, in freakish misery until you stand it no more; so there you have it, pig, there you know, you miserable vomitous mass, and I say this now, and live or die, it's up to you: Drop your sword!"
The sword crashed to the floor.
"I suppose I was dying again, so I asked the Lord of Permanent Affection for the strength to live the day. Clearly, the answer came in the affirmative."
"I didn't know there was such a Fellow," Buttercup said.
"Neither did I, in truth, but if He didn't exist, I didn't much wan to either."
The four great horses seemed almost to fly toward the Florin Channel.
"It appears to me as if we're doomed, then," Buttercup said.
Westly looked at her. "Doomed, madam?"
"To be together. Until one of us dies."
"I've done that already, and I haven't the slightest intention of ever doing it again," Westley said.
