“So,” he went on, “how long do you think the burning will last, Skellian?”
Skellian scratched his long, ginger beard. “Hmm, likely seven to eight hours, going from past burnings.”
“Now,” Joe mcshoots replied, “I’m not expert on burnings, Skellian, but that seems an awfully long time for someone to be on fire, you hear me?”
“Well, lad, it’s all down to the fuel we use these days. It’s a lot better than the previous stuff we were supplied with. Burns at eight hundred mixyflasms, or somethin’ like that. I ain’t good with those long words.”
Joe mcshoots whistled. “Eight hundred of anything is a lot, so now I understand where you’re comin’ from, Skell.”
“Lad,” Skellian said, placing an arm on his shoulder. “Do you enjoy this? This work we do?”
“Of course!” he burst out shouting. “I mean, I think?”
“Ah, that’s the problem with the new recruits ya see, too much thinkin’. Here, take this here whiskey and get a damn good load straight down yer bleedin’ neck. That’ll sort ye right out.”
statistic0n's writing 