He attaches the nozzle to the end and begins pumping. Fipp. Fipp. Fipp. A memory of his shooting instructor mocking him rises unbidden. “Thwip Fipp? Thwip the Fipper, we’ll call you.” He doesn’t suppress it, preferring to let his hatred of the man motivate him to finish the job more quickly.
“Tere used t’ be a small buildin’ in t’ paintin’ near here. I dowt it’d be anyting but mite be worth a minnit t’ look at. Mite be an emergincy exit ifin this place had inny. I ain’t seein’ nothin’ big’nuff t’ be a collapsed entrance t’ a fort hereabout but we kin take a poke at tat too.”
Fipp. Fipp. Fipp. Fipp.
“Ten we should hed up t’ t’ ruins, methinks. Less tere’s a better idea.”
– Thwip the Fipp. Fipp this you old melon-faced…–
Fipp. Fipp. Fipp. Fipp. Fipp. Fipp. Fipp. Fipp.
