hololive's Lui Takane and Okayu Nekomata play Minecraft.
Original stream: • 【 Minecraft 】遂に私も先生かっっ...
‪@TakaneLui‬ ‪@NekomataOkayu‬
In the woods near the sleepy hamlet of Omlette du Fromage, during the reign of Louis the XIV, a manhunt was taking place. The infamous cat-burglar, Porridge the Twin-tailed Feline, was hiding in the stump of a hacked-down elm, listening to the basset hounds howl and bark all throughout the woods. Despite her best friend being a dog, she did not much care to be chummy with the pack currently hunting her and was preoccupied with how best to dupe the dogs. Perhaps it was the intensity of her thought that eclipsed her otherwise sharp sense of hearing, as she did not hear the crunching of last fall’s leaves intimating a visitor steadily approaching.
From out of the obscurity of the forest stepped none other than Louie L’Hawke, bounty-hunter extraordinaire and no relation of the King’s. She twiddled one wing of her fake moustache between her thumb and forefinger and put her other hand on the pommel of her rapier. In a slightly screechy voice, she called out to the stump where her quarry was holed up. “What’s wrong, La Chatte? Stuck in a tree? Shall I call the fire brigade?” Louie punctuated her taunt with a Monty Python-esque chortle.
In response, Porridge poked her head up over the rim of the trunk, like a ground hog popping out of its burrow on the first day of spring. “No, I’m fine, thanks,” purred the cat in a tone of voice that was as soothing as it was infuriating. “What I could use is a nice bouillabaisse. I’m starved.”
“I say Boo! to your bouillabaisse. You may sup on my steel, fiend, until you have had your fill of your just desserts!” said Louie, who then drew her rapier, which trilled sweetly as it slid from its sheath. “En garde!”
Porridge rolled her eyes. “How cliché.”
The tip of Louie’s rapier dipped a bit dejectedly. “How do you mean?”
“‘En garde’?” scoffed Porridge. “What are we? Characters in a short story written by an absolute hack?”
Louie stood stiff and rigid, as if she had run into a mad bull while wearing red from head to toe. Then her shoulders wilted and she stuck the point of her rapier into the ground and leaned on the hilt. “You know, I often get the feeling that we are. It’s strange, but I do not quite feel as if I am the author of my own actions. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do,” said Porridge.
“What is to be done?”
“Fight back.”
“How?”
“Well,” said Porridge, as she climbed out of the tree. “What does it feel like the author wants you to do?”
Louie twiddled her mustachios, long and thoughtfully. “I’d say he wants me to duel you.”
“Then I propose you do the opposite.”
“Which is?”
“Duel yourself.”
Louie smacked her forehead. “Sacré bleu! It’s so obvious!”
“Have at it, champ,” said Porridge with a wink, before disappearing into the underbrush.
With a soldier’s salute for the afterimage of her now long-gone interlocutor, Louie took up her rapier, looked up to the sky and scowled. “Do you bear witness, charlatan? No longer will I be your plaything. No longer shall I be fettered by the dictates of your foul fiction. No longer shall I consider the pen mightier than the sword! For I am as free as a bird now! And this bird,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “you can no longer change.”
When the town’s watch came upon Louie later that evening, they found her in rough shape. When asked what had happened, she was reported to have smiled and replied, “Freedom.”
ko-fi.com/leifmaplesson