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| A completely insane GMod player. loves floppas and can kinda understand code. | | A completely insane GMod player. loves floppas and can kinda understand code. [[File:Reprodução-instagram-730x438.jpg|left|thumb|Tickle Tipson, destroyer of worlds, signer of the poop recycling deal of 2091. The most wrathful living thing on the earth. ]] |
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| When the horseman named Culla passed the trading post in the night there was still light enough to read the sign over the door but by the time he reached the rise a quarter of a mile closer it had grown dark. No matter. There was light enough from the stars overhead. As usual the night came early. If he had ridden in an hour sooner he would have seen the faces of the white folk buying tobacco and little edible packets that made the eyes grow dim but it was far too late. That was a shame. Culla rode on down the mountain and his horse trotted beneath him and breathed outward little flares of dusty air that stunk somewhat like gingivitis. A few more hundred feet and Culla turned and looked back. No one else but him. He rode on.
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| When Culla rode his horse down to the trading post the man in the window greeted him with his eyes and a wide grin. Culla dismounted and latched the horse to the horsepole and walked in with muddy boots and stood in the doorway where it smelled in the building like some kind of scented vanilla. Come on in, the trader said. Culla stepped inside. He smelled fresh paint and new varnish.
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| Starry night, the trader said. How's it looking out there?
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| Better than before.
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| I'm sure, the trader said. You'll see it again once we get this done here.
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| What?
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| You're gonna see the stars again when we're done.
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| Culla grunted in reply and walked over to a nearby shelf stacked with lots of purchasable items and he grabbed up a small tin box. It felt somewhat heavy and he lifted it and felt for its lid and it was locked. The trader walked over and took the box from him and opened it with a key and found it full of small pieces of red paper. Culla took the box back and took a piece of paper. On it was inscribed, "imafluffycat." He took out another one. "xalalau," it said. He grabbed a handful of these papers. "mobenix," "theendboss101," more and more just like it.
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| What's this all about?
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| Heh, the trader chuckled.
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| The trader took it back out of Culla's hands and walked over to his counter stoutly with the box and put on back the lid and then walked over to Culla again and put it back on the shelf. Culla looked confused. You got me curious now, he said.
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| I'm not selling that as of yet, the trader replied.
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| I said you got me curious.
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| Yes. I'm not selling it.
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| You're not understanding.
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| What?
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| I said that I'm curious about it.
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| I know. You aren't buying it. What am I missing?
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| Culla showed forth the revolver stuffed in the side of his pants.
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| Oh.
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| He smiled.
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| I understand now.
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| Okay. Give it to me.
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| Alright.
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| The trader meekly gave him the box.
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| Tell me what it's for.
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| It's a box given to me by a close friend.
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| Why'd they give it?
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| They said it was for safekeeping. I ain't got no knowledge about it.
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| There was a massive thump outside the window. Culla and the trader both looked. It was dark so they could not see much, but in the black it could be seen that Culla's horse lay on the ground spliced and cut open with its entire hooves cut off and its heart torn right out of its chest and lay beating on the ground while it sat dead silently.
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| What the hell? Culla said.
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| They both looked outside in horrored confusion and shock.
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| The trader said, Culla.
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| What? Culla turned. You said my name?
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| Culla.
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| What? You know my name?
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| It's over.
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| What? Culla looked again outside and there was no horse yet it lay out there silent.
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| [[File:Reprodução-instagram-730x438.jpg|left|thumb|Tickle Tipson, destroyer of worlds, signer of the poop recycling deal of 2091. The most wrathful living thing on the earth. ]] | |
