“Okay. Am giving up. You win.” Thibor managed from between clenched teeth. He took a step back, his huge chest rising and falling in an obvious effort not to flee screaming.
“We haven't fought yet.” His opponent looked perplexed; or at least what passed for perplexed on the beaked face of a twelve foot tall bipedal triceratops.
“Is not ruining it.” Thibor continued. “Am still holding on to rapidly fleeing fantasy that will not actually have to touch you. Please is not taking this away from me.”
* * *
“Papa! Papa!” A blonde missile hit his knee in a fashion that immediately convinced Thibor that his daughter was not made, as were other little girls, of sugar and spice and everything nice, but rather industrial strength rubber bands, rhinoceroses, and farrier's anvils. Little Liesel used his momentary stagger to climb up to his shoulders, her small, freakishly strong hands grabbed handfuls of his shirt and the chest hair underneath; the reinforced fabric of the shirt held out far better than the hair.
“Liesel. Gentle.” Thibor warned as his daughter hugged his head from behind, arms around his forehead, legs around his neck. “Urrrk!”
“Auntie Charcoal said you fought dinosaurs today!” Liesel enthused, “Danger! Danger! Tell me all about it!”
Managing to unwind the squirming five year old and hold her out at arm's length, Thibor considered his response carefully.
* * *
While his inner monologue was clear on the point that he was engaging in a tactical delay, allowing civilians to clear the area and thus reduce their potential as potential hostiles or collateral damage, Thibor did not believe it for one second. It might have been true; he just wasn't willing to give the tactical consideration the weight it deserved in the face of what he had just jumped into. After decades in the special operative game, the more jaded might think they had seen everything, but they were deluding themselves. No matter what horrors you faced, no matter how strange your foes were, things could always surprise you. Not in an enjoyable surprise it is your birthday kind of way. More of giant naked clown with a meat cleaver, trained baboon, and an erection kind of way. The irony being that the latter was not actually that surprising and was not quite a yearly occurrence, but frequent enough to be strangely comforting.
A twelve foot bipedal triceratops was not comforting. A twelve foot bipedal triceratops dressed, in the saurian equivalent of a seventies uber-pimp costume even less so. Purple crushed velvet pants and long coat, trimmed in leopard patterned faux fur. Platform shoes that added another foot of height, a hat, and a long silver cane topped with amber.
“No one messes with Superflyceratops!” The creature announced loudly. “The Saurian Shaft, the Dolemite of the Devonian, the Prehistoric! Pimp! Of the Year!”
“Have been waiting all day to say that.” The museum gallery was mostly clear, sure there were several huge mounted dinosaur skeletons, each worth several million dollars, not to mention the special exhibit of precious stones that were the likely target of the attack. Thibor was sure he could, with minimal property damage, deal with the situation as it now stood. The moment that reassuring thought crossed his mind, he knew he was truly fucked.
* * *
“Papa!” Liesel unwrapped herself from his arm and dropped lithely onto the ground. Her cute little face bunched up in a fierce pout, but no tears were forthcoming. Liesel didn't cry. “Tell me or...or... I'll fight you!”
Thibor considered his daughter. She was at that special age and height that made all children dangerous in a fight. Well perhaps not dangerous; highly-likely-to-punch-you-in-the-junk-because-that's-as-high-as-they-can-reach was not dangerous; having that that, it was something to be avoided if at all possible. Especially as Lethal did not punch her weight; rather she punched the weight of her entire senior kindergarten class, the teacher, the teacher's aide, and the school bus.
He considered telling her.
“No. Am not telling. Is going to be fight.”
* * *
One of the areas of research that rarely, if ever, makes it into general books on the subject of dinosaurs is mating. Reproduction through laying eggs is covered, including brooding behaviours, nest patterns and the number and size of the eggs were all there, but the actual mechanics of dinosaur reproduction were absent. Due to soft tissues not fossilizing, the subject of dinosaur junk, though under study, just didn't make it into the big book of Dinosaurs. Thibor knew that someone, somewhere, was likely writing their doctorate on whether or not you could effectively kick a dinosaur in the dick. More power to them.
For his own part, Thibor was a practical individual, and did not linger on the possibility of Superflyceratops having junk that could be effectively kicked. A kick from Thibor could shatter stone, it would be an effective attack, there actually being testicles there would be a bonus, not necessary, but a bonus. At the last moment the ceratopsian pimp shifted, catching the kick on the large muscles of his thigh. The force of the blow knocking him backwards.
“Motherfu...!” Superflyceratops managed. He stomped his leg and danced in a quick, pained circle. “Oh now you're going to get it! Dinowhores!” The gem on his cane flared with a sickly amber light, bathing the room in a piss coloured glow; a urinal cake's view of the world. Several of the mounted skeletons stirred and pulled themselves free, glowing green flesh manifesting, wrapping around the bones.
“That T-rex has tits.” Thibor managed, suitably horrified. “Why does T-rex have enormous tits? Cannot even reach around them with tiny little arms.”
“T-rex? None of those here.” Superflyceratops crowed. “You're looking at a super-fine, hot-blooded, Tyranosaurus Sex.”
* * *