It seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, he hadn’t known about the curse on the place, or the neighbors.
Hero/warrior dude gets stuck on a farm.
Whatever story was once there is long gone, but the six or so lines of dialogue following it were a bit more inspiring. So I present you with the following, undeniably silly, double drabble. And I apologize in advance for the travesty which is Lionel's accent.
"Don’t got no wimmin." Lionel said, and after a moment’s thought spat for verisimilitude. The lieutenant regarded Gertrude with a dubious eye.
"No? Well, that sure looks like one." He looked like he wanted nothing more than a good excuse to haul Lionel up before his superiors. But having made it this far, Lionel refused to give the lieutenant any opening.
"What? Oh, that. Ain’t actually a wimmin." And for a moment, submerged in his persona of idiot farmer, he almost believed what he was saying. Almost.
"Really." Any drier, and the good lieutenant would be speaking sandpaper, not words.
"’S a nanny goat. Gives good milk, when’s got a mind to." Gertrude’s face twisted as he said that, and for a moment he thought he’d gone too far, driving her to either outrage or laughter. He and the lieutenant both watched her with interest–as she went, so went the rest of the encounter. But after a brief struggle she pulled herself together, and bleated with a rather amused look.
Now the lieutenant looked like he wanted to laugh. "I . . . see." Or rather, his look seemed to say to Lionel, I don’t.
It went on like that for a while.