#wss366 #Scout 5/19 (#TimeManager Part 11)

A “man” walked up to Poe on his hands. His feet straight up in the air and head protruding from his ass.

“Ich seche faces as wex, wroght to be wondred at,” As the man spoke, a long forked tongue shot out of his mouth holding a contract.

Poe stared at the contract the “person” thrust at him, saying, “I’m not signing my soul away!”

Raven cackled, “He’s a talent SCOUT.”

“For what? I can’t sing, dance, or act.”

Raven spoke to the “man,” “He desireth to witen wherfore.”

The man replied, “For Sire Alfrede’s Fyneste Fendes Melle. He sholde winne muchel worship.”

Raven translated, “For Sir Alfred’s Ultimate Freak Show. He would be a great success.” Raven began cackling again. “Worship! That be rich.”

“Me? Not the talking raven?” Poe was astonished.

“Yes, you. The man who writes poems to dead women and talks to ravens at midnight.”

Poe flicked Raven.

“I’ll tell him,” Raven said indignantly.

“Nay. His wille ne draweth thider.”

“Meetes and herberwe yiven. Haluepeni the mone. Ne shalt do bettre þan þat,” the man replied.

Raven translated, “Meals and lodging provided. Halfpenny a month. Won’t do better than that.”

“He’s crazy. I’m not a freak and a halfpenny a month! He can stick it up his ass!” Poe was bristling.

“His ass is in use, and I am not translating,” Raven said.

Poe shook his head vigorously.

The man shrugged and walked off, muttering, “Warlockes ben wondere wights. Were he min, ich wolde wasshen his muð mid sape.”

“He says, ‘Warlocks are weird creatures, and he would wash your mouth out with soap if you were his kid.’”

#MiddleEnglish
#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #NotDrabble #TimeTravelAuthors #NMTTA