Svatopluk and Bubnov had wandered for hours to reach the cabin, yet they were still far away.
The only way to reach it was across the frost covered lake.
Before the lake they had to navigate between a forest of birch trees that before entering, and while Svato had stood on the dead tree, had seemed small and unimportant.
But now, wandering between the trees they were getting confused. Well, Bubnov had been confused the whole time. Probably, his whole life.
Svato pulled out a Swiss-army knife from his inner pocket and made marks on the tress they walked by.
Bubnov would cry every time Svato cut a new tree.
“Nooo! Tree has the feelings too! Tree don’t like! Tree say, ‘No Svato, don’t do! don’t do!’ but, like, tree language!”
Little did his attempts to stop his companion’s massacre help.
As the duo marched through the forest, slashing trees left and right they made their way to the lake. Svato soon made the brilliant decision to walk straight across the questionable ice.
There would, however, be a slight change of plans.
They both stepped through the ice within seconds.
Svato the first going through the water.
The Belarusian punisher, as he had called himself when he was slashing the tree few minutes earlier, was now getting punished himself. He also struggled to swim, and as such desperately flapped and basked his arms in the water, before realizing the water barely reached his knees.
Meanwhile Bubnov, who had been busy fondling a bush, hadn’t stepped on the ice yet, but only seen Svato’s failed attempt.
Svato cursed in Russian, Bubnov chuckled. Svato got mad. Bubnov stopped chuckling.
Good times. Russian times.
Eventually, by unknown means, the pair reached the cabin.
Svato’s clothes were bloodied, Bubnov’s were shredded and a weird, inexplicable green slime was stuck to his legs.
Behind them the sky was lit up by a large fire raging in the forest.
In the far laid the corpse of a slain dragon, it’s gigantuous head severed from the rest of it’s scaly body.
Giants, wolves and witches were battling each other. The lake had evaporated and left a huge crater behind.
Just in general, mad things, lad.
And yet, here Svato and Bubnov stood. Safe – albeit from the blood and slime. Bubnov, with a finger up his nose, digging for the real treasures.
Of course, this was all only in Svato’s heroic imagination.
In reality, the blood came from Svato’s own leg as he slipped and fell on top of a few small sharp rocks, knocking him and causing blood to flow. Bubnov’s green slime was still a bit of a mystery, although, chances were fairly good that the nosepicking action could have relation to the slime.
The cabin door was now only but a few steps from them. The smell of beat soup and vodka had grown, the warmth from the cabin slowly de-freezing their bodies.
They were ready to walk in. This cabin, the mythological building, that in Svato’s mind was similar to that of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, was right at their hands.
“Oi mate! Nawt so quick or I’ll let Winston Churchill, me German Rottweiler rip ya a new arsehole!”
Vinnie Jones, famous for being in ‘Not Another Not Another Movie’ – yep, that’s the actual title, and for finishing 3rd in Big Brother 7. What a man. But. What the FUCK was he doing here. Of all places in the world he could be, this was the place he had chosen?
Svato knew something wasn’t right.
“Bubby! Did you do the telling to big bald man? Bubby? Bubby answer me dammit!”
“Sorry boss. Bubnov is doing a busy here!”
And busy he was indeed. Bubnov was picking the nose of Winston Churchill who was eagerly wagging her tail. Yes, ‘her’ tail. Winston Churchill was a girl. A bitch, in the correct terms.
“What’s that little Winnie McChurchill?” Vinnie was talking to his dog who was happier than ever, “ya want me to kick this trololo lookalike’s useless behind?”
This had turned into a circus very quickly.
Alas, this was only but a new challenge to overcome.
After all, he had already defeated a dragon, escaped several giants, wolves and witches as he had lifted Bubnov on his back and jumped across the massive crater that stood between them and the cabin.
And now – what – was he supposed to be scared of Vinnie and that bitch Winston Churchill?
(Probably a decent choice actually)
Nah. He wasn’t having it. None of it.
(Wanna rethink, maybe? No? Okay, great.)
He picked up a large stick and threw it in his best Olympic athlete impression.
Hitting Bubnov in the back of his head, who immediately started to burst into tears.
In the chaos caused Svato took his shot and ran into the cabin leaving Bubnov tumbling around crying while Winston Churchill tried to lick the slime off his trousers.
Svato entered a slight gap and slammed the door after him as he got inside.
The cabin was dark albeit for a single dark figure in the back of the room.
Smoke arose from a pipe in the mysterious man’s hand.
He pointed the pipe at Svato and tapped it into the air 3 times.
At the third tap the fireplace beside the man burst into strong flames. The man’s face was suddenly visible.
Oh, no. Not him.
Anybody but him.
“Nah, Svato say fuck that,”
He turned around and left the cabin again. The man in the chair left surprised and confused.
“He asked for you baldie. You and your stupid face.” Svato said.
“Aye, deadly stuff mate.”
The door to the cabin opened on its own seconds before Vinnie reached it.
Bubnov stopped crying after 5 minutes intense sobbing and went pale staring into the abyss.
Vinnie looked for a moment as well before he uttered,
“Ahh! Moeysy! My ol’ friend!”