@SimplyJohn
King Bestaff continued to fidget about somewhat incessantly on his stool as he waited for someone to respond to his demands; that was how you ordered in a pub, right? Shouting out at the top of your voice in a very manly manner?
Unfortunately for the little pointy-eared, malodorous monarch, a figure that he guessed was a big, grown-up human woman soon appeared out of nowhere, and he was immediately distracted by... the weird fleshy things attached to her chest.
For you see, Hobbes, as a whole, have no dirty urges to speak of thanks to their perpetual physical (and mental) immaturity, and therefore the Hobbes are somewhat more progressive than many human societies. To them, Men and Women are basically the same, just one generally has less body hair than the other. There was a small minority of Hobbes that refused to eat the flesh of Women out of fear they would get Cooties, the deadliest disease of all, but Bestaff obviously aimed to put a stop to such blatant sexism.
The only exception to all this, it seemed, were the 'chest-melons', considered a sort of weird curiosity, like a three-headed banana. It was only inevitable that Bestaff would find himself staring inquisitively at them, frowning and with one brow raised as he examined the strange sight, her voice reduced to background noise. It was only after he felt his dried-out tongue twitch that he realised he was supposed to be drinking beer like an adult!
"Eh, wot?" He said, shaking his head about a little.
"Sorry, I wasn't listenin', those things attached to yer chest are pretty bloody bouncy, like peach balloons." He informed her, bluntly, in the same sort of manner someone might talk about an impressively strange Circus sideshow. "Y'know, I 'eard from some bloody peasants back at my cave that those things carry Cooties, but dat can't be true, can it? I mean, 'Obbe medical science is in a right 'orrible state thanks to FORMER King Jimbo Junior, who I single-'andedly overthrew in glorious fashion!"
Naturally, he couldn't help but grandiosely raise one hand to the air when making his declaration of superiority, but stopped just afterward and adjusted his dirty-cloth-cut-out-to-resemble-a-fancy-tie, refocusing his chronically underdeveloped mind to try and remember that vague background noise from earlier.
"Anyway, uh... ya were sayin' summat about beer, yeah? Listen, Madam wotsyername, I don't care what kinda beer, just get me any beer. Money's no object; I am the bloody KING, after all!"
King Bestaff continued to fidget about somewhat incessantly on his stool as he waited for someone to respond to his demands; that was how you ordered in a pub, right? Shouting out at the top of your voice in a very manly manner?
Unfortunately for the little pointy-eared, malodorous monarch, a figure that he guessed was a big, grown-up human woman soon appeared out of nowhere, and he was immediately distracted by... the weird fleshy things attached to her chest.
For you see, Hobbes, as a whole, have no dirty urges to speak of thanks to their perpetual physical (and mental) immaturity, and therefore the Hobbes are somewhat more progressive than many human societies. To them, Men and Women are basically the same, just one generally has less body hair than the other. There was a small minority of Hobbes that refused to eat the flesh of Women out of fear they would get Cooties, the deadliest disease of all, but Bestaff obviously aimed to put a stop to such blatant sexism.
The only exception to all this, it seemed, were the 'chest-melons', considered a sort of weird curiosity, like a three-headed banana. It was only inevitable that Bestaff would find himself staring inquisitively at them, frowning and with one brow raised as he examined the strange sight, her voice reduced to background noise. It was only after he felt his dried-out tongue twitch that he realised he was supposed to be drinking beer like an adult!
"Eh, wot?" He said, shaking his head about a little.
"Sorry, I wasn't listenin', those things attached to yer chest are pretty bloody bouncy, like peach balloons." He informed her, bluntly, in the same sort of manner someone might talk about an impressively strange Circus sideshow. "Y'know, I 'eard from some bloody peasants back at my cave that those things carry Cooties, but dat can't be true, can it? I mean, 'Obbe medical science is in a right 'orrible state thanks to FORMER King Jimbo Junior, who I single-'andedly overthrew in glorious fashion!"
Naturally, he couldn't help but grandiosely raise one hand to the air when making his declaration of superiority, but stopped just afterward and adjusted his dirty-cloth-cut-out-to-resemble-a-fancy-tie, refocusing his chronically underdeveloped mind to try and remember that vague background noise from earlier.
"Anyway, uh... ya were sayin' summat about beer, yeah? Listen, Madam wotsyername, I don't care what kinda beer, just get me any beer. Money's no object; I am the bloody KING, after all!"
