“I feel like we should ram something, something German.”
“Maybe I should steer the boat,” she said cautiously, “There’s not a lot to ram on the river, but you make me nervous.”
He shrugged, “I’m just saying, you know, full steam ahead, damn the torpedoes, and BAMF !”
“Bamf is teleporting, not exploding,” she chided.
“Why do you have to spoil all my fun?” he demanded, giving the boat’s wheel a quick turn to jar them both.
“Becase, if you had your fun, we’d be as dead a pawnbroker in a Dostoevsky novel.”
He only shrugged and sang quietly, “Oh better far to live and die under the brave black flag I fly…”
“For the love of Pete, no singing. Honestly, what would father say?”
“Hey, keep Pete out of this. We’re just friends!” But she shushed him. In the distance she could see the lights of their objective. The time for joking was done.
In hushed tones she confessed, “I’m not happy to be going there.”
“Yeah. There. Where the wild things are, making their wild rumpus.”
“Cute description for hell on earth.”