As Is хххх 3

It seems my apology wasn't accepted, and the uninvited guests had shown up for a spontaneous tea party to stage their Bolshevik vendetta.

I fished a champagne bottle from under the bunk and stood in front of the door. They barked from outside, still hesitant to cross the threshold—the bottle looked weighty. How could they know that I had a minus in martial arts?

Then footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Stepan appeared behind the guys. He immediately figured out what was going on and attacked from the rear.
I also rushed out into the hallway with a battle cry of 'Come here, bitch!' It worked just as well as on Shurik; the guys wavered and rushed to retreat. Stepan and I added to their impetus, but the bottle was no longer in my hands, and I don't remember where it went. All I remember is the clatter of their footsteps down the wooden steps and Stepan's gallop after them.

I was left alone with the fellow, who, in the general confusion, hadn't managed to squeeze into the narrow staircase and stayed stuck at the top.
However, his spirit was broken. Without prodding, he sagged limply over the landing's railing, like a soggy rug left to dry next to a pensioner lady's apartment door. Resigned to his fate, he gazed at the steps—down there, where he was destined to crash.

And I grabbed him—noblesse oblige!—but then I suddenly heard a yell, very distant, barely audible, somewhat similar to the one that had called out to me on the icy road near the unfinished nine-story building in Stavropol. I glanced down, then at the capitulator's dangling jelly. Why? And I walked down the corridor, back to the pencil case room.

(… I don't argue, all this is more than strange, but strange things do happen, sometimes. Some people have voices, and I heard yells, weak, from very far away… )

Book 3 in the Rascally Romance series is a covert Halleluya to the hero's priceless asset–muchly handy whether basking in the sunny side of the street or pulling through the situations created with his active participation. I mean the happy trait in his mental make-up–taking anything for granted, that is – as is

Were the protagonist a tree, the period encompassed here would add him 6 annual rings. However, our baobab is a lucky plant. And Ill disclose you even more! Paying with 6 years of his personal time (which is also money, you know it as well as any other mothers son does) for 6 additional rings in any unrelated tree, he begins gradually suspect, that its his life, after all.

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 Contents   words: 120,497; p.: 430
~ ~ ~ the royal troops
~ ~ ~ no steadier groupies than muses
~ ~ ~ the two-way service
~ ~ ~ the crest of a wave
~ ~ ~ the state-of-art warrior
~ ~ ~ The Upcurve To Knowledge
~ ~ ~ The Finds And Losses
~ ~ ~ The Wild Oats
~ ~ ~ Student Life: Vital Tips And Techniques
~ ~ ~ The 4-letter Sadist
~ ~ ~ Another Annual Ring Developed
~ ~ ~ No Love Without A Pinch Of Sadness
~ ~ ~ The Smug Parvenu
~ ~ ~ The Pre-Launch Ado