Attempt Number One
Applying black face paint over feathers was harder than it looked, but it was an essential part of late night skullduggery, largely because Thunderfunk was a white chicken with a white head, so he was highly visible, even at night. He finished the last touches, smearing the greasy paint on his neck feathers. “There, how do I look?” he asked Straw.
“Too much mascara,” replied the young man without looking up. He had been ready for an hour, but it was always much easier for him. “Can we go now?” he whined.
“Yes, the time for us to depart has arrived,” said Thunder.
They slunk out of their secret lair, moving silently through the inky blackness, grateful for the lack of a moon. Soon they had reached their destination. “This part of his fence is always neglected,” whispered Thunder, reaching forward to grasp the metal wire.
Straw looked around. “I smell barbecue,” he said, puzzled. “Who in the world would be barbecuing this late at night?”
“Hnng!” replied Thunder, his entire body stiff, smoke curling from under his black toque.
“Oh,” said Straw. He grabbed a stick and knocked Thunder’s hand off of the fence. The giant chicken slumped to the ground, babbling incoherently.
“I took the liberty of rewiring the fence for electricity,” came Breadbuuter’s voice over a hidden speaker. “Did you like it?”
“Hrrg!” replied Thunder sullenly. He rose to his feet shakily and tottered off, limping visibly.
Straw looked around, unsure of the protocol. “Sorry to have bothered you,” he finally said before running into the darkness. He bounced off of the fence with a loud zap. Rising to his feet, he glanced around. Patting his head until the flames went out, turned and followed Thunder into the darkness.
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