It was unnaturally hot that fine day in March, and our ragtag group of misfits were braving the heat in the most undesirable way. Instead of lazing about in a cold room or swimming in a disgusting pond as they wished they were, they were out and about, searching for the entrence to the Underworld.
Yet as they came unprepared (Maximus blamed Estaban, as usual, despite the quiet man's insistence that they bring food; "Those who forget the pasta are condemned to reheat it"), they were already exhausted despite only being about 1/100000 into their journey.
"Wh-where do. . . you suppose. . . we go to find. . . food?" Pedro panted, his long legs barely holding him up. Though he was dead, he still liked a nice hot bowl of chili whenever it was available. Wagon, who still had yet to take off that stifling black cloak, shrugged weakly, too exhausted to speak.
Maximus had long ago given up to keep up his pompous, know-it-all manner and was struggling behind the rest of them. However, he caught wind of Pedro's question and saw Wagon's response. Devasted, he whined, "But I'm HUNGRY!"
"Shut up." Wagon had no tolerance for whiners. It was a miracle that he had restrained himself from strangling the self-proclaimed leader before, but now the idea of Maximus' "accidental" death was looking quite friendly to the young man.
"Look! A sandwich place!" How a pathetic looking sandwich shop was in the middle of literally nowhere in Greece, we shall never know. Yet as the other's looked in the direction of Pedro's bony and desperate pointer finger and saw what he had seen, their euphoria was evident on their sweaty faces. The Gods had decided to bless them with Holy Sandwiches!
They all ran (or dragged) themselves towards the small shop with the sign stating it as HOLY SANDWICHES. As Pedro had the longest legs, he got there sooner. "I would like a sandwich sir! Madam! Whatever!" The wrinkled thing standing at the counter didn't look like a sir or a madam, but it didn't seem to take offense. "Ham or turkey?" It creaked, it's voice sounding like sandpaper scraping against more sandpaper.
"Ham!" Wagon had supported himself against the side of the counter at this point and said, "Turkey. . . please. . ." Maximus and Estaban finally arrived now, Estaban practically carrying the drama queen as said drama queen wheezed, "Turkey." as if he were the one carrying another.
"What about you Estaban? You want ham or turkey?" Estaban looked at Wagon and said, "To be or not to be, that is the question."
They were all dumbfounded, including their new friend It. "Wait, was that turkey or was that ham?" Wagon looked perplexed, as for once he could not dicipher his friend's message.
"You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink."
". . ."
"Behind every great man is a woman."
". . ."
"Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you will land among the stars."
". . . You know what? Let's just have two turkeys and two hams."
Estaban looked positively alarmed at this. Wagon backtracked. "Three turkeys and one ham!"
At his friends relieved look, Pedro nodded. "Yes."
It creaked, "That will 7 dollars, young men."
"Alright. Estaban, where's the money? Estaban? Estaban. . .? . . . There is no money, is there?"
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