Ashes to Ashes, Funk to Funky

Plisken gently ran the leave over the stump of his arm. The fresh water of the lake stung the constatnly open wound and cause Plisken to hiss in pain when the water ran down his arm. Better to be clean than comfortable though. The installation of the metalic arm had been... problematic to say the least. The lack, or denial, of anesthetic, had made Plisken slightly uncomfortable while his nerve endings were plugged into a metalic connector. But that was that, people had had it worse. Like that...what was his name? Plisken stroked his beard and wondered. With a snap of fingers he found the name - Navy! Oh wait, no it was Davie. Should he have found out more about before his untimly demise? Well maybe but it was no use thinking about it now. Plisken let out another his as he poured a hand full of water on the open wound.

"That looks pretty bad," came a voice from behind Plisken. Plisken instinctively groped around near his coat for his sword. But then the voice sunk in and realised it was Solvay.

"I'm sure you've seen worse, Mr. Solvay," said Plisken, turning around and standing up. But Plisken saw Alex was looked sceptical.

Alex scratched the back of his head and looked around, "Hey, you have still got any of that tobacco you were smoking?"

Plisken smiled and beckoned Alex forwards. Alex stepped down the small hill and stood next to Plisken. Plisken picked up his coat and rummaged for the last remaining packet of QuickaDeath. "You'd better prepare yourself if your going to use this."

Alex shrugged.

Plisken placed some into his pipe and watched Alex roll some tobacco into a small piece of paper. A match was struck and Plisken lit both smoking tools. Alex coughed as he drew in a large smoke, Plisken guessed this might have been the strongest stuff he'd ever had. Maybe he had some liqour about him.

But before he could taste the delicous taste of alcohol, and before he could even ask, a strange bunch of aliens wandered through the thick cloud of smoke that had been produced by the two smokers. They caught both men by surpise but it was too cloudy to make them out.

"Is it the Salsa, or whatever, that are the good guys or is the Harkonnen?"

The rest of that bit was a bit blurred to both Plisken and Alex but it went something like this.

The Haruk leant over and said something a bit like "Excuse me mieser."
Alex leant over and recieved a sharp *thunk* on the back of the head, knocking him out. In the gloom it was too hard for Plisken to have made what had happened out.
The very same Haruk leant over and said the same, "Excuse me mieser."
Plisken leant in and said "What?" before recieving a sharp *thunk* on the back of the head. "I said 'What?', not hit me on the back of the head with a large wooden ha-". Plisken was knocked out.

As the Haruk dragged them away from the lake, they talked about Alex and Plisken in their strange language.
"These people will make a good sport."
"No they won't! One is a chain smoker and the really old! And he's only got one arm!"
"Well we can give him the spare arm and the Shaman will know how to slow his aging."
"The arm is made of wood."