Days sans Petanque: The Legend of Hellacious and Loquacious

If you don't know the story, well, you should. Because every kid in town hears it from the time he wears his first face mask. You see, the whole town was on lockdown. It was a bad time. We were living on takeout from Mary's Pizza Shack and The Girl and the Fig. I know it's hard to believe now, but there was—no petanque. Sure people were tearing out landscaping to toss a boule whenever they were sure the Shelter in Place vigilantes weren't around, but a full game of 13 was impossible. And players from Oakmont and Novato… forget about it. Mothers were getting desperate. No play dates. No school plays. No soccer matches. Some dads were even learning to change diapers. I tell you, I was scared, and you would have been too.

In a final act of members of the, then suppressed VOMPC took up a collection and sent runners out after dark to try and hire someone, anyone really, who could bring some sense of order to the town. Well, when they came back with two of the meanest, cussedest, shoot'em-on-sight, lawmen in the county, Hellacious and Loquacious. We didn't know if we were saved or about to have the branch we were hanging on sawed off at the trunk.

Those two organized a rally in front of city hall and had everyone right then and there call their congressmen and demand some action.

Then they rode out to the capital and locked all the senators in a room. What exactly went on nobody's sayin' but when they came out, they'd passed a bill that made all the billionaires in the country fund research into a cause and cure for our dilemma, and keep funding it until a cure was found. Wouldn't you know, within 30 days a cure was found and vaccines were free to everyone. 
A grand petanque tournament and dinner was held in Depot Park honoring Hellacious and Loquacious for delivering us from those dark times. A parade around the plaza capped off the day after which to two of them simply rode off to a new adventure. We never heard from them again. However nine months later two babies were born with surprisingly similar looks to our heroes. But with no mustaches, they were just babies. Their mothers named them Holly and Lynda. Probably just a coincidence.

What? Oh this coffee can? I'm taking up a collection to have their two statues commissioned and placed standing behind the General. I call it the Hel-Lo fund. Hello? What do you think?
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A hero is someone who does what must be done, and needs no other reason. —CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN & NANCY HOLDER, Sons of Entropy