fandomhigh | The Tournament - Danger Shop

Slade	Arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed what looked like a Colosseum, Deathstroke the Terminator was not amused. This was an idiotic idea. He really needed yo be pickier about his jobs if this managed to get through the screening. He was even less amused by his co-judges.
Tyler	Tyler was not particularly amused himself. "I thought we were supposed to take over the island, not spend the weekend playing Simon Cowell," he announced, folding his arms and glancing to the third judge. "And why is she here?"
Ghanima	"She is here because there is to be at least a show of fairness in these proceedings," Ghanima said coldly. "There are rules of engagement for these types of things, and your Mayor knows perfectly well they must be adhered to."
Deathstroke	"It's a fair tournament," Slade replied, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
Lady Atreides	I do not doubt the fairness of the tournament structure," Ghanima replied blandly. "However, having judges that only represent one side of the contest would present an image of inequality that cannot be allowed if the results are to be accepted as valid. Don't you agree?
Mr. Durden	"Whatever you say," Tyler said, rolling his eyes. "We have to kill some time before we get the island, anyhow. May as well pretend to be fair about it. And it's totally not a rigged tournament. We got rules and everything." He rattled the sheet of paper in his hands, leaned into the microphone. "Okay, 'The first rule of fi-', whoops, that's personal. Let me try something else." He shuffled the pages. "Two people to a match, they go on as long as they have to or until the bell rings, whatever's first." A pause. "This next rule is stupid. And I'd buy a drink for anyone who pulled off breaking that one." He tilted the page to show Slade.
Mr. Wilson	"Cross that one off," He said dryly. "And I don't think most of the people here are all that concerned about the image they give off, Miss Atreides.
Princess Ghanima	"The people? Not exactly. But in case you haven't noticed, islands like ours have their own rules," she answered. "Either we play by the laws of engagement, or we probably all wake up tomorrow as pink mice." "And I do not know about you two, but pink is not my color." Ghanima held out a hand for the rules. "Anything we actually have to keep, gentlemen, or can we just throw the whole stack out?"
Tyler	"I'm always gonna vote for throwing them out," Tyler said flatly, passing the rules to Ghanima. "Everybody signed the waiver, anyhow." There had been no waiver. "I say we let the pirates start, and then add rules if we absolutely need them. I'm ready to see some fights."
Deathstroke	"As much as I don't want to say it--" Slade took a deep breath. "I agree with him."
Ghanima	So the two judges provided by the other island did not get along. Fascinating. Ghanima's eyes flickered over the rules briefly and her mouth curled in distaste. "Well these are less-than-useless," she sighed. "Worse, they're boring." Attempts to sanitize combat always annoyed her. "First match! Mr. Barbossa. Captain Jack Sparrow. Step forward, please. We're all waiting."

[[~~Wait for the~~ OCD is up and Deathstroke will STILL kill you where you stand!]]

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Jenny narrowed her eyes at him. "Getting drunk."

John frowned at his cigarette, which had burned down to the filter, and dug around in his pocket for the pack. Once that was found and he'd lit a fresh smoke, he asked Jenny, "Are you going to pour or are we going to sit here all day?"

"There's no rush," Jenny chided. "Unless you want alcohol poisoning, but s'your liver."

She poured the sixth shots, and they drank. Then she took one last drag off her cigarette, stubbed it out on her boot sole, and started digging around in her pockets for her pack.

Fresh out. "Bum a smoke?"

"I really shouldn't," he told her as he poured their seventh shots, then leaned in and reminded her in a low, conspiratorial tone, "You're the enemy."

"I'm also in a bloody drinking contest and fresh out of sodding cigarettes," Jenny told him. "Have a heart, you rat bastard."

They drank.

John eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged and tapped a cigarette out of his pack for her. "Common courtesy," he agreed.

"Good man." Jenny lit up and inhaled. Ah, sweet, sweet nicotine. She savored it for a moment, then poured the eighth shots. "Cheers."

"Cheers," he agreed, and they, you guessed it, drank.

Smoke break! The nemeses smoked in companionable silence for a few minutes, to better allow the ridiculous amount of alcohol they had already assumed permeate their bloodstreams, livers, and poor, innocent brain cells.

Then John poured their ninth shots and said, "For a teenage girl, you can actually hold your liquor," like he was surprised or something.

"We've been over this, mate, age is fluid. For someone who thinks that trenchcoat is styling you can hold yours, too. Or maybe that's because you're pissed all the time."

"Was that supposed to be an insult?"

She shrugged. "Could be."

They drank.

He chuckled. "You're drunk."

She dropped her voice to a whisper. "So are you."

She poured their tenth shots.

They drank.

"I'll tell you what I am. I'm--I'm--I'm the kinga the friggin' vampires, is what I am."

Jenny blinked at him. "You should give up now."

He poured the eleventh shots. "No." He held up his glass with a wobbly hand.

"Fine," she sighed, and picked up hers as well. She swallowed the burning drink, slammed her glass down, and picked up the bottle to pour their twelfth shots.

They drank. John took another drag off his cigarette, stubbed it out, and said, "And let me tell you something else."

"Yeah?" Jenny took a drag off her cigarette, and then another. Then she realized John hadn't told her whatever it was he wanted to tell her, and looked over at him. "Nem'sis man?"

He was out, head slumped against his arm on the table and snoring softly.

Jenny turned his head so he wouldn't choke if he threw up, patted his unshaven cheek, and stood.

Then she fell over and had to pull herself back to her feet using her chair. "I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm good. I'm outta practice, but I'm good."

Edited 2008-09-19 12:23 (UTC)

The Tournament - Danger Shop - Friday

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