fandomhigh | Detention [Saturday, November 21]

"Move! MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!" Max waved his Luger at the detainees, trying to push them out of the rickshaw, into the school, and in through the door of the Danger Room. "Step to it! Don't make me get violent!" He fired into the ceiling a few times. "No, you know what, MAKE me get violent!!!"

"I don't think anybody has to make you get violent, little buddy," Sam said cheerfully. "Hello, boys and girls! And welcome to Gun Safety. Today we're going to be teaching you how to properly clean and store handguns, pistols, and even some old-fashioned muskets we found laying around. Does anyone here know how to pack gunpowder?"

Max, in the back of the throng, started jumping and waving his hand in the air. "Oooh! Oooh! Pick me! Pick ME!!!"

"Not now, Max," Sam said in a stage whisper. "I'm lulling them into a false sense of security, so they forget they're in Detention."

Max sighed and shook his head condescendingly. "Sam, Sam, you forget they've got two raving psychotic lunatics waving GUNS at them. They're not going to be lulled into ANYTHING." He shrugged. "...So, we should just shoot them now."

"I don't think we're supposed to kill them, Max," Sam said, scratching his temple with the end of his gun. "They can't be our future if they're filled with bullet holes. Oh, I know! You know what would be educational and fun?"

"A bathtub filled with spaghetti and the collected works of Stephen Hawking?"

"This isn't Tuesday, Max," Sam reminded his pal gently. "I was thinking we should deputize these fine boys and girls and teach them how to be Freelance Police! Give them a taste of our cases. Show them that working with the law is always better than breaking it. Although it's usually best to do both at the same time."

Wasn't this going to be exciting? It was! And it wasn't like the students had a choice about it, anyway!

Welcome to Detention, Sam and Max style.

(OOC: the post for getting arrested (if you choose to do so) is here. Detention, ahoy!)

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"Hurry!" the director hissed from off-screen.

Jono's co-star, the cow, was staring back at him pleasantly. It didn't do tricks. It wasn't a highly trained stunt cow or anything. Just a cow.

There was a pounding on the prop-door, and the annoying voice of Mr. Featherly. "What's going on in there? I know you're hiding a cow!"

The sitcom was even dumber than the premise made it sound, yes. And Jono only had a few seconds before Mr. Featherly's entrance.

Hiding a cow. Hiding a cow in his apartment. Because that was absolutely brilliant, yes.

He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, then.

//If yer love me, you'll kill me now,// he intoned to nobody in particular.

He was a city bloke. There was no way in hell that he was going to touch the cattle, thank you.

"Open up!" the annoying voice shouted again. "I just KNOW you've got a COW in there!"

The door opened, and a small chicken stepped through and paused in the doorway, waiting while canned applause played through the studio speakers. "You can't fool --" The chicken sighed and hung his head in his wing, and when he spoke again his voice was deep, full-throated, and British. "Oh, no, no NO! Amateurs! I'm working with AMATEURS! You're supposed to HIDE the cow! Give me something to WORK with!"

Well, at least the chicken was British, and so he had that much going in his favour, right?

Jono did his best to look as affronted as humanly possible.

//Me, the amateur? Yer th'one who flubbed th'shot, mate. Yer honestly think that just because th'cow looks like a cow, that I didn't have a brilliant plan concocted all along? I stayed in character, here. Yer th'one who broke character to gripe and moan, here, mate. Not me.//

Brilliant plan?

Clearly, now he was going to have to come up with one. Well done, Jono.

"Mr. Featherly is a simpleton, but even he has eyes," Philo said darkly. "I do appreciate whatever avant-garde theatre-of-the-absurd notion you were putting forth, but it would be lost on the drooling masses that form the audience for this program. One imagines simple mathematics would be too difficult for them to grasp. And to think, I could be on the stage. I was in Amleth, you know."

Still grumbling to himself, Mr. Featherly waddled out the door again, and the stage was reset.

Which meant the eight-second theme song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fK9U6jwttTY) was playing aaaand ... action!

... Bloody hell, that was a catchy theme song. Jono was going to have it stuck in his head for weeks.

//Fine, then,// he grumbled, and now he was reaching for...

Well, for another lamp. Which he was going to set on top of the cow's back.

Under a doily, which he'd also grabbed.

See? He was totally trying.

"You'd better not have a COW in there!" Mr. Featherly shouted, while pounding on the door. Then he opened the door, stepped through, and waited for the canned applause again.

"If you've got a cow, then I'll... Ooooooooh!" Featherly strutted over to the cow and cocked his head, examining her. "This is a new table you've got here, isn't it? It's quite interesting!"

The table continued chewing its cud and flicked its tail boredly.

//It's the newest from Ikea,// Jono agreed, completely and totally pulling this out of his arse, now. //Originated in Japan. Or Sweden. Or something like that. Possibly Turkey. I'll be all th'rage in no time, I'm sure.//

He was attempting to kill the chicken with his brain.

It wasn't working.

"Oh, this is DEFINITELY the latest in Japanese-Swedish design," Mr. Featherly agreed. "I think I saw something like this in a catalog recently! From Ikea, you say? I'll have to check it out! I think I want a table like this for myself!"

The table mooed.

"...Hey, what was that?"

//It's a completely automated table,// Jonothon decided, crossing his arms over his chest and re-doubling his efforts to at least cause the chicken immense psychic pain or something.

It was possible that, since the chicken wasn't even real, it was never going to work.

//It makes noise every now and again, to let me know when it's time for me to... take my medicine.//

Which would be an interesting endeavour on its own, all things considered, but he had no idea why else he would have to set a timer on a cow. Table. Japanese-Swedish Cowtable.

It was fortunate for the chicken that Jono wasn't, say, Jean Grey.

Mr. Featherly cocked his head at Jono and looked concerned. "Medicine? Are you okay? You're not going to be too sick to pay the rent, are you?"

Edited 2009-11-21 22:21 (UTC)

It was fortunate for Jono that Jono wasn't Jean Grey, really.

He'd gotten used to staying alive for more than a few months at a time.

And also, used to not having a stupid codename.

//Not if I take my medicine,// Jono reasoned. //What did yer think it was for, mate?//

"Well, then," Mr. Featherly said, with the closest a chicken could manage at a dumb grin, "I guess that table is just what the doctor ordered!"

He mugged at the camera shamelessly and held the pose as if that was an epic punchline and not just a poorly-thought-out pun, and the eight-second theme song played again.

When it stopped, Philo scowled at the crew. "I'll be in my trailer," he huffed.

Hopefully, stardom wouldn't go to Jono's head.

Jono would somehow get over it.

Especially considering nothing he said would be caught on film. And so there would be ten minutes of Jonothon with his arms over his chest, while a chicken cooed over a cow that he thought was a table.

How was that for avant-garde?

Detention [Saturday, November 21]

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

Re: ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS