fandomhigh | Detention [Saturday, November 21]

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detention

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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Like you were abducted by gun-wielding ~~maniacs~~ Freelance Police Officers.

The first door leads you into a small room, one that's been decorated rather garishly. There's a cactus in one corner, and the curtains behind the main desk have flames painted onto them. At the far end of the room is a particularly tacky-looking couch. The inscription on the door reads Sybil's ~~Tattoo Parlor~~ Psycho Therapy. That would explain the random pieces of flash tattoo art, as well as the cheap diplomas over the couch.

Standing in front of the couch is a very short man (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/Peepers.jpg), one wearing the uniform of a typical 'soda jerk.' The name tag on the uniform reads "Peepers," which might be a reference to his enormous blue eyes.

"Welcome!" he says, rubbing his eyes again.

In the far corner is a closet door. It keeps thumping.

There's a case here, deputies!!! It's up to you to solve it!!!!

The second door leads you into a larger room, one that's missing its fourth wall. The three clapboard walls that ARE there are decorated in a sort of half-middle class apartment, half-old West style, and where the fourth wall should be are a lot of cameras, and one very tired and put-upon looking director/production assistant/stage manager (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/director.jpg).

"Oh, good you're here," she tells you. "Okay, here's the drill. On Midtown Cowboys, you play a cattle rancher trying to raise a herd in an apartment in Manhattan." There is a single cow on the set with you, slowly chewing on its cud. "...It's a small herd. You're struggling, okay? You've got this landlord, Mr. Featherly, who's got a very strict 'no-cows' policy. He's always barging in, and you try to hide the fact that you have a cow in the apartment. Lots of sight gags, usually something gross ends up happening, simple enough, okay? There's just a slight hitch -- the cow ate most of the script, so you're going to have to ad-lib most of the show. Don't worry, you'll be working with Philo Pennyworth (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/philo.jpg), who plays Featherly. He's a brilliant actor, classically trained. Okay, now remember, your landlord's at the door, and you don't want him to know you've got a cow in the apartment. Ready? and... ACTION!"

In other words: you're now a sitcom star (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/midtown_cowboys.jpg), and you have a few minutes (pings) to try to conceal the cow in your tiny apartment. Hide it, or give it a clever disguise! When Mr. Featherly bursts in, you'll have to explain your new furniture and/or house guest. Don't worry, Mr. Featherly is dumber than a box of hair, so as long as you really sell your excuse, you'll be set. You can use anything on your person, or anything in the (moddable-within-reason) set. Good luck!

(Also, if you haven't done anything with the cow by the time Mr. Featherly comes in, then Philo will lecture you about how he is classically trained and he hates working with amateurs. Then he'll leave, so the scene can be reset, and you can take another crack at it. Which means you're totally welcome to screw up a few times if you want to hear a chicken wearing a sweater-vest complain about how he did Hamlet and the masses have no taste and etc. etc. etc. ...)

Now that you've successfully negotiated the world of high-class detectiving, it's time for a time-honored police tradition: a game of Fizzball (http://samandmax.wikia.com/wiki/Fizzball)! The third door leads you out onto a grassy vacant lot in the middle of the city. Max hops up to you and hands you an axe handle -- not an axe, just the handle, and says "You know how to play this, right? No? Good! Batter up!"

"Here's how we play," Sam said brightly. "The pitcher -- that's me -- is gonna shake up these cans of beer, and then pitch to you. Something underhanded and easy to hit! Then you take the axe handle and swing at that beer can like your life depends on it! The object is to slice that can up so that the beer explodes out, and the shrapnel goes flying!"

"And the object of the game," Max added, "is... no, that's pretty much it, right there. There's no points to score, and no bases to run, and it's not like there are going to be any FIELDERS -- as much as I'd like you to get hit by flying shrapnel, I don't think we're allowed to maim you. Much."

"You can get a raincoat, if you'd like," Sam added generously. "And I suppose you can get some protective headgear, but only if you're an enormous pansy. So! Who's up first?"

(Full info on Fizzball can be found here (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/sam_and_max-fizzball.jpg) -- that's a huge scan, however, so if you need it broken into chunks: basics (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/fizz_basics.jpg), equipment (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/fizz_equip.jpg), reference (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/fizz_reference.jpg), and uniforms (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/samnmax/detention/fizz_uniforms.jpg)!)

Congratulations! You survived an encounter with Sam and Max. Huddle with the other survivors and try to make sense of this sick, sad world you're living in. Or plot out your revenge against the school. If you want to hang out with the others now that you are free, do it here.

Thank them for making you a deputy, and setting you on the right path! They're really great like that.

Most of this was lifted from canon, because Sam & Max canon is completely insane, and why pass up a chance to play around with that?

Any questions, please tag us here.

We are probably crashing soon for the night, as it's almost 3 AM EST. Fear not, you will have more Sam-and-Max-ing when we return to the land of the awake!

Also, I forgot to note that both this post and the other were co-written with my partner-in-crime,

maxnotsam. Sorry for the oversight, little buddy. I always assume that's a given with these two.

Jonothon Starsmore

FIZZBALL! THE GREATEST SPORT EVER INVENTED! THE SPORT OF KINGS! KINGS I SAY!

FIZZBALL! WE NEED TO PLAY IN THE PARK SOMETIME! FIIIIIZZBALL!

... This was insane. That was absolutely what it was. But at least Jono wasn't handcuffed anymore, right?

//Pardon me, mate,// he stated, looking down at the short man for a moment before looking up again, at the closet. //What's that thumping sound?//

"That's just one of my patients!" ~~Peepers~~ Sybil said. "She's undergoing an experimental new treatment. I'm a licensed psychotherapist, you know!"

//Yer definitely... something. Excuse me.//

Look, people should not be locked in closets, was all Jono was saying, here. And so if the little guy would excuse him, he was going to push past and attempt to free whoever the poor girl was who was trapped inside.

Luckily for Jono, the door was only locked. A simple flick and a turn of the handle would open the closet, to reveal a woman with cat's-eye glasses and her hair back in a severe bun.

"Oh, thank you," she sighed, standing up and brushing some dust from her legs. "I was in there so long I started making up life stories for the mothballs."

That was one hell of a pair of glasses, there. Jono's eyebrow was still up, and it was starting to look as though it might never come down again.

//I'm certain they were absolutely enthralled,// he mused, and then glanced over his shoulder at the little man he'd pushed past. //This bloke causin' grief for yer, at all?//

... Look, he didn't exactly trust Peepers, there. For various reasons, not the least of which was the simple fact that the guy creeped him the hell out.

"Is that lunatic still here?" Sybil gaped at the small man, and then facepalmed. "That's the jerk who locked me in there! He's been pretending he's me!"

//Between yer and me, luv, he's pretty terrible at it.//

Jono crossed his arms over his chest, looking the little guy up and down.

//Why th'bloody hell would yer do somethin' like that, anyhow?//

"She's the patient, not me!" Peepers insisted. "I'm Sybil Pandemik, licensed psychotherapist! She's delusional and thinks she's me!"

"I am you!" Sybil snapped. "Or you're me, or -- you know what I mean!"

"Her delusions are pretty persistent," Peepers sighed.

Sybil nearly told him where to stick his delusions. Instead, she tilted her head at him, abruptly.

"Hang on," she told Jono. "I think he's been hypnotized."

There was really only one thing that Jono could think to say, at that.

//I didn't do it!//

Look, that was supposedly why he was here.

Angela Martin

"Nobody accused you," Sybil said. "You have an intriguing guilt complex and associated paranoia response. You could probably use some therapy. But that's not the point. I can reverse it, if we can render the subject susceptible to new input."

Angela had to be on a prank show. She didn't approve of prank shows. She would not be signing any releases.

"Can I go now?" She didn't care who she was talking to, as long as they said leaving was okay.

Way to sound like an absolute berk, Jono. He sighed, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest.

//Right then. How do we go about doin' that?//

"Knock his creepy little butt unconscious," Sybil said. "I'll handle the rest."

See? And Jono thought detention wasn't going to be any fun.

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Detention [Saturday, November 21]

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ACTIVITY #1 - SYBIL'S

ACTIVITY #2 - MIDTOWN COWBOYS

ACTIVITY #3 - FIZZBALL

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