fandomhigh | Fandom High Graduation Ceremony, Class of 2011, Saturday Early Evening PART 2!

Entry tags:

!event: graduation

Fandom High Graduation Ceremony, Class of 2011, Saturday Early Evening PART 2!

Once all the graduates had returned to their seats, with their diplomas, Zoe turned to address the audience.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present --- ee da tuo da bien!”

No one should translate that. Just know that it wasn’t Chinese for ‘funky looking red and green spacecraft twice the size of the school that just zoomed in to hover above the lawn.’

A beam of eerie green light shining down from it, straight onto the stage, and from that pool of light stepped... no, surged, a horde of men in hairy, horny helmets, waving battle axes and growling in ...something Nordic? Eric could tell you, if he could make it to the stage, but unfortunately ? Not so much.

Those other beams of light that shot from the ship took care of that issue. Both the audience bleachers and the area of the stage roped off for the faculty were enclosed by shimmering fields of energy that let air and light through, but were frustratingly solid to the touch.

Sadly for the graduates, there was no annoying force-field separating them from the hairy-hatted men -- who were headed straight for the Fandom High Class of 2011.

[Open for your umlaut-ridden pleasure! Audience | Grads: Fight! | Grads: Hide! | Aftermath | OOC]

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Kennedy did have a stake in her boot, as it happened, but yeah, staking these guys was so not happening. Not in front of her family and Constance, but mostly at all, 'cause while they looked like they might smell evil, there was that whole apparently-human thing going on.

So she made a run for the weapons chest, and came up with a nice big shiny sword similar to the ones she preferred training with (and was pretty confident she could handle defensively), grinning like someone had just handed her the big prize.

"Best. Graduation. Ever."

"Þú þarfnast konur til að verja þig, litla menn?" called Holger, eying the girl with the sword in hesitant confusion, which was possibly his worst idea today, but not necessarily, since he'd also had Erik's cooking for breakfast.

[You need your women to defend you, little men?]

Someday Kennedy would tell this story to a former vengeance demon. It would probably not go over well at all, but it was likely to be hilarious.

"Yeah, yeah." She gave him a mildly skeptical look, because-- look, barring the obvious linguist joke that could be made here Kennedy had no idea what he'd just said. "We gonna do this, or what?"

Far be it from Holger to turn down a fight; he might disrespect her menfolk for not coming to her aid, but the woman showed spirit, and a fine-looking blade.

Finer than his? That would only be told when they clashed in battle; Holger did his part, plunging forward to swing an uppercut at her.

Totally more awesome than yours, Viking-dude. Totally more awesome.

Ducking the uppercut wasn't too hard, as it turned out, and ramming the pommel of the sword's hilt at Holger's stomach was a fun followup. Or would be if it connected, that was.

Oh, it connected.

If Holger didn't have a gut the size of Kronborg, it probably would have done more than tickle and get a Pillsbury Doughboy laugh out of him. He backed up and shook his head as he pushed at Kennedy's blade with his own, trying to knock it away.

...nothing that size should ever laugh like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Ever. EVER EVER EVER.

"Oh my god, don't ever do that again," Kennedy complained, setting her feet and pushing back with her own sword, hard.

Holger had no immediate plans to laugh like that again; his usual laugh was DEEP, MANLY, AND BOOMING, thank you. He was just, you know. Ticklish.

Also, while probably not stronger than a vampire slayer, he probably had more muscle force than a potential one. With a hard shove, he knocked the opposing blade away from his, and brough his free hand up in a fist, aiming for her head.

Yes. Yes, he did, and Kennedy went sprawling onto the stage on her ass, which, while undignified, saved her a concussion.

"Someone didn't listen to my speech," she grumbled. Seriously. Rude, much?

"Ef það var hjónaband tillögu, er svarið já," Holger chuckled, reaching down with plans to pick her up by the waist and swing her over his shoulder. There was more than one kind of booty to be gathered here tonight, in his opinion.

Oh, Holger, no.

*If that was a marriage proposal, the answer is yes.

Kennedy didn't recognize the gesture, but the tone of voice and expression? Yeah, giant flashing neon sign of a clue there.

"Oh, hell no," she snapped, and reached out to grab her sword and swing the flat of the blade at his temple.

Hey, it wasn't Holger's fault he didn't know she was Lebanese. It's not like she was wearing a t-shirt!

"Ow!" That...translated pretty well to modern English. Holger grinned as he rubbed his head. "Styrjaldaraðgerða! Pabba finnst það." That...didn't. Thank Thor.

[*Mmm, feisty. Daddy like! Oh Holger, no.]

Ugh, stupid helmets. Kennedy rolled her eyes.

"So I'm thinking we have a little communication problem here," she informed him. "As in, you're really, really not my type, and I don't speak space Viking."

She could learn!

Ooooor she could try to stop Holger from cutting at her sword arm.

He could deal with a one-armed wife, if it meant she stopped hitting him on the head. In fact, it'd be sort of ideal. One arm for holding fat babies would leave none left over for hitting him on the head at home, unlike his last wife.

Holger got hit on the head a lot.

Wonder why that was, Holger?

"Oh my god, your pickup lines need work," Kennedy told him, rolling quickly to one side to get out of the way of the cut. She liked her arms where they were just fine, thank you.

Getting back to her feet was nice. All of a sudden there were options. Who knew?

Would it help if he used Old Spice and not lady-scented body wash?

If by lady-scented you meant he smelled like a lady musk-ox.

Holger shrugged and went back to trying to disarm her, though not so literally this time; he just aimed to knock the sword from her hand with his own.

Okay, that Kennedy could work with. Well, relatively speaking.

Also, ew, musk-oxen. And ew, Old Spice.

Since he insisted on going after her with a shiny sharp thing (not that she wasn't doing the same), Kennedy decided there wasn't any bad in aiming a vicious slash at his knuckles.

He turned his hand in time to make it a slightly less vicious slice across the back of his wrist, but still, ow. Not own enough to make him drop the sword, but ow enough to make him step back and stop playing nice-nice.

Both hands on the hilt of his sword, he rushed forward at her, planning to bring it up under her chin and knock her out with the flat.

Which was waaaaaaaaaaaaaay closer to decapitation than Kennedy really wanted to come, thanks. Way, way closer.

"Okay, really? I didn't want to resort to the cheap shots," she complained.

But, you know, there was her sword coming up to (hopefully) parry his, and one booted foot swinging up at riiiiiiiiiiight about crotch level.

So you know how Gunssar up there (http://fandomhigh.livejournal.com/2827079.html?thread=177261639#t177261639)? Gunssar the Glass-Jawed?

Holger went to the same elementary school. By which we mean Gunssar was his mother's sister's kid and people thought it was funny to give them matching nicknames, only Holger's didn't end in "jaw."

Holger gler-eistum crumpled to the ground, clutching his groin.

Edited 2011-05-01 05:29 (UTC)

"Really didn't have to end this way," Kennedy informed him, shaking her head sadly. "But no, you had to make with the grabby hands."

Although, just for good measure? She'd totally try to knock him out with the pommel of her sword now.

Holger whined a little while she spoke, but he was in no condition to block the blow.

He did manage to gasp out, "Hvílík kona!" before he lost consciousness, though.

Sorry, Ken. You've collected an admirer.

[*What a woman!]

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Fandom High Graduation Ceremony, Class of 2011, Saturday Early Evening PART 2!

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