Reno of the Turks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fandomhigh2011-07-20 07:40 am
raspberryturk) wrote in fandomhigh2011-07-20 07:40 am
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Everything’s A Weapon, Wednesday, Period 3
While the students opened the door to the Danger Shop today and stepped through, they’d be walking into a replica of Caritas, right down to the zombie band playing on the stage and a scowling Tino wiping glasses behind the counter. Reno and Cindy were perched on the stools, Cindy eating a maraschino cherry from a bowl in front of her, and Reno casually picking at his teeth with one of those neat little minty toothpicks.
“Good job last week with not getting taken by surprise,” Cindy said as the last of the class filed in. “And not getting eaten by...whatever those things were.”
“Sahagins,” Reno offered, ever helpful. “They were sahagins. Or, uh, fish-turtle-man-things. Whatever you wanna call ‘em. Ain’t like they’re a local critter anyhow.”
He cracked that crooked little grin of his, and then nodded to the class. “I’m sure you guys know better by this point than to think we’d do somethin’ nice like give you all a break from the fightin’, so I’m gonna be good an’ straightforward. We know Caritas here on the island has a protection spell up, so all hell can’t break loose inside, yo. Still, the bar’s a perfect environment for gettin’ into crap up to your eyeballs, and there just so happens to be a wealth of shit in here that can be used in case of emergency, yo.”
“There’s a reason most Westerns have an obligatory bar-fight scene,” Cindy added. “Bars are pretty much made of improvised weaponry. You’ve got a few minutes to arm yourselves appropriately and get ready for a knock-down, drag-out fight.”
She ostentatiously glanced at her watch. “Go.”
[OCDcoming up! Have at thee!]
“Good job last week with not getting taken by surprise,” Cindy said as the last of the class filed in. “And not getting eaten by...whatever those things were.”
“Sahagins,” Reno offered, ever helpful. “They were sahagins. Or, uh, fish-turtle-man-things. Whatever you wanna call ‘em. Ain’t like they’re a local critter anyhow.”
He cracked that crooked little grin of his, and then nodded to the class. “I’m sure you guys know better by this point than to think we’d do somethin’ nice like give you all a break from the fightin’, so I’m gonna be good an’ straightforward. We know Caritas here on the island has a protection spell up, so all hell can’t break loose inside, yo. Still, the bar’s a perfect environment for gettin’ into crap up to your eyeballs, and there just so happens to be a wealth of shit in here that can be used in case of emergency, yo.”
“There’s a reason most Westerns have an obligatory bar-fight scene,” Cindy added. “Bars are pretty much made of improvised weaponry. You’ve got a few minutes to arm yourselves appropriately and get ready for a knock-down, drag-out fight.”
She ostentatiously glanced at her watch. “Go.”
[OCD
Re: Arm Yourselves!
Ultimately, then, Alexander quickly went to snatch up a microphone stand from the stage with one hand, while the other grabbed several large bottles to keep on hand (where he seemed to be keeping them, though, was anyone's guess).
Unfortunately, once he picked up the mic stand, he realized it wasn't as heavy as he was hoping, which explained why he needed to grab a spare chair.