Reno of the Turks (
raspberryturk) wrote in
fandomhigh2011-07-20 07:40 am
Entry tags:
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

Sign In!
Lecture!
Arm Yourselves!
FIGHT!
They're fairly fallapart, since they're being held together with tape and a prayer, but they're your fodder today. Take them down while Danger Shop Tino tries to put them back together. They're the entertainment, after all!
Talk To The Teachers!
Re: Talk To The Teachers!
In the meantime? Mmm, toothpick.
OOC
Feel free to mod your zombies, and keep in mind that being in the danger shop, you can't be hurt by your broken bottles and molotovs, or by the shambling undead. If you need an NPC, ping down here and we'll be happy to provide!
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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.
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Squall had learned enough about Fandom's idea of zombies to know that even the chance of getting bit was bad. A broken bottle, which was a very close-range weapon, wasn't worth the risk.
He tossed the bottle away, and ripped a leg off of a table, instead. The zombies were fragile enough, and he was strong enough, that a swing from his improvised club sent rotten body parts flying.
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She easily vaulted the bar, pulling out drawers to look for the knives the pub-owner would use to cut meat or other meals. Except there weren't any good knives.
Surreal wished, not for the first time, that this Realm made sense. What kind of tavern didn't serve food?
Broken bottles it was, then. Preferably broken over the head of a zombie, since then she could set them alight.
Re: Talk To The Teachers!
Time to switch things up next week, she thought.
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Armed with a large shard of broken glass, she ducked around them, attacking each zombie from behind to hamstring them. A zombie that couldn't even shuffle was an easier zombie to pick-off once they were all down.
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The broom Kate had located was no sword, that was for sure, but the small amount of training she'd had with a staff made it a marginally better choice for her than trying to break a chair apart, and she honestly didn't want to get close enough to one of those things to use a broken bottle.
The head of the broom was quickly stamped on and broken off leaving her with a nice long piece of wood, good enough for zombie-smacking when they were falling apart anyway. If all else failed, maybe she'd just be able to grab their minds and make them think twice about snacking on her.
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After dispatching her most recent undead attacker, crushing it's neck with her boot once she had it face down on the ground, she took a brief pause to check out her technique. You could sometimes learn a little something from looking at someone else.
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Instead, she looked around for stuff to drop on them. Like pianos? Large safes? Anvils?!
Noooo.
Did electrocution work? She started working on the sound system, cracking open the wires to the huge speakers, and trying to split them enough to get a nice spark going.
*CRACKLE* *SNAP* "Muahahahha."
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Instead, she nabbed a cord from one of the instruments winding it around her hands and wandering back over. "I actually missed this." Violence was fun.
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In their case, broken glass and guitar strings.
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"If only they didn't stink so much." One little gripe she had with killing them. It made her reek too.
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"These, however, die much more easily."
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It was like cutting cheese, if cheese made a crunching noise and smelt like decomposing flesh
"I wish they did." It would save a lot of time and energy. "Yours this ugly?"
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