fandomhigh | Creative Problem Solving, Tuesday, period 3

[Class #6 - the Beatdown Job!]

“This is Eliot’s week for doing lots of stuff,” Parker said to everyone as they walked in. “He’s the best at it.”

The students could be forgiven for thinking this meant the food: the setting was a swank banquet in the courtyard of a museum, with tables of food in individually heated trays on one side, punch bowls full of icy lemonade, and huge platters of hors d'oeuvres. There were well-dressed guests, and staff circulating with trays of champagne.

Parker was wearing her blue cocktail dress, but Eliot was not dressed as a chef.

He could've been! Kitchens were rife with opportunities for his particular specialty. Of course, so were banquet halls. And bars. And street corners.

Honestly, when you could turn anything into a weapon, everywhere was rife with opportunity.

Eliot was keeping it simple this time, though, wearing his usual t-shirt and jeans combo, a beanie keeping his hair back off his face. He cracked his knuckles and then his neck and smiled at the class.

It was maybe a creepy smile.

"This week we're going to work on some of the more . . . physical sides of problem solving." Punching people totally solved problems, shut up. A group of four simulated security guards came out of the doors to the museum with guns trained on him and Parker. Eliot waited, looking almost bored, until they were within range.

Then he very quickly and very efficiently unarmed them and took them down. He looked back up at the students again as he tossed the last gun, emptied of its magazine, to the side. "Something like that."

Parker grinned, holding up a fork. “I just like to stab them. But you can use whatever you want! The food. The plates. The bottles. The people.” She pointed upward. “You want to get into the museum.”

Did they though? Really?

Guessing by the way the doors to the museum were opening again, this time discharging a crowd of unruly teenagers in letterman jackets, another group of professional security guards, and some really large, really ugly fantasy monster things, they might not, actually.

"You don't have to take out alla them," Eliot said, crossing his arms. "You do have to take out enough to get through the doors. And then you're welcome to the whole banquet! Assuming you guys haven't smashed all the food by then." He smiled again. "Have fun."

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Parker might be stabbing some of the simulated dinner guests with a dessert fork to see if they’ll react. (They don’t, really.)

When Eliot wasn't keeping an eye on how the kids were doing, he was side-eyeing Parker for stabbing the simulated dinner guests.

Well. At least she was getting it out of her system.

"So what is Puppy's name? Did you find her former owner yet?"

Parker was banking on no.

"Took her over to the shelter last night," Eliot said. "She wasn't chipped, so they're gonna find a new home for her."

Actually, the puppy had escaped and was going to be waiting for Eliot when he got home, today, but he didn't know that, yet.

"Oh." Parker was looking sad. "...it's a nice shelter? They give hugs?"

Why didn't you want the Puppy, Eliot?

Because Eliot felt the puppy deserved better, dammit.

"They're very nice," Eliot assured her. "Way better'n the foster system for humans, I promise."

It was even true. People actually donated money and goods to animal shelters, after all.

"Hmmmmm. Can we visit her? Before she gets adopted?"

We meaning Parker, but if you want to come along, Eliot....

"You could even visit all their puppies," Eliot told her. "I bet they'd love a volunteer to help take 'em for walks."

There was a possibility this would lead to Parker deciding to adopt all the dogs at the shelter. If that happened, Eliot was planning to foist the problem off on Hardison.

DON'T FORGET THE KITTIES. AND THE BUNNIES.

"I'm doing this. I'm going to make them happy and tell them they're wonderful and kidnap them if they're going to people I don't like."

"No kidnapping unless they're going to gunrunners," Eliot said. "And if you kidnap 'em, you'll be the one responsible for findin' 'em a nice new home." Remember that, Parker. You'd have to do things. That you wouldn't get paid for. No cash at all.

"Hmmmm." Parker was now looking at the students speculatively. "They're allowed to have pets in the dorms, right?"

"How the hell should I know?" Like Eliot had ever lived in a dorm. A barracks, yeah. No dorms.

"Cool, then I know who to give them to if they need rescuing." That settled, Parker turned back to Eliot. "You do like dogs though, right? That's one of those things that you like?"

"Sure," Eliot said. "I had this collie mix growin' up." He smiled a little at the memory. "Name was Rocko. Used to follow to me to school in the mornings."

"This story doesn't have a sad ending, does it? You can lie to me if it does."

"Rocko lived to a ripe old age," Eliot assured her. "No tragic accidents in this story."

"That's okay then... so why don't you want a puppy now?" You are confusing her, Eliot. CONFUSED.

"Because I throw myself in front of guns for a living."

"... you don't have to tell the puppy about that."

"Wh -- Seriously, Parker?"

Parker blinked at him. "What? It's not like me or Hardison will tell either!"

"The puppy doesn't speak English!" It occurred to him immediately after he said it that in Fandom that might not necessarily be true, but he wasn't about to say that out loud.

"Then I'm totally not clear on what the deal is," Parker told him. "Unless you think she'd figure it out without you telling her."

"I'm not worried the dog's gonna judge me, Parker." It still astounded Eliot the sorts of things he had to explain to her. "I'm worried I'll die on a job and the dog'll be abandoned."

That got a high-pitched noise of panicked distress out of Parker, and her fingers digging in probably too hard into his arm. "NO."

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