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fandomhigh2015-02-10 02:19 am
whoisalicewhite.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2015-02-10 02:19 am
Entry tags:
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."
“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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