fandomhigh | Practical Life Skills, 3rd Period

Yes, they were back in the tavern. Yes, there were a number of very out of place vending machines. What about it? There would have been an elevator if the place had another floor.

"It's gashapon time!" Magnus said cheerfully. "That one time where class gives you something cool for doing a vending machine real, real good!"

They had weird flavored bags of chips. It wasn't that cool.

"Vending machines are simple, put money in, get food out." See, simple! "Except it doesn't always work like that."

"Sometimes the stuff gets stuck," Magnus agreed. "And you gotta punch it. Punch it real good."

"Just be care not to break your hand as well as the machine." That would be bad.

"Between two and four people die every year due to vending machine related accidents." There was a beat as Magnus considered this. "Don't know why they can't just say three, honestly."

"Maybe they have a slow year sometimes? Or they think it's not an accident?" Vending machine as a murder weapon, you heard it here first, folks.

"Let's get those murder chips!" Magnus cheered.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

C'mon now, roll that initiative.

Wayne, 8

Illyana Rasputin, 11

What horror lurked within.

No matter how good you enter the numbers, the bag invariably gets caught up between the glass and the little metal screw things.

Now what do you do?

Obviously, this was going to happen. You could see it coming from a mile away even if you were blind in one eye. So Wayne was not exactly surprised when his chips (they just had to tempt him with the All-Dressed, now, didn't they?) got stuck.

But he didn't hit the glass. He didn't try to use his massive hay-bale wrangling strength to jiggle or jostle the thing.

No, Wayne was doing what he figgured any normal person would do (spoiler alert: literally no one ever did this), and he was taking out his phone and calling up the Service Number on the sticker on the side of the vending machine to report the malfunction, and maybe see about getting some compensation for the money lost.

Illyana had picked something a lower row for just this reason. When you'd spent a year as a teenage mutant warlock runaway, you pretty much lived off food from shitty truck stop vending machines and the pity of waitresses at diners. This had happened to her more times than she cared to remember, usually when she didn't have enough nickles to order something else and hope it didn't get stuck too.

She sat down on the floor and stuck her still-ridiculously-skinny wrist and arm into the machine, maneuvering in and up juuuust enough to knock her prize loose.

Were her chips kinda crushed from the experience? Yup. Did she care? Not particularly.

Who had their own bags of chips to chow down on while they watched.

I don't have enough coffee for the bullshit politics of work today.

Practical Life Skills, 3rd Period - Thursday

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