Mystery Octagon Theater: Episode 106 "Street Fighter: Warrior's Legacy" "Battle 01: Friendship" Original by Benjamin "Gryphon" Hutchins and Eyrie Productions MiSTed by the Scott Faulkner Blues Explosion: James Howard, the Multimediocre Knight TV's Gavok the Black Snotling Geson "Racewing" Hatchett the man known only as W4 Zeek Silverfire Arlieth Tralare Scott "Falconer" Faulkner Thomas "Wanderer" Wilde Aided and abetted by Quanah Harjo, Anthony Jennings, Michael Autrey, Shane Hoover, Robert Daniel Conway, and Tiffa Edited by Thomas Wilde ======== Obligatory Disclaimer Crap: This is a MiSTing with a non-standard cast. Hopefully, it's a good enough cast that you can just enjoy the MiSTing. The cast grew out of the message board and chatroom the lot of us hang out on, and the characters in the theater are there representing the online personas of members of the writing staff. In other words, it's Mystery Self-Insertion Theater 3000. How revolutionary. We're well aware of the irony of using author avatars to mock an author avatar, by the way. Y'know, just so it doesn't come up. This is our sixth MiSTing, but the previous episodes were a bit too in-joke-ridden to consider submitting to SVAM. (*This* one might be a little too in-joke-ridden, but Tim McLees asked if he could use it.) If you'd like to read them, please visit our archive site at: http://www.dimfuture.net/elsewhere/mot.html Please leave feedback on this MiSTing at: http://network54.com/Hide/Forum/15388 This 'fic is rated R for violence and language; the commentary is rated R for language and blatant sexual innuendo. Shake before opening. Batteries not included. Don't point that thing at me. You just wait 'til your father gets home. ======== Earlier on in the day in the Brawl Cafe, people were busily chowing down on lunch (except for MMK and Burghy, who were contesting Food Fight 1213: When Tomatoes Collide). In a corner table, however, two men were having a discussion. "'Sakura and the Sailor Scouts'!" "'Issei Strikes Back'!" "'Sakura and the Sailor Scouts'!" Little Mac broke the table. "'Issei Strikes Back'!" "Face it, CB. 'Sakura and the Sailor Scouts' is the worst piece of fanfiction that has ever been written. It took me three LONG years to forget that crap." "Forget it. Issei, on the other hand, still echoes throughout my mind." Crossbow fired his namesake weapon, nailing the salad bar and sending Burghy flying. "Okay, then there's only one thing to do. Tonight, we settle this once and for all!" [The letters 'MiB' spiral out, then back in.] "Where are you bringing me?" Crossbow asked. "Quiet. We're almost there." Little Mac guided his partner to a mysterious, dark building. Crossbow looked confused. "What is this place?" "This is what you might call 'The Nightmare Factory'. From what Ive heard, this complex is where Torture Theater is controlled from. Many of the most evil beings have worked inside here: Hunter, AoD, and to a lesser extent Racewing." Crossbow thought for a moment, then grinned wickedly. Mac went to open the door, but it was locked. "What the hell?" A sign reading "Occupied" appeared on the door. "Who the hell is in there?" Both MiB bent to listen at the door. "Kenma, you're a genius," the eDANgelist stated. "We're going to out-do every villain who's had the gall to force anyone to read bad fanfiction." "I thought they watch it on a screen." eDAN looked at Nere. "Right. This time not only are we going to break the record of torturees, but we'll have... and get this... an ACTUAL ATTAINABLE GOAL!" Nere looked around a bit. "Whoa... you mean there's actually a POINT to the torture this time around?" eD moved a strand of hair out of his face. "Well, yeah. When we torture you, it's purely for practice." "Gotcha. So, what's your goal?" "Gather closer. See this list of victims?" eD held up a sketchbook pad with a number of names scribbled down in colored pencil. Kenma studied it closely. "Hmmmm...velly intelesting. So why these guys?" "They all... man, it pisses me off..." Nere looked concerned. "What?" eD bit his bottom lip. "Man... they all... it hurts so much..." Kenma pushed his baseball cap back a bit. "Dude, just spit it out." "THEY ALL... OWE ME MONEY!" Kenma and Nere facefaulted. As he got up, K held his head like it was about to fly off of his neck. "You mean that we went to all the trouble and expense to set this up, JUST so you could get people who owed you money to pay up?" "Yeah...it seemed like a good idea at the time. It will set an example to all those who think they can get away with not paying my debts! Besides," eD shrugged, "it's not like we paid for it. Two minutes with a crowbar to get in here isn't exactly expensive." "That's because you didn't have to buy the crowbar..." Nere mumbled under his breath. eD ignored him. "And so it begins! Let's get these suckers together, and start the hoedown! Nere, you have the fanfic?" "Yessir, right here. 'Warrior's Legacy' by some schmuck named...uh...apparently Griffin." "Great. Okay, let's begin with the disinformation campaign, and the obvious traps that any fool could see coming. I got a good feeling about this." "So who's in there?" Little Mac asked Crossbow whose ear was to the door. "It's the sDh." "AGAIN? Why is it that whenever we plan something fun, they're always putting their noses in our business?" "Let's teach them a lesson once and for all!" [A little SD Tiffa spirals in, then back out.] Wanderer drew his sword. "You're history, Tiffa." Tiffa revved up her chainsaw. "You've got a lot of guts to challenge me, Hero Boy." "What are you talking about? I got a note from you challenging me!" "Can you two shut up? We're trying to have a fight here!" Racewing stomped on Arlieth's ankle. Arlieth let out a scream of pain. "Quit it! And can't you two wait? Racewing challenged me to a match on the roof of the Torture Theater building." "No, you challenged me!" Under Wanderer's sunglasses, his eyes widened. "Holy shit. If this is what I think it is, we're all screwed." Before any of the four could run, a trap door opened up below them, sending them through a dark hole. [Cue Superfriends star segue] "Another Hershey Kiss! And another one! And another one!" The Black Snotling grinned as he picked up Hershey Kisses left in a trail. Most would find it suspicious, but not TBS. He didn't even notice that he was walking straight up a wall. He finally got the idea that something was wrong when a trap door dropped him into darkness. [Cue '60s Batman segue of an lWo logo making a close up then going back] Cervantes the pirate had seen better days. The Big Red Machine Astaroth repeatedly nailed him with his monstrous axe. Cervantes tried to defend himself but the beast's strength was too much for him. He swung both of his mighty swords at the giant but found himself attached to the axe and was swung around. The pirate looked at Astaroth advancing towards him and reached down into his jacket. As an act of desperation, he took out a can labeled Spinach. Using one of his swords as a can opener he devoured the contents of the can. Astaroth swung his axe downward only to find it dented in the shape of Cervantes' head. The former holder of the Soul Edge threw his swords away and proceeded to use Astaroth as a human (sorta) punching bag. Gavok threw down his controller. "Goddammit, you're cheap!" "Now, now, Gavok. Don't be a sore loser." The MultiMediocre Knight held out his hand. "Now pay up." "I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for another match today." "You got it. Hey, what's with the screen?" Snow covered the screen of Torture Theater (the video effect, not the wrestler, weather, or rapper). The Hooleegons appeared on the screen. "Cool!" Gavok exclaimed. "Three Stooges reruns!" "Yeah," MMK said. "And they're all Shemp." Wanderer, Tiffa, Arlieth and Racewing all fell from the ceiling and landed onto their seats. The Black Snotling fell a few seconds later, missing his chair by a few feet. Kenma smiled. "So nice of you to..." He was interrupted by eDAN punching him on principle. "No doubt you're all wondering why I called you here tonight." Gavok grinned under his hat. "Not really." eD looked annoyed. "I didn't call you here, you knucklehead. You were already here." "That's why I wasn't wondering." A vein popped up on eDAN's forehead. "Oh....just shut up. Anyway, the REST of you were probably... shut up, MMK... wondering why I called you all here. And HERE IS THE REASON!" An itemized bill popped up on the screen. Everyone sweatdropped. Wanderer looked pissed. "You're adding LATE FEES to that ridiculous bill you gave me earlier?" He looked up. "I can *do* that?!" He swatted ineffectually at his sweatdrop. Tiffa @_@ed. "Charging me because The Backpack(tm) infringes on patented Everpresent Suitcase(tm) technology?" Arlieth slumped in his chair. "I didn't even know there was such a thing as an umbrella tax..." Racewing and The Black Snotling looked at each other. "Hey...we're not on this bill." Kenma stepped forward. "Mr. Snotling?" "Yep?" "Did you eat a trail of Hershey's Kisses on your way to the theatre?" "Yup!" "Those were ours. We were trying to lure Clops here, but you took the bait. As of now, you owe us for the Hershey's Kisses." "ARGH! I'd have to mortgage my hat to get that much money, you bastards!" Racewing held up his hand. "Okay, so why I am I here?" eD smiled happily. "I just like to annoy you, Mr. Sake!" "SCREW YOU!" "And now...on with the show! Our feature presentation represents a different, more cerebral version of...DEEP HURTING! It's a truckload of pain called 'Warrior's Legacy', written by Ben Hutchins. Enjoy, plebians! Nere...hit the button." Wanderer buried his head into his hands. "I can't believe I was tricked by eDAN! I must be the most gullible guy in Dream City!" Tiffa tapped on his shoulder. "Of course you're not. Look over there." Gavok held down TBS's fist as TBS tried to keep it steady. Gavok let go, letting TBS punch himself in the face. "Well, maybe you've got a point. I guess now would be the time to ask the Question to MMK and the 'Vok. Everybody..." "What the hell are you guys still doing here?!" those who weren't Gavok and MMK asked. "Sitting, you lugans. What else?" They all sat, waiting. eD was still leering on the screen. Minutes passed. eD sweatdropped. "Nere...the button... please..." "Just waiting for the magic word, boss! Here we go!" Nere pressed the button. As the lights faded to black, an audible bitchslap was heard over the speakers. "Mommy!" ***** [from left to right: WAND, RW, ARL, TIFF, GAVOK, MMK, TBS] [back row: Z-BOT] > gryphon@world.std.com (Acolyte of Skuld) GAVOK : FROM NOW ON, YOU SHALL BE MY ACOLYTE... [tries to roll his eyes back into his head] > I tossed my duffel bag onto the bed, listening with a faint, > aesthetic sense of satisfaction as the springs jangled under > its weight. TBS: The name's Jangled. Bo Jangled. > I couldn't really appreciate it, WAND
: But that won't stop me from describing it as much as I can. No, of course not. > or the beauty of the Scottish countryside surrounding the > castle I was in, or the somewhat oppressive MMK
: Help! Help! I'm being oppressed! > wood-panel-and-paintings-of-dead-British-people decor of the > guest room I had been given, or anything else about my > situation at the moment, though. TBS
: I was stoned out of my fucking *mind*, man. The colours... > I was too busy being mad at Zoner. GAVOK: Heh. If that's what you call him. > "I'm impressed," my partner was currently rambling, through > the open connecting door from his own adjacent room. RW : I *really* didn't think you could fit six tennis balls in your mouth. > "I figured they'd have gutted the inside and modernized it > completely, rather than trying to preserve the ambience. Or > maybe it was originally bare stone... " ARL : Grunt? > My irritation with him, which had been smoldering since we > arrived in Edinburgh an hour before, reached a sort of > breaking point. MMK
: So I had to take it out of the oven and let it simmer for an hour. GAVOK : Revenge is a dish best served cold. [Silence.] TIFF: What the hell are you talking about? GAVOK: I have no idea. > I stuck my head through the doorway into his mirror-image > room and growled, RW
: Don't stand between two mirrors! It makes me dizzy! > "I wish you wouldn't go around getting me into fights and > not telling me about them until after I'm committed. I > haven't had time to prepare for this at all! What the hell > were you thinking?" GAVOK : I was thinking about that one time on that show "You Can't Do That on Television" when that guy from the firing squad accidentally said "Fire" in front of the firing post and then said, "That's one sneaky kid." > Zoner grinned an infuriating little grin through his dark > beard, and tossed his six-and-a-half-foot frame backward > onto the bed, making its springs jounce even harder. TBS: Wandy, is "jounce" a real word? WAND: Sort of... GAVOK : Jounce fabric softener. Makes your laundry cleaner, whiter, and completely ignorant of the English language. > Folding his hands behind his head, he kept right on > grinning. "Hey," he said, "you're the one who said you > figured you were ready to take a shot at the World Warrior > bracket." ARL : I... I can't do it... RW : Aw, for Christ's sakes, man... > "For crissake, [ALL blink.] TIFF: Uhm... what? Z-BOT: Isn't that some kinda Greek salad? > that was last Thursday!" I snapped. ARL
: You know how indecisive I am! Or am I? I don't know. > "I was just thinking out loud." MMK
: I bet that Zoner shags like a minx. [A pause.] MMK
: How do I tell him that I have no interior monologue? > "So? I saved you some time. You should thank me." > "I should throttle you!" GAVOK: SCENE! [MMK and GAVOK get up out of their seats.] MMK : Ding-dong. [GAVOK mimes walking up to and opening a door.] GAVOK : Yell-AAH! [MMK walks towards GAVOK, holding his arms out towards GAVOK's throat] GAVOK : I'm sorry, Apu! I'm sorry! Don't kill me! MMK : Kill you? Oh! No no! Where I come from, this is our way of saying "thank you". GAVOK: END SCENE! [MMK and GAVOK sit down. ALL stare at them.] GAVOK: ...what? WAND : ...nothing. > "Look, it makes sense, all right? You want to prove that > you're good enough to be a World Warrior. What better way to > do that than to take on one of the current ones? ARL
: I could always swap them my Charizzard... > You win, you're in. You lose, sure, you go down hard, [ALL snicker.] > but you get respect for trying. [ALL snicker some more.] TIFF: Because everyone respects Birdie and Sodom. > Besides, you're not going to lose." > I took a deep breath, let it simmer in my lungs for a bit, ARL: Now's the best time to add basil. MMK : Basil? Howabout instead we... KICK IT UP A NOTCH, huh?! ALL: Yay! > and let it out again. > "And you chose to set me up against this particular one > because... ?" RW: Use the Life Line! > "Come on, you can figure that one out for yourself. What > with that little job we did for MI-6 last month, TBS: I'm guessing that's the only jobbing this guy's gonna do. > it was no big deal talking them into giving you a shot at > their house champion." > "With no time to prepare." > "Back to that again?" Zoner asked, heaving himself up on his > elbows and narrowing his dark eyes at me. "Prepare hell. WAND : At my signal, prepare Hell. GAVOK : Gather close together and make it quick. We gotta make room for Andy Dick! TBS : After all, we want the place to look nice, don't we? > You're a one-man wrecking crew. You won't get any more > prepared than you are right now. You're in top form, and > you won't get another shot like this one." TIFF : You're a good person. People care for and respect you. You are worthwhile. Z-BOT
: I should've just bought the tape... > What he said made sense, and that annoyed me even more. If > there's something I hate more than Zoner being presumptuous, > it's Zoner being right about it. GAVOK: That's certainly an infrequently-used way of putting yourself over... WAND: ...but it's still wrong. GAVOK: Yeah. > I sat down in a wing-backed chair which was a lot less > comfortable than it looked, and glared at him. > "What's eating you, anyway?" he asked. Z-BOT: So the hero of this story is Gilbert Grape. > "You weren't even this wired when you fought Killer > Kosloski, and the poor bastard who fought > -that- monster before you did bought a farm. TBS: Well, it was on sale. > What's the problem? It's not like any MI-6 fighter is going > to go for a fatality in an arranged match. It's business, > right? You know how the Brits are about fighting clean." WAND: As a result, the country is spotless and they're all bitter about it. > He was way off the mark and we both knew it; MMK
: The current soap shortage had left the entire British Isles out of soap for the last two years. > he only said it to make my glare falter a little. He knows > me too goddamn well, because as he said it, I felt it > working. And he saw it working, and when he did his face > broke into an even wider grin. MMK: You know, if you were to take those last two sentences out of context, this would be a lemon story. TBS: ...urk. [turns green] MMK: ...just saying, is all. [He ^_^s.] > "A-ha!" he announced. TBS : Taaake... oonnn... meee... taaake... meeee... ooonnn.... > You don't want to fight her 'cause you've seen her picture. > You're hot for her, and you don't want to mess up her face." > I tried, unsuccessfully, to deepen my glare, which was > slipping fast, and replied unconvincingly, "I'm truly > insulted." > "So what?" replied Zoner, his grin unwavering. "The truth > burns. GAVOK : It tastes like... burning. > C'mon, you've fought cute girls before. Remember Savannah > Firebrand? You took her out in forty-one seconds, and she > was the hottest thing I've ever seen outside the Orient. WAND
: Yeah, but she was on fire. > You didn't even blink when she lost her top." MMK: Well... why would you want to? > I remembered all too well. A cheap trick, [MMK leaps out of his seat and, in lieu of a microphone, grabs a cucumber off the snack table and starts singing into it] MMK : IF YOU WAAAANT MY LOOOOVE, YOU'VE GOT IT... IF YOU NEEEEED MY LOOOOOOVE, YOU'VE GOT IT... I WON'T HIDE IT... I WON'T THROOOOOW YOUR LOOOOOOOVE AWAAAAAAAAAAAY... NOOOOOOOOO! [MMK puts the cucumber back and sits back down] TIFF : Yeah. Whatever. > that one, and it bothered me still. "She did that on > purpose," I grumbled. "Trying to distract me." > "Didn't work, did it?" TBS
: And you and I know *why*, huh, tiger? > I shrugged, reminiscence outrunning indignance. "She > probably wouldn't've scored with the backfist combo if > I'd've been paying more attention." > "Or less." > Damn! ARL
: My bloodlust... it's rising! > I felt my face smile despite my best efforts to keep a scowl > on it, and gave up. "Or less," I admitted. I slid into a > slouch, TIFF: He's safe! > trying to make the chair more comfortable. It didn't work. > "It's not just what you're saying, though. I don't like > fighting government agents, especially government agents I'm > supposed to be on the same side as." > "You've fought friends before," WAND : In fact, you've fought everyone you've ever met. Being around you is embarrassing, by the way. > Zoner replied, going businesslike and returning to his > hands-behind-the-head pose of ceiling-contemplation. > "And you haven't even met this girl." > I shrugged. When you got right down to it, I couldn't really > identify what was making me feel so ambivalent about this > fight, and I told him so. > "Well," he replied after a moment's reflection, "like it or > not, you're committed now. TBS : Enjoy the straitjacket, nutcase! > I've got a ton of money riding on you, and if you lose, > we're walking home." > My annoyance with him rushed back for a moment, then drained > away, replaced by the weariness that usually overtakes me > when he does something like that. MMK: I'm surprised he used the word "replaced" and not "supplanted" in there, the damn wordy bastard. > I sighed, a long, tired, all-but-the-vital-capacity sigh. > "Not only must I fight, but now I'm obligated to win." > "In less than two minutes." TIFF: With one arm tied behind your back. WAND: With lumberjacks all around the ring. RW: And a Singaporean Cane hanging above the ring. GAVOK: In an "Anus Explosion" match. MMK: Against Lance Storm. ARL: Or the pizza's free. Z-BOT: Oh, did I mention it's a staring contest? See you in hell! > "I hope your shoes are up to a trans-Atlantic hike," I > replied resignedly. "If I do win, it's not gonna be in under > 120. Not against a World Warrior." RW: It has to be under 120. The clock only goes to 99. > "What happened to that confidence you used to have?" MMK
: I dropped it in the toilet. > "Replaced by an experienced optimism," I replied wryly. "I > have to think about this some more, I guess." I got up from > the uncomfortable chair WAND: Which he had been sitting in for HALF AN HOUR now. Bright boy, our hero here. > and went toward the connecting door. "See you in the > morning." > "I'll be there," said Zoner, and he threw me a thumbs-up > which I returned somewhat more than half-heartedly before > shutting the door. ARL : Hey! Wrong finger! Z-BOT
: Damnit, Zoner, keep your damn prosthetic arms on YOUR side! > I'm not sure how long I lay there on the bed, hands behind > my head, thinking about everything and nothing at once. I do > that sometimes, especially after a long time on a droning > airplane, making conversation with MegaZone. MMK: Yep, you know your life is fucked when your parents had nine months and the best they could come up with is "MegaZone". > I wasn't mad at him then, because I didn't know where we > were going, or why. I figured we were off on one of our > little junkets to Europe for lack of anything better to do; > being richer than some small nations and a part-time spy has > a tendency to make Zoner's schedule a little on the odd > side. GAVOK
: Like that time we spent a week in the dumpster outside Chuck-E-Cheese. WAND: So *that*'s what the upper one percent's doing with their time nowadays. > Me, I'm just along for the ride, unless I have a match, > which I didn't know I had. RW
: Which is good, because I lost my lighter back on that damn junket. > I had been on a sort of working vacation for the past month > or so. I'd been thinking of going for the World Warrior > bracket since my fight with Art Lean in London, back in > June. ALL : STOP ART NOW! STOP ART NOW! TBS: So he could be called the Art of... TIFF: Say it and die. > Art's a damn good fighter, and a year ago we were just about > even, so I was surprised by the ease with which I took him > out. GAVOK: Yeah, he's a tramp. Get over it. > I guess I've been progressing faster than I expected. At any > rate, after fighting Art, I holed up in Worcester to train, > preparing myself for a World Warrior bid, MMK: All right, do I hear two bits? TIFF: Two bits! MMK: Igottwobitswho'llgimmethirtythirtythirtythirtythirtyanybody gonnagimmethirtySOLD! > letting Zoner hop the globe having his adventures without me > for a while. My fellow fighters extended a semi-professional > courtesy and refrained from challenging me. TBS
: C'mon, guys, don't take my money today, I'm saving up to bid for a World Warrior, pleeeeeeease? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? WAND : Oh, fine. Baby. > I figured with another month of training I'd be ready to > take a shot at it. > Then I made the mistake of mentioning the reason for my > downtime to Zoner. ARL
: So now I run off a Linux server. ALL : Give it right back back to them, don't stop running, don't let them break your downtiiiiime... > Somewhere in the middle of my ponderings, I fell asleep. Jet > lag, don't you know. MMK: I didn't. Did you? GAVOK: Well, I didn't. RW: Me neither. TBS: That's news to me. TIFF: No idea. WAND: Nobody told me. ARL: I've known that for weeks. > Eyrie Productions, MMK: Our motto: "So pompous it's Eyrie". [ALL groan.] > Unlimited presents GAVOK: Yay! Presents! TBS: If you try our Craftsmatic Adjustable Bed, you can return it after thirty days if not completely satisfied. And you can *keep* your unlimited presents. > A Third Universe from the Right Production > of a Straight On Till Morning Film TIFF: You lost me. ARL: What the hell? RW: Who came up with that? Fiona Apple? > STREET FIGHTER: > WARRIOR'S LEGACY GAVOK : Legacyyyyyyy-AAAAAAAIEEEEEEEEE! [TIFF cleaves GAVOK cleanly down the middle with the chainsaw] TIFF : ...you're not half the man you uuuuuused to beeeeeeeeee... [giggles] [ALL slowly move to seats further away from TIFF.] > BATTLE 01: FRIENDSHIP GAVOK : FRIENDSHIP?! > Benjamin D. Hutchins WAND: Even his *name* is smarmy! MMK: It's all about him. > with the gracious assistance of (in no particular order): > Martin Rose, TBS: Featuring Martin "Kiss From A" Rose! > James Rinehart, GAVOK: Special Guest Cameo by Jim "The Anvil" Rinehart! > Phil Moyer, WAND: Alongside Phil "Please sir, I want some" Moyer... > Rob Shannon, LEFT HALF OF GAVOK: Musical Accompaniment by "Hey, Everybody, Let's Put On Ski Masks and" Rob Shannon! > Derek Bacon, TIFF: With Derek "Makin'" Bacon on drums! > Rich Pieri, ARL: And Rich "Arr, Ye Scurvy Dog, Untie My Boat From The" Pieri on guitar! > Amy Johnson, Z-BOT: And Amy "The One Girl In Town With A Big" Johnson on sitar! > Pearson Mui, RIGHT HALF OF GAVOK: Casted and Directed by "If I've Told You Once, I've Told You A Thousand Times, I Don't Care How Cool You Think It Would Look, I'm Not-" Pearson Mui "-Nose!". > and, of course, ARL: Mayor McCheese! > MegaZone MMK: And your co-host, "If You Were To Take Every Single Goony-Ass Name In The History Of The Internet, Combine Them All, And Multiply Them By Seven, You *Still* Wouldn't Have A Goony Factor Even Close To That Created By This Goony Bastard's Choice Of Name, Which Is - And Get Ready For This, This Is Going To Be The Gooniest Fucking Name You Have Ever Encountered - That's Right, I'm Sure By Now You've Figured Out That I'm Talking About" MegaZone. [ALL stare, mouths hanging open, at MMK.] MMK: What? *What*? GAVOK: MMK... how *do* you talk with all capitalized words? MMK: What Do You M-(coughs twice)-scuse me. What do you mean? GAVOK: Ehm... nothing. > and abject apologies to anyone I might have forgotten to list WAND : Because, you know, I want to REALLY share the blame. > (c) 1995 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited ALL : POMPOUS-ASS! POMPOUS-ASS! POMPOUS-ASS! > I awoke to the sound of a polite rapping on the corridor > door, and after the brief shock of waking in unfamiliar > surroundings, WAND
: Hey, this isn't the Drunk Tank. TIFF
: WHERE ON EARTH AM I NOWWWWWWWWW? > I remembered who I was, where I was and why. GAVOK : So tell 'em what your name is! TBS: MAH NAME IS KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE... [TBS stops, huffing and puffing, and takes a deep breath] TBS: ...EEEEEEED RAWCK! > A glance at my watch told me that it was 6 AM Worcester > time, which would put the local time at 11. MMK: You Know You're A Long-Winded Pompous Bastard When... you can't just say, "It was eleven AM," and leave it at that. > I got out of bed, noticing that I'd managed to sleep in my > clothes, and opened the door. > The same tall, thin butler fellow who had greeted Zoner and > I the night before was standing there. TIFF : Excuse me, Master Richie, sir, but... > "Begging your pardon, sir," he said, in the accent they > program into men like him at butler school, RW: Finally, a school with less dignity than clown college. > "but lunch is served in the Great Hall." MMK
: Down where? GAVOK : Down here! > "Oh, uh... thank you," I replied. "I'll be along shortly... > just need to get cleaned up and such." > "Very good, sir," the butler said, and moved on down RW : MOVIN' ON DOWN! > the corridor to wake Zoner. > I felt no need to stick around for that, having done it > fartoo often myself, ARL: Huh? TBS: That means he farted and sneezed at the same time. GAVOK: No no, it's the name of that fat Samoan guy who wears a thong and dances with Brian Christopher and Scott Taylor. Rikishi Fartoo. > so I ditched my slept-in clothes and went into the large > bathroom connected to my room. It was a lot better-appointed > than I would have expected a bathroom in a Scottish castle > to be, with lots of marble and shiny brass fixtures. ARL : SHINY! SHINY! SHINY SHINY! > All mod cons, as it were. Hotel-style, the whole wall above > the recessed marble sink was a mirror. I stood in front of > it for a moment and regarded the fellow looking back at me; ARL : I'm all right. I'm all right. WAND : No, you are NOT all right! You just killed our girlfriend! Does that sound all right? > hotel mirrors always make me contemplative. > After a while, the fellow in the mirror shrugged, his brows > crooking as if to say, GAVOK: You smell what the Rock is cookin'? > What do you want me to say? I'm just as much in the dark as > you are. Z-BOT
: That's when I realized I had forgotten to turn the light on. > So, shrugging in return, I did what people do in the > bathroom in the morning. WAND: Is this "Hutchins' Usual Morning"? MMK: If this turns into a lemon scene, I'm yarfing. [ALL turn green.] TIFF: MMK! MMK: What? TBS: Urp... MMK: Oh. Sorry. [He ^_^s.] > The shower was cavernous, and the high-pressure spray made > me wonder if the near-scalding water was being driven right > under my skin. It felt terrific. ARL: Does this... sound kind of... PJish to anyone else? [ALL exchange uneasy looks.] MMK: I'll bet you see PJ under the damn *bed* now. ARL: ...sometimes... > Bounding out of the shower with renewed energy, I dried > myself off with a towel so big I could have used it for a > tent, and so thick it felt like it was made out of > double-sided shag carpet. MMK: You Know You're A Long-Winded Pompous Bastard When... WAND: ...you have to go into great detail describing the towels in your fucking *bathroom*. > I wondered if the MI-6 folks would think it gauche of me if > I made them an offer on a few of their towels, or at least > asked where they got them. ARL : Oh, nowhere special really, just some place called the Hilton... > I used another to wipe myself a clear area in the mirror so > I could watch the other fellow brush his > shoulder-blades-long brown hair and tie it back with a > stretchie, made sure his beard didn't look too scruffy, and > gave him a wink WAND : ...and I said, "Baby, baby, baby." RW : So, we got some kinda karmic G-love thing happenin' here, baby, or what? > before heading out to the bedroom to get dressed. ARL: And for those of you guys who would like to look this good, try Bishounen Brand Beauty Cream(tm)! GAVOK: We club baby seals for it! > I don't spend too terribly much on my working wardrobe. I've > never particularly felt a need to get all done up in special > fighting togs. My regular clothes are what I learned in; my > regular clothes are what I feel best fighting in. Jeans and > a t-shirt suit me fine, I'm a pretty simple guy. ALL: And how! > Today's t-shirt was my lucky Far Side shirt, a gift from my > mother depicting the classic Midvale School for the Gifted > cartoon. ARL: Does his mommy also tuck his pants in? > I sometimes adopt bracers rather than a belt to keep my > pants up, but they make for a bit of a liability in a fight, > so I don't wear them for matches. MMK: And You Know You're A Long-Winded Pompous Bastard When... RW: ...you think readers actually care about what you use to hold up your damn pants. > The weather in Scotland, even in August, tends toward > chilliness, so I shrugged into my trusty old red flannel > frostproof, clearly marking myself as a Maine native (plaid > flannel is a Pacific Northwest thing; red flannel ain't the > grunge look, kiddies). MMK: And, Yes, You Know You're A Long-Winded Pompous Bastard When... TIFF: ...you feel you have to dictate the laws of flannel to the readers. > I sat down on the bed for a second to tie up my green All-Stars. TBS: Insert annoying Smashmouth reference here. > A tip from my old pal Terry Bogard: RW : Never start a land war in Asia. MMK: Unnecessary Cameo #1! > expensive fighting boots get ruined in a fight and cost you a > load of money; ARL: Which is why the best Street Fighters go barefoot. WAND : Now quit talking and finish shining my boots! > All-Stars give you all of the same near-barefoot sensitivity > for thirty bucks, keep tacks and little rocks out of your > feet, and if they rip you can patch them with duct tape. Z-BOT: Does this guy have an endorsement deal? > That magical substance, and faith, was about all that was > holding the right sole on; it was about time for a new pair. MMK: And Goddamnit, You Know Full Well You're A Long-Winded Pompous Bastard When... ARL: ...you're trying to influence the choice of footwear of everyone on the internet. WAND: I get the feeling we could be taking these down and have five pages' worth by the end of next chapter. TIFF: Only five? > I put on one of my many caps, this one my beat old > gray-green soldier with no clever slogan or patch, just a > daub of paint from a summer spent painting window frames and > doors. Then I made sure everything I needed to be in my pockets > was, and everything I didn't need was in my duffel bag, and > met Zoner in the corridor to head for lunch. We're a bit of a > Mutt and Jeff team, really. MMK: YES! YES! HAR-DY-BOYZ! HAR-DY-BOYZ! HAR-DY-BOYZ! [MMK sets a table up, hits TBS over the head, drapes him on the table and climbs up onto a balcony] TIFF: Uh... MMK? Are you o-- [MMK dives off the balcony, puts TBS through the table with a Senton Bomb, and jumps up in a "Guns To My Head" pose.] GAVOK: Uhm... MMK? MMK: Yes? GAVOK: *Mutt* and Jeff. [MMK blinks. Twice. He lets his hands drop and slowly looks around.] MMK: Oh. [He pauses.] Erm, sorry about that, Snotter. TBS : Ah, that's okay. It happens. > People tend to think, at six foot six and three hundred > pounds, that he's the street fighter, all got up in black > denim with his long dark hair and his deep dark eyes TIFF
: ...and his luscious lips, and his tight buns, and his... GAVOK: Hey! TIFF
: ...oops. Sorry. > and his manner just screaming Way of the Warrior. ARL: But it's more like Tattooed Assassins or Shaq Fu. > They tend to miss the .45 automatic he packs under that > black jean jacket. RW: Unfortunately, so does he. Sad, really... > He's a pretty good fighter, but given his druthers he'd > rather stay behind a rod and do the talking. WAND: So he's been to prison. > His real talent is behind the controls of an airplane, > anyway. He's the best pilot I've ever seen, and I've seen a > few. If Zoner told me he was going to land our Hercules on a > surfaced submarine, I'd believe him. I'd buckle my seat belt > and offer up a prayer to Skuld, but TIFF: ...but she's not a real goddess, so... MMK: Unnecessary Cameo #2! > I'd believe him. > Those same people see me, ten inches shorter and altogether > less imposing, and figure I'm the gunsel. They scan my > somewhat oversized clothes looking for the hidden pistol > they just know must be in there, not realizing that I really > wear clothes that are too big because WAND
: ...I'm carrying a sawed-off shotgun. Pistols are for damn wimmens. > I just don't like the feel of tight clothes. ARL: Wait a second. Aren't you *supposed* to wear tight clothes, or as little as possible, in a fight, so as to give your opponent as few opportunities to grab you as possible? TIFF: Welcome to this man's world, Arlieth. > That same feature of my wardrobe obscures my stocky build, so > most people never realize unless they run up against it that my > five-eight weighs just about the same as Zoner's six-six. You > could call me solidly built. RW: Good, because we don't know what else to call you. ARL: Actually, if Zoner is 6'6" and built, and this guy is ten inches shorter than him and weighs the same, then he's a solid cube. RW: Or a lemon. GAVOK: SCENE! [MMK and GAVOK carry over two lockers, GAVOK carrying a GREEN LOCKER and MMK carrying an ORANGE LOCKER, and set them down against the wall. MMK and GAVOK proceed to get inside their respective lockers and slam the doors behind them.] TIFF: ...what the hell? WAND: This bodes ill for the republic. ARL: This can't be g-- [MMK and GAVOK simultaneously open their doors and look at one another.] GAVOK: Oh, MMK? MMK: Yeeeeeee-es, Gavok? GAVOK: What do you call a pompous bastard who's five-foot-eight and weighs three hundred pounds? MMK: I don't know. What? GAVOK: Anything you want, because there's nothing the fat bastard can do about it! [A laugh track erupts from out of nowhere as MMK and GAVOK duck back into their lockers and close the doors behind them.] VOICE FROM INSIDE GREEN LOCKER: END SCENE! [The handles on the doors jiggle for a second, followed by the lockers starting to shake.] VOICE FROM INSIDE GREEN LOCKER: Uh oh. VOICE FROM INSIDE ORANGE LOCKER: Aw, damnit. VOICE FROM INSIDE GREEN LOCKER: Could somebody get us out, please? WAND: No. TIFF: Sorry. ARL: Can't help you. RW: Neener. VOICE FROM INSIDE GREEN LOCKER: You're mean. VOICE FROM INSIDE ORANGE LOCKER: Fine, than. [There is silence for a couple seconds, then a loud explosion as the door is blasted off the ORANGE LOCKER and a large cloud of Kraft powder floats out, followed seconds later by MMK.] MMK: Ahhh. Gavok? VOICE FROM INSIDE GREEN LOCKER: Yeah? MMK: You want out? VOICE FROM INSIDE GREEN LOCKER: Yeah. MMK : Stand back. [The sound of GAVOK hitting the back of the GREEN LOCKER is heard.] VOICE FROM INSIDE GREEN LOCKER: Okay. [MMK pulls a KRAFT BOMB from OUT of HIS SLEEVE and blows the DOOR off the GREEN LOCKER with IT. GAVOK emerges, covered in cheese.] GAVOK: Thanks, MMK. MMK: No problem. WAND: Public Safety Message, kids: don't play in abandoned lockers. GAVOK: Especially green ones. > Fifteen years of studying Ler Drit, for my money the world's > most demanding martial art, will do that to a person. TIFF: Or at least make them anorexic. > After the obligatory round of insults and shoulder-punching, > Zoner and I headed for lunch in the Great Hall. Mind you, we > didn't exactly know where the Great Hall was, but we could > smell the food, and that's all a couple of hungry Americans need. ARL: This could be a trap, and they'd walk right into it. MMK : Ha ha ha! Stupid Americans! TBS : Hey hey hey! Ret me try! Ret me try! ahemahem ..."*I*'ll use my credit *card*!" Wahahahahah! > The Great Hall of Castle MacLir was appropriately named. Z-BOT: Maybe he ordered the MacRibs. > It was an enormous vaulted room the size of the George W. > Stearns Memorial High School gym, but with a higher ceiling. WAND: And of course, we're all familiar with that place. ARL: Naturally. It's a god damn American icon. > An enormous Union Jack draped one of the narrower walls, > between two stained glass windows. The other wall was > occupied entirely by the biggest pipe organ I had ever seen, MMK: That's one hell of a package. > and the Bach-lover in my heart ached for a moment to hear it > played. RW : Bach-lover... just like my daddy... > There were long tables lining the flagstoned floor of the > room, all of which had people dressed as if for the office > seated and dining at them. The butler fellow met us at the > door and took us to the table we were to sit at this morning. TBS : SIT. STAY. > Halfway there we were intercepted by a young woman in jeans > and a button shirt that looked too big, in the way that > men's shirts often do on women, even when they really > aren't. MMK: ...and sometimes even when they are, so when they are, they aren't, but then they are, so they aren't. Are we clear? GAVOK: Yup. MMK: Green. > She was shorter than I, which is something that doesn't > happen all that often, with very long blonde hair done up in > a pair of ponytails that trailed off down almost to the > ground, and wide, earnest blue eyes. She grinned at me with > teeth that were way too white and even to be human, TIFF : Vould you mind showing me your neck? > stuck a hand out, and said, "Hey there. You must be > MegaZone." > ... I hate it when that happens. ARL: Gee, yeah, being mistaken for someone with a stupid name by a fictional character must happen to you ALL THE TIME, huh? > But I grinned back just the same, stuck my hand out in > return, and said, "Actually, my name is Ben, and I'll be > your waiter for this evening." > She looked at me quizzically, RW : Was that supposed to be a *joke*? TIFF : *You*'re our main character? A self-obsessed, pompous, overbearing, morbidly obese goon? GAVOK
: Yep yep! TIFF : Wow, we're *fucked*. > looked up at Zoner, looked back at me, realized her mistake, > and laughed. WAND : The fat bastard is our main character. [bitter laugh] > "Sorry. Common mistake, right? I'm Cammy, and I take it > you're Gryphon." GAVOK: He's Gryphon, everyone! Gryphon! ARL: A big smelly beast who shouldn't be able to fly, but does so anyways. MMK: Ladies and gentlemen, You Know You're A Goony Bastard When... your name is even goonier then fuckin' "MegaZone". ALL : Yay! > This time, our stuck-out hands actually connected somewhere > in the middle, and we shook. She had a nice grip -- firm, WAND : ...and... round, and bouncy... ooh, bouncy... TIFF : My hand is over *here*, you wanker. > assertive, and dry, without any of that knuckle-crushing > posturing that men in suits like to indulge in. MMK: You Know You're A Long-Winded Pompous Bastard When... RW: ...you can't sleep at night without describing a freaking handshake. TBS: This guy makes my head hurt. > She had a nice smile, too. In fact, considering it, I > couldn't think of a single thing she had that wasn't nice, > and most of the things she didn't have were nice in their > absence. Z-BOT: Danger! Infatuated Avatar! Danger! TIFF: There goes *her* personality. GAVOK: Street Fighter: Stalker's Legacy! > I nodded backward, nearly hitting Zoner in the > chest with the back of my head, since he had kept walking > for another couple of steps and had nearly rammed me from > behind when I stopped. TBS: Wah wah wah waaaaahhhh... WAND: Where Gryphon goes, wackiness follows! > "This one's Zoner." MMK : Is this one smart? Is this one a quick learner? > I stepped aside and she shook Zoner's hand as well, and, > sliding his eyes sideways toward me in one of those covert > looks that says, "I approve," he said it was nice to meet her. > I ignored him and sat down at the nearest table. > The food was excellent, if basic, and not what I had > half-dreadingly anticipated at a Scottish castle. The > company, for my soon-to-be opponent sat with us, was > effervescent, GAVOK: Oh, he was dining with light bulbs! Cool! WAND: What? GAVOK: Effervescent lights? [WAND rubs his temples.] WAND: Just be quiet, Gavok. > and the conversation as good as the food. We talked about > the circuit, discovered that we had a few mutual friends > (Art Lean among them), ARL: Didn't Art Lean get killed in the Mortal Kombat novelization? > I rambled at length about New England, and Zoner put in his > two dollars' worth about the spy biz. TIFF : I see your two dollars and I raise you three. ARL : I fold. > All in all, it was the best lunch I've had in a while, and > it was too bad that it had to end. > When it did, we all stood up, and Cammy said, "The match is > scheduled for 2 o'clock this afternoon, so we have some time > to prepare. Norris will let you know when it's time, all right?" > "Sure thing," I replied. Her grin, and her good humor, were > infectious. RW: My god! We've got a Cammy outbreak! > "See you then," she said, and trotted away. GAVOK : That's when it finally hit me: she was a centaur. WAND: Great. This 'fic is set in Bill Willingham's sex drive. > "Remember," said Zoner, leaning over to murmur into my ear, > "it's a long walk back." MMK: It wouldn't surprise me if this guy *could* walk on water. RW: So, if he's rich, couldn't he just buy a new plane or something? > "Get stuffed, Zoner," I said cheerily, and headed back to my > room to prepare myself. TBS : Let's see.... preheat the oven, mix up the stuffing... ARL : ...first you marinate the Gryphon with two tablespoons of cornstarch... > My method of preparing for a fight is pretty simple. When I > got back to my room, I kicked off my shoes, untied my hair, > lay down on top of the neatly made bed, tipped my cap over > my eyes, and went to sleep. MMK: So, let's see... he's extremely annoying... GAVOK: ...he's booked himself to win in every match... TBS: ...and he's really, really lazy. TBS, GAVOK, MMK: Gryphon *is* Kevin Nash. > > I can't say I was thrilled with the venue chosen for our > match. Of all the places I would choose for a fight, a > narrow stone catwalk across a Yawning Emptiness isn't even > on the list. RW : EEAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWW... *smack**smack* 'scuse me. I was up real late last night. > It beats that training ground I saw in China once -- all > poles and ponds -- but not by much. That Cammy had chosen > this place to fight in told me something potentially useful: > she is not afraid of high places. ARL: That doesn't sound very useful... > Unfortunately, I am. ARL: But that does! > But, no worries. This is the part where I reminisce about my > Honored Sensei, which you should have been expecting, if > you've ever seen any movie by Bruce Lee or anyone who wanted > to be him. RW: Because obviously this chapter isn't long enough yet... damnit. > Her name was Rose. TBS: Last name: Bowl. WAND: Trained from birth by her father, Toilet. MMK: Along with her brother, Rock'n'. > I don't know if she had any other names to complete the > usual set, or if, in fact, that was really her name. It > doesn't matter all that much to me, either; GAVOK: So in other words, IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT HER NAME IS! > Rose was always good enough for me. I always knew who I was > talking about. I didn't know a lot about Rose. The rest of > her names, if any; how old she was; where she came from. > This much I knew: she was an old friend of my grandfather's, > she had come to Millinocket, Maine (the geometric center, > assuming Euclidean properties, of nowhere) TIFF : And to your left, we see a loudmouthed idiot trying to be funny. RW : We're walking, we're walking... > by way of Thailand, but probably didn't originally hail from > there; and I was, from the age of four, her only student. > Rose was around the same age as my grandfather, as far as I > know, and to look at she was ageless and around thirty. WAND: The part of Rose will be played by Polgara the Sorceress. > She had a fondness for trench coats and fedora hats which WAND : ...made her look like Carmen Sandiego. > she passed on to me along with Ler Drit, and a sort of > haunted look that always bothered me when I was a kid, > mostly because she would refuse to explain it until I was > nearly twenty. ARL : Well, tubby, when a woman and a man love each other very much... > She was a hard teacher, but then, Ler Drit is a hard > subject. TBS : But then I controlled the power of the Mary Sue and all was well. > Not as outright brutal as most who even recognize its name > believe, but then, most of them are thinking of the mockery > of the style that M. Bison has made of it in the twenty > years since he started building his empire. It's certainly > not as brutal as the training regimen for Muay Thai. TIFF : I mean, geez! They don't even let you nap before a fight! > I know -- I compare notes with a Muay Thai champion > semi-regularly. Joe is fond of the "why, when I was your > age" method of horror-story-from-my-training-days-telling. GAVOK : But I defeated him with the knowledge that Injun Joe is ticklish. > You're expecting me to TBS: ...abruptly develop a sense of shame? > tell you now about the time when I was ten or so that Rose > found out I was scared of heights, and promptly made me walk > some kind of a tightrope over a windy chasm, at the bottom > of which awaited a nasty crunching death, to conquer my fear. > Well, I hate to disappoint you, but she did no such thing. > It's none of your business what she did. WAND: I'm guessing she shaved his head and made him run around in a dress like Major Pain. > Suffice it to say that I'm still afraid of heights, just as > I am afraid of many things, TBS : Such as bees, snakes and H.R. Puffinstuff... > but I don't let it stop me. > I took a deep breath of the clean Scottish air, let it out, GAVOK: ppppt! MMK: Oh, Gavok, you're such a pig fucker! > and stepped off the outer curtain onto the catwalk, RW : And I shook my little tush on the catwalk. > letting my arms hang loosely at my sides, willing the > tension out of my muscles. I checked to make sure that my > gloves were fastened securely; they were. ALL: Phew! TIFF, WAND: INTENSE! GLOVE! FASTENING! *ACTION*! > It's more a nervous habit than anything else that I do that. > Across from me, separated by perhaps fifteen feet of > catwalk, Cammy awaited. GAVOK : You can't give it up! Go for broke, man! > She had changed into her battle gear, which consisted of a > green leotard, a pair of nasty-looking combat boots, a pair > of equally nasty-looking armored vambraces, a beret, and > some shoe polish. ARL: All dressed and spiffy -- wait, how'd he know she had shoe polish on? WAND: He checked his face after the fight. > Arrayed along the inner curtain at her end of the catwalk, > the spectators began to cheer as we walked out, meeting in > the middle, separated by only a few feet. TIFF : Damn castle zombies, leaving their leftovers on the floor... > She settled into a ready stance, feet placed as if she were > standing on a surfboard, right fist raised in front of her > face, left fist curled before her body, rocking slowly back > and forth on the balls of her feet. MMK: You Know You're A Long-Winded Pompous Bastard When... ARL: ...you can't just say "she went into a ready stance" and leave it at that. TIFF: I call no more Pompous Bastard Definitions. MMK: Awwww... [TIFF revs her chainsaw and points it at the MMK.] MMK: ...some idea, Tiff. [He ^_^s.] > I anticipated a couple of things about her fighting style. Z-BOT : It would kick my ass. > The first was that it would be longer on kicks than punches. > She was clearly strong, but the simple, incontrovertible > fact of her stature would limit her upper body strength. > Train all she might, she could only throw a punch so hard. RW: That's technically true of *everyone*, you goober... ARL: So, the extra centrifugal forces that women possess make no difference? Fascinating. > So I was betting that kicks would form the bulk of her > arsenal. The second was that she would come as close as a > Brit could come to fighting dirty. Special Forces fighters > always fight on the verge of dirty. But that's OK. I can > handle dirty fighting. > I smiled, stretched my arms back until my sternum popped > most satisfactorily, GAVOK : Will you listen to the ovation. He's got the sternum in the palm of his hand here tonight, folks... > and adopted one of my own, TIFF: Took it in, fed it, cleaned it... > knees bent, feet apart (left slightly ahead of right), left > fist at the ready, right hand open and extended to the side > as if for balance. MMK: You Know-- [MMK barely ducks TIFF's chainsaw.] MMK: --I could sure go for a doughnut right about now. > Unconsciously, I found myself rocking to her rhythm. ALL : ROCK ME! ROCK ME! > Norris, the faithful butler, stepped to the inner end of the > catwalk and queried, "Champion ready?" ARL : No, I'm Cammy. > "Ready!" Cammy replied, and threw me a wink. > "Challenger ready?" TBS : No, I'm G-- MMK : IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOUR NAME IS! > "Ready!" I replied, returning it. GAVOK : I don't want it! You have it! TBS : No, it's for you! GAVOK : No way it's yours! Hey, there's glue on it! [GAVOK blows up] > /* ZZ Top "Sharp Dressed Man" Eliminator */ GAVOK : ZZ Top, Sharp Dressed Man, Eliminator. MMK: ZZ Top, Sharp Dressed Man, Eliminator. Yes! [GAVOK opens the envelope] GAVOK: Tank Abbot, Berlyn, and Perry Saturn. MMK: Yes! That was amazing! Haw haw! Hi-yo! > "Fight!" Norris barked, and she came at me like a tornado, > skipping forward with something that was like a spinning > backfist, ARL: But it was purple and had an afro. > but with a fascinating little dance step in the middle. TBS : we see here the rare Little Dance Step in its native habitat of a spinning backfist, being... well... fascinating, really. > I ducked it, dropping low and throwing my left fist, RW : One... two... five! ARL : Three, sir. RW : Three! [ALL make whistling noises, followed closely by loud explosion noises.] > and got in the first hit, hearing her grunt as my fist > plowed into her midriff. GAVOK: What's he doing in her closet? TIFF: Gavok... GAVOK: What? [The sound of a chainsaw revving can be heard.] GAVOK: Oh. Okay. > Her knee bashed into my face, and only a quick turn of my > head prevented her from it from bloodying my nose; I bounced > away, GAVOK, TBS, MMK: Boingy! Boingy! Boingy! > coming up with a strange warm moisture on my cheek. Reaching > up, I smeared it with my fingers and looked; it was green > shoe polish, of course. WAND: Of course. Because there's no chance that it could be... I don't know, blood? TBS: Arrgh! She's a Vulcan! Run! RW: Dude... it's just that stuff on her legs. TBS: Oh. I always thought that was edible body paint. RW: Well... you would. > While I was wasting my time with that pointless observation, MMK: Admitting it is the first step to recovery. > she plowed a boot into my gut, sending me stumbling back > toward the outer curtain. All righty, then! TIFF: That was out of left field. > I dug in with my backmost foot and reversed direction, > starting a run toward her, and gathered my Ler. [TBS breaks into a hugeass grin] RW: Dude... he said Ler. Not leer. TBS: You know, from the amount of attention this guy's paying to her legs, I could be forgiven the mis- [TIFF revs her CHAINSAW] TBS: Or not. Heh. > I don't know what language "Ler Drit" comes from, but Rose > always told me it translates into English as "Lifeforce > Combat". GAVOK: LIFEFORCE COMBAT! MMK: Or "Le Dirt" in French. As the Arrogant Worms would put it, C'est Cheese. > I suppose that makes one's Ler equivalent to one's Chi or ki > or the Force or whatever you want to call it. GAVOK : You are not a Jedi yet. MMK : But, lookie! I can make a purple glowing flame in my fist and ack... erk... > Thanks to Rose's teaching, I can do some pretty spiffy > things with my Ler. RW : Like buy two tires for the price of one! > Things like shoving it out of my body and making it flame up > around my hand. GAVOK: Then taking that little flame, making sure it's plenty hot, turning that sumbitch sideways and STICKING IT STRAIGHT UP YOUR CANDY ASS! > It isn't a hot flame -- more like an electrical shock -- but > it can sure pack a jolt. I flared it on my left fist and > dove in for a good, old-fashioned left cross, TBS : It's just a Good Old Cross. Good Old Cross. Good Old Cross. Just a Goo-oo-ood Old Cross! > but my opponent was already airborne. A year ago I would > have been startled enough by this to lose my concentration > and let the flarefist dissipate, wasting the energy, but not > today. ARL : Today I had a coupon. > Instead I dug in with my forward foot and halted my charge, > rocking back on my stance and going to block the flying kick > she was trying to lay on me. > Except that she wasn't trying to kick me at all. I'd heard > about this move, and as appealing as the concept may seem to > -you-, I didn't relish the idea of getting my head trapped > between those steel-cord thighs. Not out here, anyway. Besides, > we had only just met. RW: Not that that's ever stopped anyone who writes for Sakura Lemon... WAND: You know, Snot, I'd *like* to attempt to break your neck with my legs, but we've only just met. TBS: Oh, right. That'd be totally inappropriate. > So I did what anybody with half a clue would have done, and > ducked, throwing myself into a forward roll and reversing as > I came to my feet. GAVOK: But anyone with a full clue would have done the former. [TIFF saws off GAVOK's head] GAVOK: Shit. It's stuck to the floor. Where's my spatula? RW: Here's mine. GAVOK: Thanks. > She wasn't too thrown off by missing me; she was half-turned > by the time she came down, and she landed on her feet, > pivoting to face me. She was breathing a little harder, and > smiling that nice smile. Having fun, and so was I. WAND: Yes! The *real* way to have fun with someone of the opposite sex is to try and beat the shit out of them! TIFF: That explains Kenma and SI's relationship... > We traded a few more blows, boring ones; GAVOK: How can you say it's boring to get... [TIFF saws GAVOK diagonally] GAVOK: Damn. > blocks, kicks. She tagged me across the jaw with a > particularly nice kick; ARL : Tag! You're it! TIFF: Hey! No fair! > I spun the recoil into a backfist spin and RW : ...heel and toe and shuffle-ball-change... > zapped her with > that flarefist I'd been saving. She backed off, shaking her > head to clear the dazzle from her eyes, and complimented me. ARL : Are those Bugle Boy jeans you're wearing? > Then she did something very strange. TBS : Everybody do the Michigan Raaaaaaaag... everybody loves the Michigan Raaaaaaaag... > She took two running steps, and her feet seemed to slide out > from under her. She caught herself on her arms and pushed > off so that she started to corkscrew, and flew toward me > feet-first, spinning, in a manner which seemed to defy > gravity. MMK : CHOREPPADAAAAAN! TIFF: MMK... > I might have been able to do it, using my Ler to hold me > away from the ground; I had no idea how she was doing it. > While I pondered the attack, it took me off at the shins. I > really have to stop being so damn cerebral about fighting. ARL: And everything else. > While I fell, though, I wasn't idle; MMK: I was Cleese. > I used what little purchase my feet had left on the ground > to push myself backward, and WAND : ...accidentally threw myself off the catwalk, falling to a grisly death. The end. > threw my hands out and down over my head to catch myself on. > Cammy was getting to her feet as I hit my hands, GAVOK : Bad hands! Be more violent! > and pushed off with all the considerable strength in my > arms. > This had the effect of bouncing me back to my feet like a > spring-loaded silhouette target, much faster than Cammy had > expected me to recover. TIFF : PULL! WAND : BANG! MMK : Huh? Ow! > Before she could react, I pushed off with my legs, throwing > myself into a front flip over her. I told you before that > Ler Drit fighters can use their Ler to levitate; well, I did > so here, giving myself a little push to keep myself aloft a > good ten feet beyond Cammy. RW: Now, that's the *long* way of saying "I landed on my feet". > I landed, back to her, nearly at the inner curtain, and > closed my eyes, concentrating on what I could hear and feel > around me, the vibrations in the stone under the soles of my > feet and the flow of the energies around me. > I had psyched her out. TBS: And Cammy got an airball. That's two outs. > Seeing me fly past her like that, she had turned and come > running after me, winding up for a flying kick. > With my eyes closed I could see her coming, could visualize > myself on the catwalk, as if I were seeing the scene from a > camera suspended over the moat off to the side. WAND : Almost like a fighting game! Huh? Do ya get it? RW: He's having an out-of-body experience, in other words. ARL: One has out-of-body experiences and shoots flames from his body, and the other one's named "Zoner". Where's the FDA when you really need them? > She was flying toward me, foot extended, the kick guaranteed > to bash my head right into the wall of the castle and knock > me out for the count. MMK : There's that word again. > Now. GAVOK: When? TBS: Just then. GAVOK: But it said "now" then. MMK: When? GAVOK: Just now. TBS: When was now? GAVOK: Just then. MMK: Then what? TBS: What? MMK: What happened then after now? GAVOK: When? MMK: Just now? TBS: Was it? GAVOK: Who? GAVOK, TBS, MMK: First base! TIFF: You guys are weird. > I threw myself up and back, pushing off with feet and Ler, > and flared my right fist, corkscrewing through the air. Her > outstretched kicking foot passed behind my back close enough > that I could feel it just as I unloaded the backfist into > her jaw. WAND: In other words, his Dragon Punch-alike knocked her out of her dropkick. ARL: What's new? > When we hit the catwalk, I was standing; she wasn't. > "Challenger wins!" Norris announced, and he sounded a little > shaken up. TBS: I'll have my Norris shaken -- fuggit. It's old. > Opening my eyes, I straightened my cap. RW: Unfortunately, the rest of his outfit was anything but straight. WAND : Then I fell down, screaming, with seventeen different charley horses, because I'd forgotten to *stretch*... > "Gryph!" Zoner bellowed, charging out of the crowd of > onlookers. TBS , GAVOK : DO IT TO THE CROWD! > "That was fucking great! Seventy-three seconds! I'm rich! > Again!" > "Shh!" I said, kneeling at the side of my fallen opponent. > "Cammy? You ok?" RW : Please say no, please say no, so I can do CPR... > A field medic ARL: A what? GAVOK: Kinda sounds like something you'd fight in an RPG, doesn't it? WAND: Yeah, it does. MMK: You know what? It'd be a perfect fit in EarthBound. "You engage the Field Medic and the Retro New Age Hippie." > from the castle joined me, turning her face up to the sky, > peeling back an eyelid RW : Hey, wait, I'm fine... put down that potato peeler... AAIIEEE!! > and shining a light into the eye underneath. > This made her squint, groan, and push the light aside. > "I'm ok," she muttered, sitting up and putting a hand to her > head. "Jus' get me some ice." She looked up at me and smiled > an almost shy smile. "You're good. Better than I expected," > she admitted. > "Damn right he's good!" came a familiar voice from the > crowd, WAND, MMK : He's the best I ever had. > and a tall, muscular fellow with a shock of thick dark hair > pushed past Zoner. Even though he was already being > obnoxious, I was very happy to see him. He's got a grin the > size of the grille on a '58 Corvette TBS : ...and he's got eyes, of the bluest kind, and if they, thought of rain... > and all the social grace of a supercharged V-8 engine, WAND: Neither metaphors or Street Fighters can stand up to our hero's bludgeoning power! > but for some reason, I love Joe Higashi like a brother. ARL : Of course, I ate my real brother three years ago. > Even when he grabs me in a half nelson, raps the button on > the top of my hat down into my brain pan, TIFF: ...where it rattled around for weeks like the lone bead in a maraca... > and says something stupid, like, TBS : Hey, Ben. How's that sweet ass of yours? > "The name's Joe Higashi, miss -- I taught this clown > everything he knows about fighting!" MMK: Then shouldn't he be jobbing to Benimaru right about now? > I helped Cammy to her feet, introduced her, watched Joe make > a pass so widely telegraphed that RW: ...it was intercepted and run twenty yards for a touchdown. > Cammy could parry it easily even in her groggy condition, WAND: Well, you know. You mash yer buttons hard enough, and you can parry anything. ARL : I'll supercancel my Refusal into a Public Humiliation. > and submitted my hand to be squashed and pumped up and down > for a bit. GAVOK : So he sent his hand Priority Mail? > Joe slapped Zoner on the back as if he thought Zoner was > choking on a chicken bone; RW: Instead, Joe was simply trying to shatter Zoner's spine. We wish him the best! > Zoner gritted his teeth and refused to cough, although the > effort probably took two years off his life. ALL: HIT HIM AGAIN! HIT HIM AGAIN! > Now that the fight was over, I knew my opponent was OK, WAND: Y'know, it occurs to me that if your opponent's okay after a fight, you probably did something very, very wrong. > and the adrenaline rush had faded, I found myself wanting to > get off the goddamned catwalk, now, this very instant MMK : I am King of All Redundancy. You will all bow to me. Mwah hah. > -- so, as quickly as I could without being rude, I made my > way to the walkway on the inner curtain. > Cammy, Joe, and Zoner followed, Joe chattering about his > current standing in the Muay Thai leagues and Zoner going on > about how much money I won him. > I love my friends, but sometimes, they can be a tremendous > pain in the ass -- especially Joe and Zoner. They both know > damn well that after a fight, when everybody else wants to > party, all I really want to do is GAVOK : ...praise my dark gods for another victory. WAND, TBS : ...Cthulhu, Cthulhu, ita ftagn... > have another nap. RW: Lazy bastard. > For the third time that day, I was awakened by a rapping on > the door to my room. TBS: A rapping? A rapping on his chamber door? MMK: Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore! ARL: And in there stepped a saintly raven, of the saintly days of yore! > This time, though, it wasn't faithful Norris waking me; the > knock was too quiet for that, almost furtive. TIFF: So... it wasn't a knock. RW: It was a tap. Perhaps a rubbing. > I sat up, listening to muscles popping grudgingly out of the > positions they had set in, blinked, and looked out the > window; MMK: Aw, damnit. Watch this, I bet he's probably going to take a couple paragraphs to describe the *sky* now. > it was nearly dark. MMK: Oh. Phew. Well, that was certainly a refreshing ch-- > The sky at the western horizon was a thick purple MMK: --damnit. > with a searing pink band just at the dividing point between > sky and ground; GAVOK: Eech. You should probably have that checked. > it was magnificent, and for a moment I simply sat and looked > at it. WAND: This guy's got the breakneck pace of Hemingway. ARL: But without all the drinking. WAND: True. > In the dark part of the sky, the Northern Lights were > beginning a performance. > Then, remembering the reason I awoke, I said, "Come in." > The door opened, and Cammy slipped into my room, dressed as > she had been before the match. TBS : She hopped up on my pallid bust of Pallas. WAND : Nevermore. > She had, in the hours since the fight, developed a glorious > shiner around her right eye, where I had tagged her with > that first backfist. MMK: This guy's got an unwholesome obsession with backfists. > Oddly enough, the knockout blow hadn't left a mark. I'm sure > I wouldn't've won any beauty contests myself -- RW, TIFF: -- EVER -- > my face, especially after the nap, felt like a wax mask. I > still thought she looked lovely, though. GAVOK: Oh, sure, like you're looking at her face. Riiiight. > "Hullo," she said. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" > "Yeah, but don't worry about it," I said, getting up and > stretching out my protesting frame. Things made cracks and > pops which would be disconcerting to the uninitiated. WAND : So I have to be a Freemason to listen to him stretch? > "I shouldn't be sleeping through the whole day, anyway. TIFF: Good. 'Cause it's nighttime. Moron. > I got what I wanted... a couple hours of sleep and some time > away from the cheering throngs." I grinned at the image. "I > hadn't counted on Joe showing up for this." > "Your friend the kickboxer?" I nodded. "He's funny. TBS: Heh. Even I have enough self restraint not to ad-- GAVOK : ...looking. TBS: Dude! > He's been down in the Great Hall [MMK mimes idly twirling a pencil while looking at a thin sheet of paper.] MMK: Okay... let's see... I accuse... Mr. Higashi, with the candlestick, in the Great Hall. [MMK mimes putting down a pencil and paper, picking up a small envelope, and looking inside.] MMK: ...damn. > telling embarrassing stories about your early days in the fights." ARL : Yep, back in the days when we bet against him... > "Not surprising. What brings you by? Rousing a sleeping Ben > can't be as much fun as listening to Joe Higashi spout." RW : Here is my han-dle... > She laughed. "I wanted to see if you had any plans for TIFF : World domination. I'm into that sorta thing, don't'cha know. > tonight." > "Plans?" I shrugged. "I suppose Zoner's in no condition to > fly us home, WAND: Not to mention that being in a plane flown by a guy nicknamed "Zoner" is the stupidest damn thing you can do. TBS: It's like letting your buddy "Beer-Dawg" drive you home. > which means I'll have to impose on your hospitality for > another evening. Why?" > "Well, now." She leaned closer to me, dropping her voice > conspiratorially, and said, "I'm thinking about getting out > of this stuffy old place for the night and heading down into > town to crawl the pubs. Care to come with?" > I scratched at the back of my head for a moment, RW : Ook ook ook ook... ook ook ook ACK! > then shrugged. "Sure, sounds like fun." > "Great! Let's go, then. The night's not getting younger." > > Sneaking out of Castle MacLir was an exercise in amusement. Z-BOT: And a collision course with family fun! > I felt like I was a kid at summer camp. We crept through > secret passages; TBS: Damn. And MMK already did a Clue reference. MMK <^_^ing>: Sorry. > Cammy said she thought she was the only one who knew about > them. They led down, down, down, TBS : Down, doobie doobie down, woah oh oh ooohhhh... GAVOK : Down by the bay... where the watermelons grow... MMK : Bring me DOWN, BRING me dow-own... yeahhhhhhhhhhh-ah! > through the side of the mountain and to a small cut off the > side of the motorway from Edinburgh. There was a small white > Land Rover parked there, RW: Insert O.J. Simpson Joke #437 Here. > so we made for it. It only dawned on me about halfway there > that the -reason- we were sneaking was because Cammy was a > government agent, and probably not supposed to leave the castle, > which was after all a military base of sorts, without asking > somebody first, which she apparently hadn't. WAND: Ladies and gentlemen, proper sentence structure is now dead. TIFF: So she's a trained killer with a curfew. That's just great. > I had just reached this conclusion when a throat was cleared > behind us MMK : And how do we clear the throat? With a STICK A' DYNAMITE, YO! > and an officious voice said, "And where do -you- two think > you're going?" > "Doh!" we cried in unison, MMK: Re! ARL: Mi! TIFF: Fa! WAND: So! TBS, RW: Laaaaa! > whirling to confront the voice's owner. > Seeing who it was, I sighed, my shoulders relaxing. > "Joe!" I grumbled. "You just about gave me a heart attack." > "Sorry," Joe replied, ambling over with a goofy grin on his > face. TBS : I'll try harder next time. > "Didn't mean to scare you. Naughty, naughty children, > sneaking off like this. I'm afraid you're going to need a > chaperone." > Cammy put on the most adorable "Oh, you have got to be > kidding me" expression I'd ever seen, TIFF : You do that, and I pop a cap in yo' muthafuckin' ass! ARL : Ha ha! That's so adorable. TIFF : Shut up, bitch. > and was about to protest when Joe added, > "Nah, I'm just kiddin' around. You two have fun. If anybody > asks where you are... I'll, ah, make somethin' up." > "You do that," I replied dryly, then grinned. "Thanks, Joe." > "Hey, de nada, pal," replied Joe. "Joe 'Mr. Discretion' > Higashi, at your service." WAND, MMK: Uh-oh. GAVOK: Stand by for wackiness! > The drive into town was a fascinating experience, to say the > least. Cammy had clearly been trained as a Combat Driver, ARL : So she blew up every other car on the road? GAVOK : Welcome to Twisted Metal! MMK: A Combat Driver? As opposed to a Speed Racer? RW: MMK... MMK <^_^ing>: What? > and she was apparently convinced that the Land Rover was > pretty much the same as a Porsche, when you got right down > to it. WAND : That's when I realized that I'd apparently done some brain damage earlier. MMK : She was still cute, though. > I spent most of the trip either plastered against the > passenger door ARL : Heh... I love you, door... yer th'only one who undershtands me... > or clinging to my seat belt trying to avoid tumbling into > her lap, TBS: If you'd buckled it, you wouldn't, y'know, have that problem. GAVOK: Going into her lap is a problem? TIFF : Gavok... GAVOK: Um... kidding? > not that I would have minded that, except that it would have > been mortally embarrassing and RW: Damn you, demon sentence, END! > would have made it hard for her to drive. RW: Thank you! > I've never liked beer, and Zoner has always contended that > that's because I haven't tried the right one yet. WAND: No, Zoner, it's because beer is stank-nasty. ARL : Beer! Helping ugly people have sex since 1862! > I've never particularly thought that this made any sense, > since I usually stated my dislike of the stuff and provoked > that response after trying something he recommended. So I > suppose it was just as well that he wasn't there that night, > to see me enjoying the stuff the pubtender at this > particular Quaint Scottish Public House ALL: TM! > was serving me. It was thick, and bitter, and dark as sin, TIFF: That's because it *was* sin. The bartender never promised you actual beer... GAVOK : Mmm... sin... > but for some reason I couldn't name, I loved it. TBS: How 'bout we chalk that up to recent head injuries, Hutchins? > The publican himself ARL: Publican? Is that even a word? WAND: Insert your own "Mocrat" jokes here. > was the prototype from which all publicans in the > Commonwealth had been put into production: fat, jovial, > red-haired and red-faced, with a jolly laugh and a burr so > heavy it could cut concrete. TIFF: It's Santa MacClaus! ALL: Aye! > He apparently knew Cammy -- unless he happened to call every > pretty young girl who came in "me bonny fightin' lass," > which, I suppose, was possible. ARL: Well, if you're gonna be a stereotype, you might as well go completely fuckin' nuts with it. > I've never felt very comfortable: > 1) In bars; > 2) With a drink in my hand; WAND : Drinking is fun! It makes me feel horrible and sexy! > 3) Around people I don't know very well. > So, you can see that I was absolutely in my element in a > Scottish pub. MMK, GAVOK, TBS: Oh, well, right, obviously, of cour -- huh? > I used to have a problem with hanging around attractive > women -- GAVOK : When they saw me, they'd run away! Screaming! > I'd sort of freeze up, Z-BOT: An illegal operation has occurred in application BENHUTCHINS.EXE. > or, failing that, turn into Jerry Lewis, which was worse. [ALL scream and/or wince.] WAND: Fuck "worse"! That's a sign of demon possession! > It's another character flaw Rose cured me of, and that's > another 'how' which is none of your business. TIFF: I'm guessing it involved that scarf and his neck. > So at least -that- wasn't causing me difficulty. All in all, > it looked like pretty smooth sailing ahead. The folks in the > pub obviously knew each other, and they could tell I was > from out of town, RW : Stranger, that's the *Sheriff*'s beer... > but they didn't seem to mind that, and kept to themselves. > Except for a couple of young guys I noticed, over in the > corner; they kept glancing up at us and giving me strange > looks. MMK: Am I the only one seeing a whole bunch of gay joke opportunities here? WAND: No. MMK: Phew. > It looked like they might be psyching themselves up for some > sort of action. TIFF: ...now *I'm* seeing them. ARL: Me too. MMK: Welcome to the dark side. > I didn't like the looks of them, even with the warm, > benevolent haze that the beer was settling over me. WAND : This Miskatonic homebrew *rocks*! > Inwardly, I shrugged. I didn't want any trouble. I rarely > do. I turned to Cammy and said, "How much trouble will you > get into for this?" > "None, if nobody knows I'm gone," she replied with a grin. > "Why? Your friend promised to keep it quiet." > I snorted. "Joe Higashi is to discretion as GAVOK : ...I am to a clear and unmuddled narrative. > a Sherman Tank is to subtlety. What's worse, even if he only > tells one person, that one person is Zoner. If loose lips > really did sink ships, Zoner would be the Helen of Troy of > shipwrecks." WAND: So his is the face that sunk a thousand ships? TBS: What's Greek for "To The Most Inadvertently Dangerous"? > She shrugged. TIFF : Well, it's official. I don't know what's wrong with you. > "So, M. will give me that 'disappointed' look RW: "M"? Was that an unnecessary cameo? MMK: You know it. #3, to be precise. > and I'll have to pretend to be sorry and tell him I won't do > it again. And the Brigadier will yell at me and I'll have to > pretend to be sorry and tell him I won't do it again. Then > I'll knock over another mission [TBS makes a sound like glass shattering] WAND : What th... CAMMY! You knocked the mission over AGAIN? > with my usual aplomb and all will be forgiven. Don't worry > about it." > I shrugged and took another drink. "What exactly is this > stuff, anyway?" I asked, gesturing with my mug and almost > causing a catastrophic peanut spill. MMK: My god! Save the peanuts before it's too late! ARL: If the peanuts fall, we'll be facing a cataclysmic pretzel explosion! TBS: And when that goes, a disastrous pickled-egg flow is bound to follow! [WAND starts giggling helplessly.] > "I usually hate beer, but this is wonderful stuff." > "Why thank ye, lad," the publican, who had overheard me, said. TBS : Y'see, I hadn't cleaned the septic tank for a wee little while, and... > "I brew it meself, from a recipe handed down t'me from me > dad, who got it from his dad, and so on. There's been a > MacGregor at the Iron and Wheel since 1656." TIFF : The poor bastard thinks his shift's ending soon, too. > I was going to reply to this, but I felt a rather hard tap > on my shoulder. RW: No, no. That's a knock. Remember earlier? > "Hold that thought," I said, and turned to face my > shoulder-tapper. He was one of the young fellows I had seen > eyeing me earlier, GAVOK : New in town, sailor? > a young man little or no older than I, with bushy, > dark-blond hair and somewhat unfocused brown eyes. ARL : Ah hear ye got sum heroin, lad... > "I don't want no trouble in me place, Johnny," the publican > said in a warning tone. This gave me two pieces of important > information: MMK : The groove, and where to find it. > the man's first name, and the knowledge that the publican > considered him more than likely to be looking for a problem. ARL : Still didn't tell me what the fuck a "publican" is, though. > "Relax, Angus," Johnny replied. WAND : I hate that name. > "I just want to ask this fella a couple of questions." > "Go ahead," I said, putting as pleasant a smile as I could > on my face, which was feeling considerably less sore than it > had when I arrived. I was hoping I could keep it that way. > "What's yuir name, first of all?" RW : They call me Mr. Tibbs. > "Ben Hutchins. Friends call me Gryphon," I replied. TBS : That's some dumb fuckin' friends ye got there, fella. > What the hell! I wanted this guy to be my friend. TIFF : My *extra-special* friend. > Currently, I wanted all of Scotland to be my friend, and was > considering expanding that mandate to include all of the British > Isles, including Ireland, whether they really wanted to be my friend > or not. WAND: Speaking for Ireland... no. Maybe if you beat up some Frenchmen. > "Where'd yon lass get that shiner, then?" > I shrugged. What'd be the point in making something up? "I > hit her," I replied flatly. Z-BOT: Yeah. Duh. > "I see," Johnny replied, equally matter-of-fact. "And > where'd you get yuirs?" TIFF : Sale at Macy's. > "She kicked me in the head," I said, and heard Cammy giggle > a bit off to my right. RW : But wait... she's on my left. > "Ah." Johnny looked satisfied. "All right, then. That's all > I wanted to know." He turned to Cammy. "Did ye win, lass?" > "No," she replied cheerily, "but it was close, an' there are > no hard feeings." I noticed that her burr was deepening as > the evening progressed, and I liked that. TBS : Couldn't figure out why, since she's British, but... > I wished I had a burr of my own for the beer to deepen. > Maybe if I hung around here long enough I'd develop one. GAVOK: Maybe he can jump into a briar patch or something. TIFF: Well, if Cammy can get one after an hour... > "Oh aye," said Johnny. "Thank ye, then. That's all I wanted > to know." > "Here," I said, fishing in my pocket and slapping some more > anonymous brown change on the bar. I know nothing of British > money. It could have been six cents or twelve bucks, I > dunno, WAND: Oh, come fucking on. Pounds? Pence? They're exactly the same as dollars and cents. ARL: "I know nothing of British money", indeed. > but it seemed to satisfy Angus. "Let me buy you a drink, > concerned fellow that you are." > Johnny cracked his first smile of the evening. "Why, thank > ye," he said. > An hour or so later, I felt like -I- had been at the Iron > and Wheel since 1656. I lost track of the amount of brown > change I fished out of my pocket, but it seemed I was only > paying for every other drink anyway. Before long everybody > in the pub was sitting that little bit closer to the bar and > we were all singing some song about lost love and the > bastard English. TBS, GAVOK, MMK : They come over here, and they cut off our legs. They chop off our hands, and put nails in our eyes. O'GRADY IS DEAD, AND O'HANRAHAN'S GONE! WE DRINK, AND WE DIE, AND CON-TI-NUE TO DRINK! WAND: That's actually a song about the Irish -- fuck it. [singing] WE DRINK AND WE DIE... > I felt just about ready to head out and get on with my quest > to ask every man, woman, and child in Scotland to be my > personal friend, one by one. Z-BOT : I decided that I hadn't been rejected enough in my life, so I'd go for the gold. > We watched a rugby match on the TV in the corner. I lost > track of who I was rooting for about six times, but the > people in red ended up winning, or at least they walked > away. What a violent sport. And people get down on street > fighters for wanton violence. MMK: Hey, there's an idea. Street Fighter rugby. RW: No way. Whoever had Zangief would win. MMK: Aww. > Somebody started a darts game; Cammy and I both did pretty > well, TBS : Y'know. Killed some people. > but there was one fellow with a scar on his cheek and grey > in his thick hair who was inhumanly good at it, ARL : Oro? > and I felt an irrationally strong desire to be just like him > for a moment. Z-BOT : So I grabbed a dart and shoved it into my cheek. > It was that kind of an evening. Time blended away into > insignificance and the camaraderie was thicker than the > steam in a ship's boiler room. RW: Is this a beer commercial? MMK: SCENE! [MMK and TBS move in front of the screen and pretend like they're part of the bar festivities.] GAVOK: Are you enjoying a good fictional party? MMK : I know I am. TBS: This is great! GAVOK: Then drink Wanker Ale! [Both MMK and TBS abruptly acquire bottles. They take healthy swigs from them and immediately turn green.] GAVOK: That thick, dark Scottish flavor will convince you to really love beer. [MMK and TBS race offscreen, holding their hands to their mouths.] GAVOK: Yes, Wanker Ale, for all your self-inserted parties. Available at all fine meta-fictive stores Multiverse-wide. MMK: END SCENE! [All three sit back down.] > There was a pool table; the man with the scar whipped my > butt two out of three times TIFF: ...with the pool cue... ARL : Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, Puulu Kyu Ichigeki! > at eight-ball, and then I taught the pub a billiards game my > friend Andrew Petrarca had invented, called base-eight-ball. GAVOK: SCENE! WAND: What, again? [WAND is ignored as TBS, MMK and GAVOK scramble out of their seats. MMK and TBS mime playing pool, with the MMK getting a ball in on every shot and TBS never getting a turn. MMK smirks and mimes accepting money from TBS, who sits back down. MMK turns to face GAVOK.] MMK : Y'want to play me, doo ye? GAVOK : Uh... yeah... but none of that pussy eight-ball shit you guys play in the suburbs! Yeah! We're gonna play a game called... BASEeightball! MMK : BASEeightball? How d'ye play that? GAVOK : Well... well... okay. You always have to shoot from... [GAVOK walks to a spot beside the mimed table.] GAVOK : Here. And you can psyche your opponent out, too. Got it? MMK : Fine, fella. I'll start, though. GAVOK : Okay. [MMK bends down and mimes aiming to take a shot.] GAVOK : So, dude... [MMK pulls his arm back] GAVOK : I hear your girlfriend's going out wiiiiith... ZEEK! [MMK mimes slipping and watching the table in shock.] MMK : Ye git. GAVOK: END SCENE! [MMK and GAVOK sit back down.] > Somewhere along the line I smoked a cigar, which is > something else I hardly ever do. WAND : I wish I still got homework. I could be doing it now. > It was nearly a religious experience. ARL: What, a *cigar* is? TIFF: That's one lonely, lonely man. > I was high on life and good beer, and in love with the whole > damn world. Z-BOT : That's when I learned that "no" really does mean "no". > I finished beating the scarred fellow four-of-five at base-eight-ball MMK: Couldn't you even lose a friggin' *pool* game, Hutchins? > and relinquished my cue to young Johnny Kane, who was anxious > to try his hand at it. Cammy was standing by a gang of people at > the darts line, watching Mr. MacGregor's son Tommy hurl 'em, TBS: He is still talking about darts, right? > and, bemused, I watched in floating detachment from inside > my head as I did something uncharacteristically bold; > I walked up behind her and put my arms around her, clasping > them over her midriff and hugging her from behind in a sort > of low-impact Heimlich maneuver. ARL: Nothin' says lovin' like basic first aid! RW: Does he have to describe a freaking *hug*? MMK: You Know You're A Pompous Long-Winded Bastard *When*. > To my surprise, she didn't react in a startled or outraged > manner; she merely made a small noise in the back of her > throat and settled back against my chest, looking > backward-up and smiling. > "Yui're doon embarrassin' auld Dan, then?" GAVOK: Oosha? > she asked, and her burr was just about as thick as I had > ever heard from anyone now. I loved it. > I loved her. I loved this whole damn country. TBS: Sadly, they all hated him. WAND: Sadly? > My head was spinning with the goodwill I felt, I was > bursting with it. So I did my second crazy thing and > kissed her forehead. And she did her second not-what-I-expected > thing, closed her eyes, and made that noise in her throat again. TIFF: I think they need to check her oil. GAVOK: Well, that explains the dipstick behind her. MMK: Bah dum bum. > "Yui're a nice lad, aren't ye?" she asked without opening > her eyes. > "I try," the man who was using my head at the moment > replied. "I try." RW: Yes, but does he try? > She smiled again. "O'course," she said, "y'know we're both > completely drunk." > "I'm aware of that," WAND : Hell, I'm *counting* on it. > said the man in my head, and my voice was so steady I could > hardly believe that he had been drinking at all. TBS : Voices in my head... these are... the voices in my head... > "An' neither of us really knows what we're doing." > "Au contraire," I replied. "I know exactly what I'm doing." ARL : And I'm gonna keep doing it 'til I need glasses! > "Och," she och'd. TIFF : Oh, thank you... > "What'd me mum think? Proper young girl like me, standin' > here in a pub in the arms of a fella she's known fer what, > thirteen hours. An' he's gettin' ready to announce his > undying love fer me, an' I'm gettin' ready t'believe him." WAND: Special guest writer, Ben Raab. > I was momentarily shocked by that statement MMK : I plug you in... dim the lights... E-lec-tric Cam-my state-ment... > -- not just the fact that she had said it, but the fact that > I knew it was true. I knew that -everything- she was saying > was true -- the fact that we were drunk and had no clue what > we were doing first of all. Still, I knew I wouldn't be > lying if I said what she expected me to say. I'm strange > that way. ALL: Hear hear! > Generally, I know within a matter of seconds if that > statement is true or not. ARL: Trust us, glowing-fist boy. You're strange. > I flicked her forelock with a fingertip and said, "You'd do > well to believe it. I never lie. Not about that sort of > thing, anyway." GAVOK : You really can get all calls up to 20 minutes for just $1.99. > Around us, the pub caroused on, oblivious to the minature > drama being played out at the corner of the bar. ARL : Oh, Cammy! TIFF : Oh, Gryphon! ARL : Oh, Cammy! TIFF : Oh, Gryphon! > I smiled a bit wider. "But you're right about one thing -- > we're completely plastered, and so we really shouldn't do > anything we think might be a good idea... " GAVOK : So let's go straight to the bad ideas! WAND : Where's the nearest tattoo parlor? > "Yui're a regular white knight," she said with a grin. > "Let's have a drink on it, at least." > Grinning, I released her and got up on a stool; she did the > same. Angus appeared with two more of his endless supply of > pint mugs, and this time he didn't seem to care about the > brown change, because he immediately vanished again. TBS: Ghost Bartender. Starring Bill Cosby. Now on home video. > I smiled and raised mine. "To us, then," I said, "and the beginning > of a long friendship." > Cammy smiled all the way to her eyes and replied, "Aye, I'll > drink t'that." > Then we linked our arms Russian-style and drank. WAND : And just look at the graceful form presented here. TIFF : I believe that synchronized beer-drinking is truly an underappreciated sport. WAND : Oh, yes, I agree totally. > That was when the throwing iron hit the wall just beyond us, > sending a chilly wind over my ear as it passed. Neither of > us were really fazed at all by that; we finished our drink, > unwound our arms, put our tankards down, and then turned to > face the door. ARL: It's Kramer! ALL: Hey, Kramer! RW : Jerry! I've got to use your shower! > The silence was deafening, as everybody in the pub had > noticed that little hullo. The fellow who had thrown the > iron into the wall was still standing in the doorway. He was > tall, thin and dark, with a waxed mustache and expensive > clothing that screamed, GAVOK : AAAAaaaAAA! Scary scary monster! > "I Wish I Were A Bullfighter, But I'm Really Just A Rich > Spanish Git." TBS: Matador outfits are all the rage, apparently. > I suppose he was handsome to people who like thin-faced, > unctuous Spaniards. MMK : Such as myself! Helloooooooo, Spanish nurse! > "Good evening," he said in an accented voice. "Allow me to > introduce myself: ALL : I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. > I am Luis Fernandez. RW : I'd like to talk to you about Scientology. > I seek a man called Gryphon." > I recognized, not him, but his style. Z-BOT: *What* style? He's just standing there. > He was one of the so-called Spanish ninja being cultivated > by a Spanish aristocrat by the name of ARL: Ricky Martin. TIFF: Huh? ARL: It'd explain a lot, all right? > Antonio de la Vega. ALL: ... GAVOK: Isn't he married to Melanie Griffith? > I'd heard of them first through a friend in the traditional > Japanese ninja scene, WAND: Five'll get you ten that's gonna turn out to be Mai Shiranui. > and lately they'd been becoming a bit of an annoyance to > Zoner and I. My ninja friend and I both suspected that Vega > was thick with Shadolu, MMK: Shadolu! The all-new cheese-spread from Thailand! GAV: Coming soon! Shadolu-flavor Sweage! [ARL and TBS look queasy.] > the international crime syndicate, but we had nothing to > prove it -- except the fact that we were both openly > anti-Shadolu and we had both been attacked by Spanish ninja. [ALL snicker.] WAND: Yeah, you really have to watch your back for those Spanish ninja. TBS: I was besieged by a British sumo once. GAVOK: Really? I was assaulted once by a Belgian kickboxer. RW: I was blindsided by an Indian brawler, myself. > I took a couple of steps forward and said, "I'm Gryphon. > What do you want with me?" Z-BOT : I want you to want me. I need you to need me. > "It is my understanding that you became a World Warrior > today. Is this true?" > "Yes, it's true. So?" MMK : So can you introduce me to Chun-Li? ARL : What? No! MMK : Pleeeease? ARL : Go away! MMK : Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? > "My friends and I have come to ensure that you do not > continue on the circuit after this achievement," Fernandez > replied, moving aside in the doorway to make room for three > similarly-dressed companions to enter the pub. "We, and our > employer, encourage you to retire while you still have your > health." He adopted a look of concern so mock it wouldn't've > made a good Halloween mask. RW: ...and *that's* what happens when a metaphor crashes on the runway. > "Fighting on the World Warrior level is so risky, after > all... and your family would miss you if anything were to > happen to you." WAND : HA! That's what *you* think! > I was filled with anger at this prissy creep. How dare he > come here and ruin my good time with this nonsense? > Threatening me? GAVOK: You say he's threatening you. Is that your final answer? > Threatening my family, however obliquely? It boiled up from > the bottom of my gut, TBS : Wait... *that's* not anger... WAND : Fernandez was soon covered in thirty-seven pints of partly drank beer. > All of the goodwill I felt toward the world transmuting to > rage at this little punk and his friends. > "It'll take better men than you to make something happen to > me, chum," I replied. TIFF: Well, on a philosophical level, *any* man can make *something* happen to you. > "Push off or they'll carry you back to your master on a > stretcher." > "I don't want any trouble in me place, boys," said Angus, > emerging from behind the bar with a large hank of wood -- > what the heck was that word, shillelagh, I think WAND: No, a shillelagh is a twisted Irish walking stick. That, you dork, is a large chunk of damn wood. > -- to confront the ninja. > "Supposin' ye took yerselves outside and bothered somebody else?" > "Supposing," Fernandez replied with an icy smile, "you > minded your own business?" Z-BOT: Supposing you did something that wasn't a cliche? > I tried to cry a warning to MacGregor, but it was too late. > Fernandez had already moved, and the publican was stumbling > backward with the handle of a small dagger protruding from > his shoulder. ALL: Pfft. TBS: Wuss. Can't even kill the bartender. ARL: "Publican". TBS: Whatever. Z-BOT : That's because the bartender never gets killed! ARL: "Publican"! Z-BOT: Whatever! > The wound would not be lethal, or even permanent, but it had > to hurt. RW: It HAD to, goddamnit, it just HAD TO! > I was at MacGregor's side in a moment, easing him onto a > stool; then I turned to face Fernandez and his pals. > "You heard Mr. MacGregor," I snarled. "Let's take this > outside!" GAVOK: So just because he stabbed the bartender, Gryphon's going to go out with him? WAND: Gavok... GAVOK: What? WAND: ...nothing. > Then I launched myself in what is probably my fastest > maneuver. MMK: Running like a goddam woman in the other direction. > I'm not built for speed, and I'll be the first to admit it. > Sprinting, I could probably outrun a locomotive, WAND: What? He's comparing himself to fucking Superman now? RW: Aah! Supreme Mary Sue Alert! Kill it! KILL IT!! [MMK takes out a Kraft Bomb. WAND unsheathes his sword. TIFF revs her chainsaw. TBS gets out the towels. RW readies his Giant Spatula. GAVOK and ARL raise their fists.] ALL: CHAAAAAAAARGE! > if the locomotive were not on tracks. [ALL stop in mid-run.] WAND: Well, shit. RW: Crap. False alarm. TIFF: Hate when they do that. Really. [ALL mumble while putting their weapons away, and sit back down.] > But in a forward slide kick, I'm not so much running as > flying, my Ler holding me a centimeter or so above the > ground GAVOK: Coming up after this commercial, Gryphon will perform more street magic. MMK : Is this your card? RW: AAAAHHHH!! How'd you do that?! > -- I'm sliding on the near-frictionless buffer of my own > energies. TIFF: Seems like a lot of trouble to go to to turn yourself into a friggin' hockey puck... > I launched myself into this, and my knee connected with > Fernandez's gut with a thud that seemed to reverberate in my > skull, which felt larger than usual and uncharacteristically > hollow. GAVOK: Dude... what's with all this truth-telling all of a sudden? > The momentum of the kick carried us through the open > doorway, out into the street. MMK: Hey, Gryphon's a Clay Fighter! > Much better. ARL: Yeah, now you can dodge cars *and* ninjas! > Fernandez rolled away from me on the pavement, coming up > with one of those little knives in each hand. RW: Freud would have something to say about this. WAND : Old predictable Fernandez. How I love 'im. > I dropped into a bent-knee stance and watched him for a > moment, wary of being attacked from behind; but his pals, > although they had emerged from the pub, seemed interested > only in watching us fight, not in helping him. RW: Don't you love friends like that? > He lunged as I was glancing back at his friends; I shoved > his arm aside and palmed him back with my other arm. GAVOK : Then I slipped him into my pocket and left the store. > He lunged as I was glancing back at his friends; I shoved > his arm aside and palmed him back with my other arm, and > then swung into my double kick -- one high kick which spun > me half around, a hop to the other foot and a backward high > that put me back where I started. WAND: And this, Racewing, is why *we* have moveslists. RW: Ah, I see. [The fourth wall collapses again.] MMK: They really oughtta get that checked. > Hit by both salvos, Fernandez staggered, bloodied, but > recovered rapidly enough. So be it, I didn't really care. GAVOK: You and us both, man. > I threw a low slide kick, catching him at the ankles; one of > his blades whistled past the top of my head and my sweeping > left arm stopped him from sticking his other one in my chest, > hard enough that he lost that knife to the street. TBS : Forget the knife, I got it in a Cracker Jack box! It's in you, Fernandez! The Schwartz is in you! > I was all over this fight. Another hard block and his other > knife was out of the picture for a second or so -- still in > his hand, but way out of position. I fed him a flying knee > to the center of the chest that had him Z-BOT: ...asking for more. GAVOK : This is delicious! > gasping like a fish and weaving, and then I went in for the > big finale. RW: Rock! He's gonna play "Stairway"! > This was sheer instinct, the kind of fighting trance that > Rose always tried to instill in me, GAVOK : You are getting sleeeepy... MMK : When I snap my fingers, you will kill everything you see.... (*snap*) NOT ME, YOU FOOL! > and out of it came a move I had never used before, but had > seen earlier that day. I started to throw a backfist, ARL : Again with the backfists, oy! WAND: Y'know, after this, I may have to stop using my own backfists. > but in the middle of it I took that little skipping step > that Cammy had thrown into it earlier in the day, MMK: It's just a skip to the left... TBS: A jump to the right... ALL: ...so LET'S DO THE TIME WARP AGAAAIN... > winding myself into even more energy. ARL : Now, let's imagine Gryphon as pure energy... > Just for the hell of it I put a flare on my left fist at the > same time. WAND: Those went out in the '70s, dude. > As I skipped I weaved off the direct attack line for a > second, and Fernandez's remaining blade whistled past; Z-BOT : Hey! You're supposed to be 2D! MMK : Ha ha! > then I connected with his face, and he connected with the > street and stayed there. TBS : They're getting married in the fall. > Smiling, I turned to his three pals and, taking a deep > breath, said, "Okay -- who's next?" MMK: An annoyed tag-team of Goldberg and Cammy, apparently. ARL : That's my catch phrase, you punk. TIFF : Why don't you go rip off Ryu's moves? *He* doesn't care. GAVOK : Huh? Who's next? Who wants some? [goes up to ARL] How about you? You want some? Huh!? [TBS giggles and ARL pushes him over] > The second one to come at me was even more into the > bullfighter motif -- she had a rapier in her hand. RW: And a song in her heart! > Where did she think she was, Pamplona? TIFF: And what if she did?! > I'm no bull. MMK: But your writing sure is. > Almost contemptuously I stepped inside its reach, WAND: I call "no way". [WAND stands up and points at the screen.] WAND: Anyone who "steps inside the reach" of someone who's wielding a rapier had better have their affairs in order, Hutchins. Rapiers are *fast*. She *should* be holding it at arm's length and using its range to hold you back 'til she can run you through or slash open your throat, not swinging it like a goddamn broadsword. For that matter, if you aren't "built for speed", why the *fuck* are you trying a stunt like that to *begin* with? You should be backing off and throwing things at her, not closing to melee! [WAND sits back down.] > put my elbow under her chin, stood on her foot and broke her > wrist, taking it away from her. Then I shoved her away with > a palm strike and threw a roundhouse kick across her jaw, > and that was all she wanted. TIFF: But was it all she *needed*? > The last two tried to rush me together, one with a nunchaku > and one with a hand-claw similar to the one Vega himself was > said to use. The one with the claw only got about three > steps before Cammy intercepted him, so I ignored him and > turned all of my attention to the 'chukker. Don't let their > silly appearance fool you -- 'chuks are dangerous weapons > indeed. ALL: No. Really? Z-BOT: Y'know, anyone who's ever seen a Bruce Lee movie knows that nunchaku are dangerous. We don't need you to tell us that. TBS: Hell, anyone who's played with a stinkin' *yo-yo*... > A spinning length of hardwood can get up to some pretty good > kinetic energy, and it only takes so much force to shatter > bone. TIFF: Two pounds of pressure per square inch. ARL: Why do you know that? TIFF: I've broken a lot of bones in my time, kiddo. ARL: Oboy. > Fortunately, I had more than just the strength of flesh and > bone with which to block it; TBS : ...I had this keyboard! > I had my Ler to reinforce the physical. I fed it to my left arm, GAVOK: ...and now he's Vampire Hunter D. > feeling the muscles start to almost hum, and used that arm > to block the 'chuk as I looked for an opening in his defense > to attack him through. He was better than the girl with the > rapier -- he didn't try to close with me, knowing that his > weapon was better at a bit of range. TIFF: That should be the other way 'round, actually. > He was also quick and nimble enough to stay out of my reach; > he knew that with my strength and his slenderness, if I got > hold of him, RW : I would hug him and squeeze him and call him George. > I would crush him like a tinfoil ash tray. For a bit, we > circled, at a stalemate. I heard a disconcerted cry to my > left, WAND: They postponed Code Veronica again! AAIGH! > and stole a look; the poor sucker Cammy had intercepted had > just fallen victim to the attack I had ducked earlier in the > day, a maneuver known through the fighting world as the TIFF: ..."Fan Service". > 'thigh press'. What she did, basically, was jump up in his > face, get his head between her knees, TBS : Say my name. RW : Huh? TBS : SAY MY NAME, BITCH! > and flip backward, whipping the poor bastard almost 360 > degrees by the neck before slamming him down flat on his > back on the ground. It looked very painful, WAND : ...but Cammy was smiling and weak-kneed. I didn't get it. GAVOK: So even though he loses, he still wins. TIFF: Gavok... GAVOK: What? > and in my state I could have sworn that the ground shook > when he hit; she scrambled to her feet and > whirled to face him, but he wasn't going anywhere. > Unfortunately, I had now spent far too long concentrating on > this, and my nunchaku-wielding friend took advantage of that > inattention to step in and plant his weapon across my face. TBS: ...and in the spring, he'll harvest! ARL: Of course, that should have fractured your skull. But we shan't dwell on that. > The world tumbled as I fell in a combination of impact and > trained reaction, throwing myself back away from the impact. > Stunned, I turned my backward fall into a roll, springing > back to my feet; then I took a moment to get my bearings. GAVOK: Remember, when getting your bearings, use the Visa Check Card. Because you can't get your bearings with American Express. > When my vision cleared he was coming in from my left, > apparently assuming it to be my weak side like it would be > in any right-handed fighter. MMK : And while I was concentrating on my narrative, he smacked the taste out my mout'. > His mistake. I built my Ler a bit higher in my left arm, > flaring the fist, and, spinning to fully face him, let him > have a little taste treat I like to call my GAVOK, MMK : ...salty chocolate balls! They're big, they're brown, so put 'em in yo' mouth! TBS : ...Blueberry Wandymuffin! WAND: Oh, Snot...? TBS: Yessir? [WAND punt-kicks TBS into the rafters.] > Stark Fist of Removal. RW: Ooh, I can smell Iron Man's lawsuit now... MMK: What about the whole secret identity thing? RW: Aw, nuts. > Essentially, this is a short, jabbing uppercut, repeated > about once every half-second for three seconds or so. ARL: Isn't that Dee Jay's Machine Gun Upper? RW : He's... given... himself... an... infinite... combo... MMK: Oh, crud. WAND: Stand back. If there's ONE thing Race hates... RW : In...fi...nite... TBS: He's gonna blow! RW : Not... yet... must see where... this goes... > I have to work myself up a bit to get this to work, WAND : I have to imagine the National Enquirer catching Bigfoot going down on me... > and I can only sustain it for about that long so far; but > that long is usually enough. His teeth chattered as if he > were cold, and when I knew the next impact would be the last > before my arm gave out I let him have the flare as well. RW: If Gryphon casts Ultima, I'm goin'. That's all there is to it. I'm fuckin' goin'. > There was a blue flash, and he went up, up, over, TIFF: the river... MMK: ...through the woods... TBS: ...and to Grandmother's house! > and landed on his face. > Goddamn! That was fun. Even more fun was MMK: ...S.T.U.N. Runner! WAND: ...playing Rival Schools stoned! > lingering in the post-punchout position for a second and > finding myself with Cammy in my arms, laughing. The pub > crowd came outside and milled around, cheering. The Spanish > ninja picked themselves up off the ground and regrouped, ARL: Yeah, but they're Spanish ninja. They're good at recovering from getting uncommonly whooped. > to find themselves faced by a large crowd of people who > didn't need much provocation to become very angry with them, WAND: Uh-oh. Scottish Soccer Hooligans! > and it was only a brief matter of time before the cops > showed up. TIFF: They're Scottish cops, though. The ninjas have better weapons. TBS : Okay, people, nothing to see here. > Sullenly, Fernandez snarled GAVOK: Arrrr, matey. MMK: Fernandez, not Cervantes. GAVOK: Awww... > at me, his voice thick around a fat lip: "You'll regret > this, fool. You will suffer for crossing us!" > "Get stuffed, Fernandez," I replied cheerfully. "I'm drunker > than I've ever been in my life and I just kicked four of > your asses. You don't scare me. You come over here, you > interrupt the first date I've had since 1990, [ALL snicker.] > and you stick a knife in good old Mr. MacGregor, and you > have the -gall- to tell me that -I'll- regret crossing > -you-? ARL : Am I some sort of *clown* to you? Do you find me amusing? Do I make you *laugh*? > Fuck off, Fernandez. And tell your pretty-boy boss that he > can fuck off right along with you." RW : How did you know about that?! > Fernandez spat some bloody phlegm at me, but it fell short, > much like my common sense at the moment. TBS : So he kept spitting, and I kept writing. > I flipped him the good old American Finger, WAND: That's actually Italian. Just so you know. > and he and his buddies limped away into the night. > Cammy looked me in the face with eyes that contained a small > measure of concern, a look that said You probably > shouldn't've said that, TIFF : ...about this being a "date". My ass. > but what the hell. Then she grinned and kissed me, and I > willingly traded the entire day for that one moment. TBS: So the last day never happened, which means neither of them know each other, they're not drunk, they're both uninjured, and Cammy should be working his sack like a speed bag right about now... > I'd gladly have similar days for similar moments any time. > But even in this drunken, celebrative haze -- both of us > boiling with a stew of alcohol and adrenaline and endorphins MMK: ...and just a *pinch* of nutmeg. For oomph. > -- we retained a bit of decorum and responsibility, a lot > more than the level that people my parents' age usually give > our generation credit for. TBS: He really is a role model for today's troubled teens. WAND: "Decorum"? You're both drunk, you're both PDAing, you just nearly killed four people, and she doesn't wear pants. > I figure we only stood in the street like an old Big Red > commercial MMK, GAVOK, TBS : He's Big Big Big! And Red Red Red! Big Red! Big Red! [GAVOK's head spins around and shoots red liquid out of his ears] WAND: Stop that! > for about five minutes before Tommy MacGregor dragged us > back into the pub and gave us free drinks while his father > went up to the hospital to get his shoulder seen to. TIFF : Then I met my new friend Alcohol Poisoning! > All in all, it was a fascinating evening. Of special note > was the drive back to Castle MacLir. GAVOK : Remember, kids, you aren't writing your own story. Don't drive drunk. [The fourth wall goes straight to hell.] WAND: Well, there you go. MMK: It just hasn't been the same since Pidge got done with it. > Suffice it to say that I re-acquainted myself with all my > relevant gods. Z-BOT: Mostly the porcelain ones. > The castle loomed dark and silent against the deep-blue sky > as I extracted myself from the Land Rover. All of my senses > were keyed up, hyperextended. ARL: So much for you being *drunk*... > The stars were shouting down at me from their perches, > congratulating me. WAND: No, that's Nemesis. Kiss your ass goodbye! GAVOK : Shhh.... listen. Can't you hear it? Can't you hear the millions of Gryphon's fans chanting his name? Gryphon, Gryphon, Gryphon. > I was stumbling down the off-ramp of the best day of my > career and heading for a big, bright future. RW: In any other 'fic, that would mean they're about to wreck the car and die. > Assuming we found our way back into the castle. There were > no lights on; apparently the gang had given up and sacked > out. That meant there was little chance we hadn't been > missed. Idly, I wondered what Joe had made up in his > inevitable, well-meaning attempt to cover for us. MMK : It is with the utmost regret that I inform you that Cammy was stolen by Gypsies in the night. > The adrenaline was burning off and the alcohol overture was > getting set for its big finish; ALL : FREEBIRD! > my coordination was starting to suffer, but my mind felt > fairly clear, all things considering. WAND: Have you ever *been* drunk, Hutchins, you musk ox? > We stumbled up the six zillion stairs from the road to the > castle interior, snickering inanely and trying to keep > quiet. Fatigue started to set in about halfway up, and it > became a challenge -- albeit, in our condition, a hilarious > one -- to keep from falling all the bloody way back down > again. GAVOK: Then Ernie Reyes Jr. kicked them both in the head. > Somehow, we made it, fortune favored the foolish, and there > we were, treading the dark and silent halls of the castle. > Of course, by this time, I had no idea -where- in the > castle's great grey bulk I was. Cammy seemed to know where > all of the corridors went, though, so I followed her, and > eventually, magically, the door to my room materialized. RW : Drizzle dreezle drozzle drone, time for this one to come home! > Off came shoes, hat, and overshirt; TBS : Woe wah wah wah WAH, wah wah, wah wah, woe wah wah wah WAH... MMK : Five-eight and three hundred pounds of pure *man*, baby! Yowza! > I paid a brief visit to the bathroom, and when I returned I > was pleased to find that Cammy had stayed. She was sprawled > on the bed, ARL : I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille! > her boots and beret discarded next to my own shoes, her hair > unbraided (I finally had an appreciation for just how long > it was), Z-BOT: I think Cammy is a linear descendant of Lady Godiva. > her hands behind her head, looking content. TIFF : Well, another day, another lemon... > I felt a surge of absolute adoration rush up my spine and > blow the top of my head off. [ALL applaud.] GAVOK : Let's see that one again! YES! > I felt remarkably good for a man without the top of his > head, MMK: Should I make a Bobbitt joke? RW: I think you just did. MMK: Oh well. > so I made my way over there, and she made room for me, not a > difficult task on a bed of that size. I put an arm around > her shoulders, and she curled up against my side as if she > had always been there, and made that contented sound in her > throat again. ALL: Hocchh... *ptui*! > She moved up a bit, so that my arm was across her shoulder > blades now, and looked at me with sparkling eyes. I swear I > could see my reflection in them. ARL: Well, yes, the eyeball *is* reflective! > They didn't look like the eyes of a woman who had been > drinking. They were clear and bright, and I felt myself > being carried away by them. ARL : Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me... [WAND calmly takes out a newspaper.] WAND: Let me know when he's done wanking off. > "What'd me mum think," she repeated softly, the smile in her > eyes never wavering. "Proper girl like me, GAVOK: Hey, isn't she a former assassin? WAND : Yup. GAVOK: So she's killed a bunch of people? TIFF: Mm-hm. GAVOK: And she's a highly trained government agent? MMK: Uh-huh. GAVOK: And former terrorist? RW: Seems that way. GAVOK: And she roams the world essentially naked from the waist down? ARL: Usually. GAVOK: So wouldn't this be the least of her mom's worries? Z-BOT: Well, you know. Some people's mothers... > in bed with a man she's known less'n a day. ARL: Not to mention your fighting attire. > I wouldn't even know yuir real name if y'hadn't told it to > Johnny Kane. Ben Hutchins," she echoed. "A local boy, of a > sort." > I shrugged. "We left Scotland sometime in the 1500s. Family > legend has it we were sick of getting beaten up by the > Macleods for stuff the Hutchinsons did." GAVOK : They made sure to decapitate everyone they killed, too. I don't know why. MMK : Then we came back in the 1600s for... REVENGE! TBS: Hutchins II: Last Blood Bleeds Best! > She laughed. "The way I've always heard it y'were chased > off, but who really cares today?" > "That's probably closer to the truth," I admitted, and the > next thing I knew, TIFF : ...Cammy was throttling me because she was bored. > we were in the middle of one of those long, convoluted > conversations which two people who are too tired to sleep > and in the process of discovering that they like each other > very much tend to have in the middle of the night. I talked > about my parents, ALL : ...myself, > Rose, ALL : ...myself, > my grandfather, ALL : ...myself, > my hometown, ALL : ...myself, > my friends on the fight circuit, ALL : ...myself, > my reasons for fighting, MMK: My hemerroids, my third nipple, my signed picture of Pauly Shore, my addiction to marshmallow fluff... RW : AND MYSELF! TBS : Have I mentioned myself? > and all sorts of similar junk. I should have expected this > to happen -- the adrenaline had burned off, taking most of > the alcohol with it, WAND: Buddy, I only *wish* that was how it worked. > and the endorphins were floating. I get chatty when that > happens. > Cammy had comparatively little to say on those topics, for a > somewhat disturbing reason: TIFF: ...she'd had forty-three pints of lager and was pretty damn comatose. > she couldn't remember much of that. The earliest memory she > could pin down was turning up at the gates of Castle MacLir > a year or so previous, with a suitcase full of generic, > untraceable clothes, five pounds sixpence, MMK: But she was Sixpence None the Richer. GAVOK : ...so kiss me, beneath the milky twilight... [RW groans.] > and a world of confusion. MMK : This is the TIME! THIS is the PLACE! So we LOOK for the FU-HOO-TURE! And there's NOT MUCH LOVE TO GO ROU-OU-OUND... TELL ME WHY THIS IS THE WORLD OF CONFUSION! [A pause.] TIFF: MMK? MMK: Yes? TIFF: Don't do that. MMK <^_^ing>: 'Scuse. GAVOK : A world run by confusion? You maniacs! You blew it up! Damn you all! Damn you all to hell! > She knew her name was Cammy -- probably short for Camille TBS: Or Cammy-Chameleon. RW : Cammycammycammycammycammy chameleon... > -- but outside of that, nothing. Her fingerprints had turned > no records up anywhere in the civilized world. Her picture > elicited no response from the various missing persons > bureaus. It was as if she had sprung full-grown from the > brow of Zeus [ALL snicker.] > and landed in Scotland. > That analogy was made all the more apt by the fact that she > had, apparently, shown up possessing the well-honed combat > skills she had already demonstrated to me. The style was > fairly generic -- it could have come from any special forces > organization. US Navy SEALs, Rangers, Green Berets, SAS, > SBS, GSG9, ARL: ...LOL... RW: ...BRB... Z-BOT: ...WYSIWYG... > Mossad (that seemed rather unlikely), Spetznaz, NKVD, GRU... TIFF: All of which *routinely* train their agents in ways to break the laws of physics. > others surely existed, which I either couldn't think of or > simply didn't know of. > Her Scots burr sounded genuine, and got more genuine as she > got drunk, which meant if she -was- from anywhere other than > Scotland, she had been conditioned damn well. MMK: The secret is to shampoo first. > I just wasn't getting that kind of resonance from her. WAND: Did you try using Mind 1? I'm sure you've got it, crossover boy... > Okay -- so that meant I was busily falling for her, and > didn't want to be bothered with piddling little details like > her background. But the fact remains that my training had > made me sensitive to other people's Ler as well as my own, > and there were no shadows obscuring Cammy's. > Of course, I reflected, all this might be nothing more than > an illusion, the camaraderie of a late night and an > adrenaline high. ARL : Yup. Could be hallucinating, drunk in the gutter... probably am! > Tomorrow she might be embarrassed at how close she had let > me get, and push me away; it's happened before. I always > forget about that when I let myself get into a situation > like this one, and remember it later, when it's too late to > help. > I have a lousy track record with women. During my > abbreviated college career, I dated a grand total of two > women, both of them once. RW: The affairs ended when they wouldn't let me write their dialogue. > One of them could never reconcile her views with the > violence inherent in my world. TIFF : That sounds perilously close to domestic violence... TBS: I think you're reading into this. [TIFF saws off TBS' left leg] TBS: See?! > The other thanked me for proving that she was still > attractive to men after a bad breakup, and proceeded on to > the guy she actually wanted. GAVOK : Both died mysteriously soon afterwards, and according to my lawyer, I can't say anything more than that. > I threw up my hands at that point. Once, when I was feeling > particularly bitter, I came up with the following equation: MMK: Bologna + pancakes + jelly = delicious. > martial artist = code of honor ARL: If he's heard of Vega, Bison, and the rest, wouldn't that disprove the equation? > = mistreat without fear of repercussion. > I can get -really- bitter sometimes. > Cammy, who I thought had fallen asleep, stirred and opened > her eyes again. TIFF : Bison? Is that... oh. > I must have had an upset sort of look on my face, because > hers adopted an expression of concern. > "What's wrong?" she asked softly. RW: Have a seat, chuckles. It's a long list. > "Nothing," I lied. "I was just... thinking." > She didn't believe me, of course. She held me a little > tighter, and kissed me softly, TBS, GAVOK : WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! !!! > and then said, "I know yuir worry. MMK, WAND : What the HELL did you just say? > It's been a wonderful evening, but we both know it's too > early to tell yet where we'll go from here." TBS: Yeah. You could go up her shirt or down her nonexistent pants. It's a tough decision. > Her hand found mine, and our fingers laced together. "But I > meant what I said back at auld Angus's pub, and I know you > did too. No matter -where- we go from here, we go as friends." > I raised my other hand and traced a line from her hairline > to the tip of her nose, and smiled. "Works for me," I said, > and settled back to get some much-needed sleep. The last > thing I knew of that day was the gentle brush of her lips > against mine, in a gesture laden with little passion, but > more affection than I had felt in years. It colored my > dreams a delicate shade of calm. TIFF: Pah. He's not fooling me. I still think he's just working up the nerve to go ahead with writing that finale threesome with Karin and Sakura. [TIFF leans back in her seat.] TIFF: You just watch. Aaaanytime now. TBS: Eww, Race, stop drooling on the floor! People hafta *walk* on that later! > We got the expected chewing-out by the base commander, > one Brigadier Lethbridge-Stuart, when we wandered into the > Great Hall for lunch the next day, tired-looking but content. > I smiled, nodded, and apologized until he seemed stuffily satisfied; > Cammy took it in stride, cheerily telling him to lighten up and stop > being such a sodding tyrant. WAND: Then he sprouted claws and shit went wrong. > He seemed like a nice enough sort, for a career military man. I > didn't get to meet the mysterious "M.", who I took to be an > intelligence supervisor of some sort, but that was just as well. RW : She's not supposed to be in this story anyway. > All too soon, it was time for us to leave. A car had met us > at the airport, but Cammy decided to drive us back herself, > which was amusing mostly from the point of view of a man who > has been wanting for years on end to see someone else's driving > unnerve Zoner. RW: Judging by his name, he's probably too stoned to notice. > Joe, who had decided to fly back to the States with us, > couldn't decide whether to be exhilarated or terrified. > When we arrived at the airport, Joe and Zoner promptly > disappeared. I wondered momentarily where they had run off > to, and to do what, TIFF: They were off to yaoi like bunnies! [TBS turns green.] WAND: Stop that. I'll have a CATS flashback, and when that happens, everyone dies. > because when the two of them get together and then vanish > like that, it often makes life harder for me in the long run. > Then it was time to say goodbye. MMK : M-I-C, GAVOK: See ya real soon! MMK : K-E-Y, GAVOK: Why? Why not? ALL : M-O-U-S-E! > We were standing on the tarmac next to the civil aviation > terminal. Behind me, the great black bulk of Zoner's C-130H > Hercules, affectionately dubbed "Prince of Thebes", ALL: Huh? WAND: Perseus? TIFF: Of all the times he chooses to not explain anything, he chooses *now*? > loomed like a fat, contented bird, waiting for its master to > guide it into the air for another journey. In the last couple > of years we had been all over the world in that plane, getting > into and out of all sorts of trouble, acting not so much as > spies as freelance troublemakers. GAVOK: Isn't this the basic plot of _Spies Like Us_? > We didn't work for anybody who would pay -- after all, the last > thing Zoner needed was more money -- but rather took jobs which > piqued our interest or struck our fancy. RW: ...and if you need their help, and you can find them, you too can hire... the G-Z-Team. > Airlifting refugees out of Kampuchea, dropping an SAS > team in Mriganka, ARL: Why would the Special Airborne Service need a freelancer to fly their plane? WAND: I challenge you to point to that country on a map, Hutchins! > flying medical supplies into Bosnia, running guns to the > Fredonian rebels, TIFF: ...breaking into Mecca to sell beer... Z-BOT: ...dropping bombs on the Baldwins' house for the Canadian military... TBS: ...hoping to God R. Mika never found out who put her in that outfit... > pulling that same SAS team -out- of Mriganka. GAVOK: That just sounds sooooo... SASSY! > If it was dangerous and for what we thought was a good > cause, we did it. > I looked at Cammy; Cammy looked at me. For a long moment, we > didn't say anything. We just stood there and regarded each > other across the space of a couple of feet, WAND: It's the movie poster from _When Benjy Met Cammy_. > a chilly wind ruffling the sleeves of my Army-surplus field > jacket and the tousled forelock of hair escaping from the > front of her beret. MMK : Then Joe realized we were ripping off the last couple of minutes of _Casablanca_ and hit me. > Then we fell into each other's arms, and she hugged me hard > enough that for a moment I thought I heard my ribs creaking. TBS: So it wasn't Dawson's Creak? WAND: Die! > She made me promise to stay in touch, something I gave my > word to do readily, and she promised to do the same. > "Let me know when yuir next match is," she said. "If I'm not > working on something important I'll be there." TIFF : You know. Like my hair, or my suntan, or my Rubik's Cube, or... > "Absolutely," I said. We separated, and I held her shoulders > in my hands for a moment, rejoicing in the fact that the > morning light had not weakened the bond we felt, the one we > had forged the evening before. GAVOK : So don't you cryyyyy... tonight! [WAND opens his newspaper again.] WAND: Boy's got stamina, I'll give him that. TBS: Hey, can I have the funnies? WAND: Nope. TBS: Aww. > Behind me, the Hercules whined as Zoner, who had somehow > gotten aboard without my noticing it, started up the > turboprops. MMK : Then he started driving forward. I didn't... oh, my... NOOOO!!! > "Go on," said Cammy with a grin. "Before he leaves you here. > Not that I'd mind that terribly." TBS : I could disassemble you and sell you for parts. > I laughed, pulled her to me for one last warm kiss, and then WAND : ...was beaten into a small mushy paste. I gotta learn to not push my luck. > I was off, waving as I ducked through the forward hatchway > and slammed it shut behind me. > "Sorry about that," Zoner called from up on the flight deck. TBS : I just ran over your chick when I tried to take off. > "Didn't mean to rush you, I just wanted to get everything > warmed up." RW : For example, the machine guns. Say goodbye to your girlfriend... ARL : NOOOO!!! > I climbed up the ladder to said flight deck, squeezing past > Joe, who was sitting at the little-used flight engineer's > position, GAVOK: *That*'s one the Kama Sutra never mentioned. [TIFF's left eye twitches.] > to slip into the right-hand co-pilot's seat. > "No worries," I replied. TBS : Gryph? RW : Yes? TBS : If you start singing "Hakuna Matata", I'm going to smack you. RW : Noted. > "You know how I hate long goodbyes." TIFF: Like hell. By my watch, that goodbye took three years. > Joe said something, WAND : But I didn't bother listening to him. I'm *that* much better. > but it was lost in the roar as Zoner > throttled up to taxi out, which was probably just as well. I > slipped on my headset and ARL : ...landed on it, killing me instantly. > radioed for takeoff clearance; we > fell into the well-practiced rhythms of getting the Prince > off the ground. Only when we were heading west at 20,000 feet > did we get around to conversation. > "Nice girl," Zoner remarked. "Cute, too." Z-BOT : And green. Greeeeeen... > "Mm," I replied noncommittally. I figured my actions would > speak for my opinion on the subject. > "I'll say," Joe added. MMK : When is Joe Higashi going to get the girl, huh? > "Quite a fighter, too. She's my kind of woman." TIFF : She has a heartbeat, and *doesn't* have a Y chromosome! > I snorted, getting up from my seat and slipping past him to > the pair of bunks along the back bulkhead of the control > cabin. "Your kind of woman needs help tying her shoes, Joe." TBS : That's what Velcro's for, buddy! > "Hey! That was uncalled-for," Joe protested, ARL: Leaving a hyphen where it didn't really belong. > as Zoner > stifled laughter. "I'll admit my last girlfriend wasn't > exactly a rocket scientist, but -- " > "Your last girlfriend couldn't remember her name when I met > her," I reminded him as I climbed up to the top bunk. > "Remember? She was too whacked-out on whatever that stuff > was she liked to smoke. ARL: Ask Zoner. He'd know. > You remember, the stuff that 'expanded her consciousness.' > Before her there was the one who told you that clothing was > 'a manifestation of the shackles of oppression we inherit > from our ancestors.' You got arrested for running around > Knight City in your altogether." WAND: Hey, Hutchins, Peter David called. He needs that dialogue for Spider-Man 2099 #4. MMK: I don't know where that's from, but I'm *sure* it represents Unnecessary Cameo #4. > Joe was reddening and Zoner was howling; ARL : Guys! Get me to a hospital! I... urk... TBS : AWROOOOOOOOOOOO! AWROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! > he had to switch on > the autopilot to keep from knee-slapping us right into the > Atlantic. GAVOK: Street Fighter: Co-Pilot's Idiocy! > "All right, all right, dammit," Joe said, flushed with > embarrassment. "So I've had bad luck, I admit that. It comes > from jumping in before I look too closely, I'll admit that, > too. But you're a hell of a one to talk, Mr. Night-After-The-Match," > he remarked, his wily grin reviving. MMK : Hey, that's *right*. Gryph, you're a *slut*. ARL : Hey! Shut up! MMK : Whore. ARL : Shut *up*! > "Get your mind out of the sewer," I grumped. MMK : Bimbo. ARL : I said shut *up*! TIFF : Urgh. *Bad* mental image. > "We're friends, GAVOK: With friends like that, who nee-- TIFF : Gavok... > we're interested in seeing it go on to be something more > than that, RW : So you didn't get any. WAND : Yes! Oh, god, why? WHY?! TBS: Street Fighter: Warrior's Celibacy! GAVOK : It's true! It's true. > but we both agree it's too soon to tell yet if it'll work > out. I realize that one sentence encompasses more thought > than you have ever put into a liaison with a female, RW: Ooooh, Gryphie's *mean*. > but do > try to at least understand it objectively." > I knew he understood; WAND : He knew I was being arrogant and condescending again, and it was only a matter of time before he snapped and killed me. MMK : I can't wait, either. WAND : I began getting nervous when he started interrupting my soliloquies. > I knew he was just ragging me. We all > understand the code of trust and respect that the honorable > ones of the world's fighters adhere to; ARL : We also stay as far the hell away from it as we can. > it's what makes us friends, too. > On another level, though, some primal response encoded in > the Y chromosome makes us occasionally harass each other > like frat brothers. We can't help it; GAVOK : ...it's not our fault! MMK, GAVOK : You've already won me over, in spite of me, so don't be surprised if I fallll... head over feet... WAND: Somewhere in America, Kevin Kanda just blew an artery. GAVOK: It happens. > we just do. > I tipped my cap over my eyes and added, "I'm going to get > some more sleep, if nobody minds. Wake me if anything really > interesting happens." RW : Ah, you'll be fine. Joe and I were just gonna do tequila shots. > "Good, catch up on your sleep," said Zoner. WAND : Just go right ahead and nap. Don't doubt our loyalties in *any* way. Gooooooood. TIFF : Alright, he's asleep! I'll get the axe. WAND (Zoner, whispering): SHHHHHHH! Shh shh shh! Not *yet*, you idiot! ARL (Gryphon, nervously): What are you guys talking about over there? WAND (Zoner, quickly): Nothing! TIFF : I was just saying I'm gonna get the axe and kill you wi-- WAND : No, you idiot! Shh shh shh shh shh! > "You'll need it. While you were having your big goodbye, Joe and > I arranged your next match; you fight next month." > "Oh yeah?" I remarked from under my hat. "Who with?" TIFF : Well, you're writing this story, right? Z-BOT : Yup yup! TIFF : So I booked you against the Chinese air force. Z-BOT : I can take 'em. TIFF : We know, champ. We know. > "The Russian Open League champion -- Sergei Zangief." [ALL groan.] MMK: Tune in next week, dear viewers, for Zangief joining the J.O.B. Squad! > I sat bolt up right, banged my head against the ceiling, and > lay down again whether I wanted to or not, managing to blurt > out a startled, "WHAT?!" in the process. RW: Oh, vaudeville. TBS: Wha wha wha wha waaahhhh... > I had heard, you see, of Sergei Zangief. Seven feet or so of > Siberian fortitude, the man supposedly wrestled with Arctic > bears in his spare time, just to keep the edge on, MMK, GAVOK, TBS : You think you know me... you think you know me... > and wandered the frozen wastelands naked to > build up his resistance to the harsh weather. TIFF: So he's dead, then? TBS: Well, really, if you think about it, most of the time he's close enough to naked that it doesn't really matter one way or ano-- ARL: That's enough, Snot. TBS: But i-- ARL: *Enough*. TBS: I mean, he's almost practically naked *all* the *time*, so i-- ARL : ENOUGH! > I didn't know at the time if any of that was true, but any > man with that sort of reputation must be pretty tough to > have his exploits inflated to that level, anyway. I knew a > couple of fighters who had seen him fight; their assessment > was that TBS: ...they were scarred for life because Zangief doesn't wear pants or s-- ARL : ENOUGH! CHRIST! > if he -did- wrestle bears, they probably came out > of it worse off than he did. > Also, it was widely known that, especially since the > collapse of the Communist Soviet Union, MMK: As Opposed To... ARL: ...the Benevolent Monarchy Soviet Union. RW: ...the Fast-Food Joint Soviet Union. Z-BOT: ...the International Airline Soviet Union. > he hated Americans, WAND: Well, that's understandable. MMK: I second that. TBS: Ditto. TIFF: Yep. ARL: Guys... > and tended to skirt the fringes of fighting fair when pitted > against one. My second match as a World Warrior, against that > monster? MMK: Oh, sure, now the non-American competitor is a "monster". Xenophobic asshole, why I oughtta... > Sure, I had always wanted to visit Russia (sometime when I > had enough time to stop and look around, and wasn't being > chased by people with guns). Sure, the breathtaking beauty > of the Arctic was something I would usually look forward to. > But right now, I couldn't appreciate any of that. > I was too busy being mad at Zoner. TIFF: For crying out loud. That is just not healthy. > END BATTLE 01 > -- > Cradle for a cat, Wolfe looks back / How many angels can you fit upon a match? TBS: Forty-two! GAVOK: Twenty-three! MMK: Seven! > I want to know why Hemingway cracked WAND: Because he drank enough absinthe to float the Luisitania? > / Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction > gryphon@world.std.com gryphon@sidehack.gweep.net -> ARL: Side-hacking? NOOO!! > <- --Bad Religion > High Acolyte of the Worcester Disorganized Tabernacle of Skuld the Technomancer TBS: Affiliate of Our Lady of the Divine Contradiction. [The doors quietly unlock.] ARL: Break time! Bonus! [ALL hurriedly flee.] ***** Racewing walked down the corridor to the snack bar with a heavy heart. He was a prisoner. He was being forced to read Mary Sue fanfiction. He had no access to his FTP site. He had just gotten hit in the head by an M&M. "FIRE!" yelled the Multimediocre Knight, and pulled the trigger on a large and overly elaborate gun on his shoulder. Racewing turned, only to get a face full of Snot. "Guyf?" the Black Snotling said, trying to speak around Racewing's head. "Can youf helb me?" "MMMGHFF!!!" "Hang on, Snotter," Gavok said calmly. "I'm filming this for America's Funniest Home Videos. I'll make a mint." "MMM! GHFF GLRGGLEFF!" "He fayf he wantf me off, or fomefing." "HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!" "Hmmf! Wanguage, Wafy!" "Hang on, hang on, Unca MMK's coming..." Taking a firm grip on the Snotling's jaw, he yanked and pulled him off of Racewing's head. "That was GROSS!" Racewing wiped his forehead and came up with a whole handful of Snotling spit. "What the HELL did you think you were doing?" "I think I broke my jaw... what the hell kinda ugly tasting shampoo you use, Race?" The BS tried to move his lower jaw around and succeded only in poking a bone out of his right cheek. "We'll show you. Gavok! Load!" Gavok grabbed the Snotling and shoved him feet first into the elaborate gun. He handed it to the MMK and reached for a family sized bag of M&Ms. "Ready!" "Guys, I don't think I can swallow..." "Shut up, lugan. Just close your eyes and think of England. Pull!" "FIRE!" The Snotling shot out in a graceful arc, a marvel of physics and the sheer beauty of the natural world, completely missed the blue M&M he was aiming for and smacked into the wall. "I don't like this game any more..." "You guys are nuts," Racewing said. "You do know that?" The MMK seemed to mull this over for a while. "Yup." "Cool. Gimme that thing." --- Meanwhile, the MiB were playing with their beastly toys. "Ooooh..." said Little Mac, cradling his latest long, sleek, jet black rifle of Mass Destruction. (#54! Gotta catch 'em all!) "Aaaaah..." said Crossbow, checking the sight on a brand spanking new Professional Target X- bow with detachable limb system, adjustable 6-point front post sight, adjustable long range profile peep sight, adjustable scope mount ramp, AP300, Ultralight trigger mechanism, auto safety, with Monte Carlo polymer stock (1) and optional plastic explosive tipped bolts. "Stand back," murmured Crossbow, taking careful aim at the door to the Big Evil Control Room. "This is going to make Mark Wahlberg in _The Big Hit_ look like a fucking punk." ---- Fortunately for the Super-Deformed Hoolegons, they were well away from the door when it exploded. "Muthafucker!" Kenma yelled, dodging a piece of flying door. "What the stone cold fuck is going on here?" "YOU punks are in OUR theatre! Using OUR--" "Moo." Lil' Mac fixed eDAN with a steely gaze. "Yeah? Sez--" "Moo." "Look he--" "MOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" There was a pause. eDAN raised his eyebrow challengingly. "LOOK OUT!" Nere yelled. "IT'S MADNESS!" The British pop group from the 80's failed to appear and play their smash hit "Our House." But this didn't stop Nere from dancing anyway. "You mean to tell me that--" "MOOOOOO!!!!" eDAN picked up a piece of the former door and brandished it like a sword. "MOO! MOO MOO MOO! MOOOOOOOOOO MOO MOOOO!!!!" Again, luck was on the sDh's side as Nere accidentally flipped the switch to the Intruder Ridder-A-Matic 6791, at which point the MiB's only choice was to fall down the hole. Literally. --- "Five. Okay. You take one, I'll take four." Tiffa frowned. "Um, Wandy, that's not how you're supposed to play..." "I don't care," he said, taking four long swigs from his bottle. At the next table, Arlieth was trying to write a haiku. This was unusual. Usually, Arlieth was a vertible stream of haiku. He could write one quicker than Dr. Smith could say "I Surrender." He was one with the way of the Haiku. He was that quick. And he couldn't think of a damn one. This was pissing him off. "Whatcha doing?" the Snotling said, swaddled as he was in bandages. "Writing." "Oh. 'K." This was frustrating. He stared at the paper, trying to force the grooves to yield poetry... "Whatcha writing?" "Haiku." "Oh. Innit they 'bout leaves and stuff?" Arlieth looked up. "You... you..." "Yup?" "Uncultured boor." "Listen. I'm recovering from #5 Anti-dandruff shampoo overdose. I'm allowed to be uncultured." Arlieth wasn't listening. He was scribbling furiously. "Stupid gaijin sits all brashness and uncouthness- unseeing of life." It wasn't much, but it'd -- "PULL!" "FIRE!" And Arlieth couldn't see much of anything. "What'd I tell ya, Racey?" the Snotling said, as Racewing struggled with Arlieth inside his mouth. "Don't play their reindeer games. And whattya do? Volunteer for Extreeeme M&M Eating. Does anyone listen to me? Huh? Do they? Nooooo. And now you've got Arlo clogging up yer trachea, or something. Hah. How's you like them apples?" "hhmf." "Thought so." "'FIC SIGN!" said the Zeekbot. Feeling a need for redundancy, he went on to claim, "'FIC SIGN! 'FIC SIGN! 'FIC -- ow." Wanderer sheathed his blade. "Come on, you lot. Let's get this over with." --- [To be continued in Chapter 02: "Detente".] Staff: Self-Appointed Editor: Thomas "Wanderer" Wilde Writing Staff (in no particular order): James Howard, the Multimediocre Knight mmk@beer.com http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Battlefield/4281/ the Black Snotling camcarr@ibm.net Arlieth Tralare arlieth@west.net http://www.west.net/~arlieth W4 woofersan@home.com Geson "Racewing" Hatchett ghatch@panix.com http://racewing.tripod.com Gavok jasp@cyberex.net Scott "Falconer" Faulkner sfaulk@earthlink.net Zeek Silverfire twarner@erinet.net Thomas Wilde [a.k.a. Wanderer] storyteller@msc.net http://www.dimfuture.net/elsewhere/ Thanks to Quanah Harjo, Anthony Jennings, Robert Daniel Conway, Michael Autrey, Shane Hoover, and Tiffa for contributing their characters. Introduction by Gavok, Quanah Harjo, the Black Snotling, and Anthony Jennings. Conclusion by the Black Snotling. "Street Fighter: Warrior's Legacy" is originally by Benjamin Hutchins, with help from what would appear to be everyone in Massachusetts. All Street Fighter characters are copyrighted by Capcom. All original characters are owned by Eyrie Productions Unlimited. All Octagon Rumble characters are copyright their respective owners. Please don't use them. We're horribly irrational and violent people. Links: Mystery Octagon Theater: http://www.dimfuture.net/elsewhere/mot.html Dedicated to "Shortbow" Conway. Thanks for reading. > Somewhere in the middle of my ponderings, I fell asleep. Jet > lag, don't you know.