Durandal wrote:We both love how much everyone else loves the fic, so we'll just have to ask you to be patient. Very patient. We've got a few scenes of the next episode already written, but we haven't found the time to get further than that.
School comes first, we all understand that. We'll be waiting, though
but i'll take some of that action, put me in for sometime before i post my next chapter
Ph34r teh eyebrow!!11!Writers GuildSluggitePawn of ChaosWYGIWYGAINGW so now i have to put ACPATHNTDWATGODW in my sigEBC-Honorary Geordie Hammerman! Hammer!
but i'll take some of that action, put me in for sometime before i post my next chapter
I have on good authority that it isn't.
Amibigious, you'll just hold off posting that thing
Dude i can't even remember when i last posted a chapter!
But since i told Kuja that i'll be looking into starting my 40K/ST fic back up when i get back home ..... they just have to hold out a couple of months.
in fact if people are really desperate for another fic that isn't going to get past the first chapter i have a Matrix one waiting.
Ph34r teh eyebrow!!11!Writers GuildSluggitePawn of ChaosWYGIWYGAINGW so now i have to put ACPATHNTDWATGODW in my sigEBC-Honorary Geordie Hammerman! Hammer!
"On the infrequent occasions when I have been called upon in a formal place to play the bongo drums, the introducer never seems to find it necessary to mention that I also do theoretical physics." -Richard Feynman
Zerg Goddess wrote:Two or more chapters within a week of the holiday.
You are in no position to demand anything of the authors who will be undoubtedly busy even when the winter break occurs.
I think she's trying to get in on the pool.
No promises on when the next chapter might show up. We're both busy, as Durandal said, and in case you hadn't noticed, the little lights on the meter in my sig are moving again, so for now that's chewing up a lot of my writing time.
Any city gets what it admires, will pay for, and, ultimately, deserves…We want and deserve tin-can architecture in a tinhorn culture. And we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build but by those we have destroyed.--Ada Louise Huxtable, "Farewell to Penn Station", New York Times editorial, 30 October 1963 X-Ray Blues
Bad news: We've scrapped what used to be episode 5 and put it on the back burner. So the teaser for episode 5 doesn't really apply anymore.
Good news: We've begun what will be episode 5, and we both like it a lot. We've got a damn good plot outlined, the first scene is done, and Red's work on the second scene so far is top-notch. We might well have something for you all by the end of the week.
Damien Sorresso
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
Hold on to your dicks, everyone--the ep is complete and is being compiled right now.
Any city gets what it admires, will pay for, and, ultimately, deserves…We want and deserve tin-can architecture in a tinhorn culture. And we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build but by those we have destroyed.--Ada Louise Huxtable, "Farewell to Penn Station", New York Times editorial, 30 October 1963 X-Ray Blues
*************************************** Fast Times at SD High
*
* Starring
*
*The Kernel
*Joe
*Iceberg
*The Duchess of Zeon
*Innerbrat
*
* Also Starring
*
* Stravo
* The El Tee
*
* Featuring
*
* Dalton, Fglakin, Rob Wilson, bohemianfey,
* Broomstick, Kuroneko, Admiral Valdemar
* Patrick Degan, Vympel, The Yosemite Bear,
* and Elfdart
*
* Written by
*
* Damien Sorresso and Matthew Lineberger
*
* Executive Producers
*
* Damien Sorresso and Matthew Lineberger
*********************************************
*********************************************
*Episode 105: To Russia, With Love*
*********************************************
Homecoming. Whoever thought of that concept clearly hadn't had Sunnyvale West's student body in mind, Stravo thought. Homecoming at many schools was replete with rituals of light hazing. Students would sometimes toilet-paper teachers' houses or the school. But to assume that the SD High students would stop at such trite levels was an exercise in foolishness. Last year, poor Miss Fey, the health and sex education teacher, had woken up to find her driveway covered with European blow-up dolls in lewd sexual positions. And the worst part was that they weren't wearing condoms.
His mind returned to the present, which, at the moment, smelled like vodka and smelled Russian. No matter what you say to him, he always manages to relate it to drinking vodka with his buddies, Stravo thought. Mister Galkine, the alleged ex-KGB, weapons-dealing, mafia hitman who had been shot 37 times before escaping wrongful imprisonment in a gulag, was currently engaged in retelling one such story.
"And ve tould Vlad, 'Russian roulette cannot be played vith Beretta.' Bot he vood not leesen! He vanted to play roulette! So ve passed gun around seex times before poor Vanya took bullet to skull."
"That's very interesting, Galkine, but we re--"
"And do you know vat today ees, Meester Stravo?"
Stravo sighed again. "What?"
"Zee tventy-feefth anniversary of Vanya's death." Stravo rubbed his forehead with one hand.
"Galkine, Berettas weren't around in 1980." Stravo had no idea where he'd picked up that little piece of trivia. It had just popped into his head, as if at the whim of whatever deity decided what joke to play on him when.
"You most be mistaken."
"Whatever. Anyway, I'd prefer it if you ... tried not to drink in class. As much." Stravo kept his demands within reason. Taking the Russian off his vodka was about as as likely as Mike Wong returning to score the winning touchdown at this year's homecoming game against Sunnyvale East.
"You have my vord, as Russian!" Galkine exclaimed.
"Great, thanks. You can go now." Galkine lumbered out of his seat. "Oh, Galkine?"
"Yesh Meestar Stravo?"
"Is it true that your house has never gotten TP'ed on Homecoming?" Galkine grinned with a hint of pride through his thick beard.
"Eet is very true, Meester Stravo."
"What's your secret?" Galkine seemed to sober up and become deadly serious in less than a second.
"Meester Stravo, some secrets are ... meant to remain secret." Stravo nodded suspiciously.
"All right, here's hoping you can make it through this year unscathed."
"And you as vell, Meester Stravo." Galkine walked out without a hint of inebriation, closing the door behind him.
You know, with all the rumors floating around about him, there's got to be at least one or true ones in there, Stravo thought. Ugh, I need a drink.
A knock at his office door fended off the incoming hypocrisy. Good, must be the El Tee. "Come," he said. Hey, I just sounded kinda like Captain Picard! He thought. Oh Jesus, I didn't just think that did I? Before his brain could play back the court-reporter's record, the El Tee walked through the door.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" The El Tee was ramrod-straight, standing at attention. Stravo sighed.
"At ease, El Tee," he said. The El Tee promptly placed his hands at the small of his back and widened his stance slightly. He was about as "at ease" as Stravo was "a little buzzed."
"Yes sir?"
"Just wanted to make sure everything's on schedule for tonight," Stravo said.
"Yes sir. The bonfire begins at 1800 hours, and we show no signs of deviating from that schedule," the El Tee explained. For some ridiculous reason, the student council had gotten approval to hold a homecoming bonfire. Not a unique tradition by any means, but having the student body at this school within a mile of dead wood, lighter fluid and ample supplies of both had to be the worst idea since Abe Lincoln's trip to the theatre.
"I don't want things getting out of hand, El Tee," Stravo warned. The anti-drug assembly's utter failure was still punishing him, every Saturday night at nine o'clock sharp. I swear I'd rather stay in and watch the garbage that SNL's showing nowadays than read another fucking Fontaine novel. Unfortunately for Stravo, Fontaine turned out roughly four-hundred new novels per hour.
"They won't, sir. A few of the bouncers from the Dank have volunteered to bust some skulls before their shifts start." Club Dank was a local, two-story club. The lower level was a pub where people could watch TV and get drunk with their friends. The upper level was a raging dance club that had been Stravo's Saturday night scene. Before the dark times. Before that fucking assembly.
"Bouncers from the Dank? Well that's actually some good news," Stravo said. "What will the parents think?"
"That they'd better shut up and accept it. Unless they want these particular bouncers testifying as to their whereabouts and company during an incriminating weekend in a divorce court," the El Tee said.
Haha! Stravo thought. He loved being able to stick it to the parents of these little mongrels.
"Good work, El Tee. I'd promote you, but your name's 'El Tee'," Stravo said.
"Perfectly understandable, sir. I prefer to stay in the field."
"And in the field you shall remain."
"Thank you, sir."
"Dismissed, El Tee."
--==--
Mark slid through the jostling crowd to Marina's locker, where she and The Kernel were already waiting and talking. He knew right away something was up--The Kernel was rubbing his hands together, grinning, bouncing on the balls of his feet, while Marina had the look of grim, steely determination reserved for soldiers on the eve of battle and the badly constipated.
"You look like you're constipated," said Mark.
Marina ignored him. "I recommend shaving gel instead of shaving cream. The gel holds a steady stream for longer."
"We get more bang for our buck with cream," said The Kernel. "And if the gel doesn't foam, he might not even see it."
Marina mulled over that. "You may be right. Mark, do you have any opinion?"
"On what? Shaving cream? I prefer gel." He rubbed his chin. Come to think of it, he needed a shave.
"Not for you," said Marina. "For the Operation."
Mark could hear the capital letter and he knew immediately that he was doomed. "What operation?" he said.
"We're going to--" started Kernel.
Marina held up her hand. "Not here. These walls have ears." She jerked her head around, making sure nobody was listening. "We'll wait for the others to rendezvous, then proceed to a secure location so everyone can be fully briefed."
Now he was really doomed. "Briefed on WHAT?"
"You'll see," said The Kernel. "You didn't have plans for tonight, did you?"
A way out! "Actually, I--"
"They've been cancelled," said Marina. "I need you tonight. You're my right hand."
Kernel drew in a breath as if to speak.
"Do you like having testicles?" said Marina to Kernel. Kernel kept his mouth shut.
"Look, I'm flattered, really," said Mark. "But whatever you two are planning, I want no part of it."
"You're laboring under the delusion," said Marina, "that your participation is optional."
Before Mark could argue further, he saw Joe and Debi approaching. Together. Joe was very animated, waving his hands around as he talked to her, speaking with broad gestures. Debi was grinning, and then, after one particularly exuberant hand motion on Joe's part, she threw back her head and laughed.
The Kernel watched it curiously. Mark read his face for some sign of jealousy, and didn't see any.
They arrived at the locker and Debi immediately went over to Kernel's side, well inside his personal space, without actually touching him. Joe's face went blank, and apparently only Mark noticed he was squeezing his fist so tight his knuckles were white.
One of these days, he's going to use that, thought Mark. Won't that be swell.
"Excellent," said Marina. "We can go now. There's enough room in my car for all of us."
"Go where?" said Debi.
"We have to requisition supplies," said Marina.
"Supplies? For what?"
"For the best homecoming prank ever," said Kernel. "Come on." He and Marina started walking down the hall, and the others reluctantly followed.
"What are you prattling about?" said Debi.
"Yeah," said Joe. "What's going on here?"
"They're not saying," said Mark. "It's Super Duper Top Secret or some shit."
"Don't tell me we're doing the sex dolls thing again," said Joe. "Somebody already did that last year."
"It's not the sex dolls," said Kernel.
"Not the Saran Wrap, either. I'm not standing out in the damn cold wrapping Stravo's car with sandwich wrap," said Mark.
"It's not the Saran Wrap."
They made it outside. It was a cloudy and blustery October day and Debi immediately started shivering. Joe noticed and started taking off his coat.
"I'm cold," said Debi.
"You--" started Joe.
"Here," said Kernel, taking off his coat and handing it to her. Joe muttered something unprintable that fortunately only Mark heard.
Fortunately? God damn, maybe if he said something all this shit would end. He debated telling him that later, and decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Maybe being miserable gave Joe a sense of meaning in his life. He wouldn't be the first.
Marina drove a dark red, mint condition 1974 Ford Thunderbird. Only copyright laws and ambiguous local obscenity statutes kept her from airbrushing "Pussy Wagon" on the trunk lid. Inside was all original white leather, a totally bitchin' custom sound system, fuzzy dice, and thirty-four pairs of panties neatly arranged on the package shelf.
"Shotgun!" said Kernel.
"It's behind a false panel in--" She stopped. "Oh. Yes. You may sit in the front."
Joe, Debi, and Mark slid into the back, Debi in the middle because she was the smallest. She glanced back at the package shelf. "You've been busy," she said.
"I had a good month," said Marina. "Now, focus. We have an operation to perform."
She pulled out of the empty parking lot onto Annaliese St., towards downtown.
"Where the hell are we going?" said Mark.
"The supermarket," she said.
"Oh God no," said Debi. "If we're going to do a homecoming prank, at least we can do something more original than buy a load of eggs and toilet paper--"
"And shaving cream," added Kernel.
"And shaving cream and mess up some poor sod's house. Come on."
"Maybe that's not what it is," said Mark. "Marina, I can't believe the best you could come up with is rolling someone's house. The elementary school kids have better pranks."
"Besides," said Joe. "Every teacher's house has been rolled already. More than once, probably. Even the El Tee has been rolled."
"I remember that. Didn't they turn donuts on his lawn, too?" said Mark.
"They tried," said Marina, "But they hit a mine."
"Oh! That was that year! I remember now."
"We're not turning donuts on the El Tee's lawn," said Debi. "I refuse to participate in that. Marina, would you care to risk wrecking the Pussy Wagon?"
"Certainly not," said Marina. "And don't fret. The El Tee is not the mission objective."
"Then who is?" said Joe.
"Kernel? Would you like to do the honors?"
"Sure!" He turned around in his seat to face the three in the back. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to go down in history tonight. We're going to do what's never been done. When we're through, we'll have accomplished the greatest homecoming prank this sad sack burg has ever seen."
Joe, Debi, and Mark sat in stone silence. Kernel's smile faltered at the unenthusiastic reaction, but only a little.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to roll Mr. Galkine's house."
More silence, like a graveyard. Mark reached for his door handle. They were only going fifty five or so--he'd probably live.
"It's locked from up here," said Marina without looking back.
"Fuck," said Mark.
--==--
The Dank was widely regarded as the best bar in Sunnyvale. Oh, out on the east side, they probably thought it was too dark, too smokey, too crowded, not enough pointless geegaws on the walls. They probably all drank bananna daiquiris at Applebee's or some shit like that. But since everybody on the west side knew nobody on the east side counted, the patrons at The Dank didn't worry about it.
The faculty of Sunnyvale West, and Sunnyvale Central before that, always had a party in the Dank pub the night before homecoming. This year, virtually all of them had come. Stravo and Dalton had taken a booth near the back, where Stravo could look out across the whole bar and see who was there. There was Degan and Vympel knocking back beers and talking politics at the bar; Rob Wilson was perched by the piano, watching the room with his sniper's eyes; Mr. Witz loosing a stream of vulgarity at Mr. Elfdart, the twitching, frazzle-haired art teacher with the "Bush Eats Babies" tee shirt; Mrs. Broomstick, the beloved health sciences and sex ed teacher drinking a Diet Coke because she planned on flying her plane the next day; Ms. Fey, the bat-shit lunatic health sciences and sex ed teacher drinking warm tap water by herself at the end of the bar because anything that tasted good was sinful. And Mr. Galkine, alone at a table with a bottle of the cheapest bottom shelf vodka the Dank had. Stravo used the stuff at home to light his charcoal grill.
In the booth behind Stravo and Dalton, Mr. Valdemar, the senior biology teacher, was filling in Mr. Kuroneko, back from his mysterious sabbatical, on the Bored Shirtless/Crackpot situation. "So basically, after Crackpot broke BS's ankle with a manhole cover, BS managed to wrestle Crackpot to the ground and cock-slapped him so hard he broke his nose."
"And this happened on the first day of school?" said Kuroneko.
"Yeah," said Valdemar.
"Excellent! That's exactly when my model predicted they'd fight. If you'll excuse me, I have to submit another paper to ... ahem, excuse me."
Stravo wasn't really listening to what they were saying. Kuroneko was a good teacher, but he missed having Mrs. Chardok around as a full-time sub.
While that had been going on, Rob Wilson had walked across the bar to Miss Fey. Stravo palmed his face; nothing good was going to come of that. He didn't exactly blame him--she was short, dark haired, and very very stacked, but...
The *thwack* of Wilson getting belted in the face with Miss Fey's Bible really said it all.
Stravo decided it was time to get to the business at hand. "Is this thing all set up?"
Dalton was munching on a chocolate donut and drinking a Guinness. "Sure, boss. There won't be any problems."
"I need more than that. Is this safe?"
Dalton considered that. "Probably not, but we're committed now. Nobody will get hurt too bad even if something goes wrong."
"That's not what I fucking want to hear."
Dalton took a bite of his donut and shrugged.
"Where's the El Tee? I thought you and him were coordinating this," said Stravo.
"I don't know. He said he had some kind of lead or something and he needed to investigate."
"Oh that's just fucking great. Is someone going to disrupt this?"
"He doesn't know, boss."
"I've had one disaster already this year. If there's going to be another--"
At that moment, the El Tee arrived, panting, in the bar. Stravo sighed miserably. Something was up. Something was always up.
He came to Stravo's table. "Sir! Permission to report, sir?"
"El Tee, for the love of Jesus corn-holing Mary Magdeline, would you cut that Army shit out? Just tell me what the fuck is going on."
"Sir, I have been informed by a reliable source that there is a prank in progress tonight."
"Where? At the bonfire? If someone does something stupid around a giant fucking fire, I give you permission to throw him in."
"Sir, I have already called up all the hall monitors. I believe security at tonight's event is more than sufficient."
Stravo sighed, the first relief he'd felt all day. "Alright, then, what's the problem? Are they going to put more blow-up dolls in Miss Fey's driveway?"
"No sir, she is not the target this year."
"Well who is? Me? Are they going to fuck with my house? I'll expel them right now."
"Sir, your domicile is secure. And you are not, to the best of my knowledge, a target either."
Stravo waited for the El Tee to actually tell him who the real target was. The El Tee stood impassively.
With both hands on his temper, Stravo finally said, "El Tee, who exactly is the target?"
"Mr. Galkine, sir."
Stravo gasped and Dalton dropped his donut. "Fuck!" He looked over at Galkine, morosely sucking down ... was that Mr. Clean? He shook his head. "Are you sure?"
"Yes sir, very sure. If my source is correct, O'Leary has targeted his house tonight, while Galkine is at the bonfire."
"Or passed out in the gutter," said Dalton.
"Or that, Mr. Dalton."
"O'Leary?" said Stravo. "She's behind this?"
"Yes sir."
"Shit. She'll do the job right, and then we'll have a real fucking mess on our hands. She needs to be stopped."
"Sir, request permission--"
"Just do whatever you think you need to do, El Tee, and report back to me when this situation is under control."
"Yes sir. Request to be dismissed, sir."
"Jesus Christ, I told you to ... fine, El Tee. Dismissed. And don't fuck this up." Stravo gulped down the last of his Jim Beam. "Barkeep! Refill!" he bellowed.
Just then, he saw the front door open, and a man came walking through. Stravo recognized him instantly. "Well, no fucking shit. Barkeep! Make it two!"
--==--
"Marina sure has this planned out," said Kernel.
"She's mad. You're mad. You're both mad. And I must be madder to even go along with this," said Debi.
"Oh, it'll be fine," said Kernel, checking the roll of toilet paper in his hand against the neatly written specifications on the list Marina had given him. "This it two-ply, right?"
"What does it matter?"
"Marina says if we use cheap paper, it might not unroll right."
"So this is going to be crazy and expensive."
"No, crazy would be launching these from catapults. This is just dangerous and stupid." She didn't return his broad, beaming grin. Quite the opposite, actually.
"I'm surprised Marina didn't bring a bloody catapult."
"That would be hard to fit in the car."
"I'm glad one of us thinks this is funny."
"Oh come on. This is funny."
"And when Galkine finds out who did this, will that be funny?"
"He's a harmless old drunk. Even if he finds out, what's the worst he can do?"
"Give me an 'F' in Spanish, maybe?"
Kernel pondered that. "Marina's in your class. She's not worried about it."
"That's because she's mad."
Kernel started throwing rolls of toilet paper into the cart by way of rebuttal.
"And that's another thing. We're buying two dozen rolls of toilet paper, ten dozen eggs, and ten cans of shaving cream in one trip. The store is going to remember us. They'll know what we're doing."
"It'll be okay."
"There is no way we are getting away with this."
He dropped the last two rolls into the cart and then faced her. He sighed a little. "Listen, if you really don't want to be a part of this, that's okay. But you won't get in trouble, I promise."
"It's not that I don't want to come along. I'm up for this as much as the rest of you ... but damn it, there has to be a reason nobody's ever rolled Galkine's house. And even if there isn't, he can still get me directly. Marina doesn't care because ... well, I don't know why. She's always had a few marbles rolling around loose. But you and Joe and Mark, the worst they'll do to you is suspend you. I'll have to deal with him for the rest of the year."
Kernel pondered that for a minute. "Look," he said, "They're not going to catch us in the act tonight. And if they do figure out who did it, Marina and I will take the fall for everybody. We won't mention you were even involved."
"You'd do that?"
"For you? Absolutely."
She smiled and shook her head. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"It's because I'm so sexy."
She rolled her eyes. "That must be it. It's your irresistible lumberjack charm."
"Lumberjack charm?"
"Yes. Hasn't anybody ever told you you look like a lumberjack?"
"I do not!"
"You do too. All you need to do is put on a flannel shirt and not shave for three days."
"Should I wear the flannel shirt for three days? For that authentic lumberjack smell?"
"No, that's quite alright." She laughed and mock punched his shoulder.
He laughed too, but as he looked at her, it trailed off. She's really pretty, he thought. I wonder why I thought Marina was hotter. He understood why, on a certain level--Marina's looks were striking where Debi's were subtle, and Marina's personality demanded to be noticed where Debi's was content to wait until you discovered it on its own merits. And that was before the whole "Marina fucks girls" angle was considered. But he had noticed Debi, had discovered her personality, and had startled himself by realizing that if he had to chose between the two, he'd take Debi.
It's time, dude. No more fucking around.
"What?" said Debi, who, being unable to read his mind, only knew he was staring at her. "Is there something caught in my teeth?"
"Do you want to go to Homecoming with me?" he blurted.
"You mean, like, go together to Homecoming, or ..."
"I mean, go with me. As like ... my date, you know?"
She hesitated, and it almost killed him. "Sure," she finally said. Her voice was wary, unsure, and for a terrible moment he thought she'd agreed because she didn't want to hurt him, or she couldn't think of a good excuse in time. Then exhaled suddenly, as if in relief, and smiled and said, "God, I've been waiting all week for you to ask me that. I'd love to go."
"Really?"
"Yes, you lumberjack, really. I was afraid I was going to have to get Marina to intervene."
"I'm glad it didn't come to that."
"You should be," she said. Impulsively, she jumped forward and hugged him.
Mark's voice interrupted the moment. "Hey guys, we gotta split. Marina's going on and on about some fucking timetable and ... uh, right." He pulled up short halfway down the aisle from him. Behind him, pushing a cart, was Joe.
"Uh, sorry about that," said Kernel, releasing Debi. "We kinda got caught up in the moment."
"Fine time to have a fucking moment. Do you have the TP?" Mark asked.
"Yeah, we have it."
"Super. Let's get out of here before Marina knots her panties any tighter."
"Good idea. What's the plan once we're out of here?"
"Marina will drive you back to the school to get your car, then we're going to meet at the OC."
"The OC? The TV show?"
Mark palmed his face. "Sorry. Now I'm talking like she is. Operations Control--her house. You know where that is?"
"I do," said Debi. "I can ride with him and give him directions."
"Fantastic. Let's go."
Kernel nodded and started pushing the cart. Debi walked alongside, with the hand closest to him hanging in midair between them. When he didn't get the hint right away, she elbowed him.
"Oh! Sorry!" he said. He took her hand and they walked that way behind Mark and Joe to the checkout.
Throughout the entire exchange, Joe had watched, stone faced, silent, seething. Mark kept glancing over at him, trying to read his face. They'd known each other a long time, and Mark had gotten pretty good at it, and the fact that he couldn't had him genuinely alarmed, more so than the prospect of vandalizing Galkine's property. There was no conceivable way it could end well as far as he knew. He had to warn Marina and hope she wasn't so wrapped up her master plan she didn't take time to help defuse the coming conflict. As it was, she was already back in her pimp car, waiting outside for them, so she wouldn't be able to see any of this firsthand.
Because she was in the car, she didn't see the other cause for alarm that was following well behind Debi. Neither did Mark, who was worried about Joe and what he was going to do. Neither did Joe, who was so wrapped up in a red blanket of anger and what he was going to do to that son of a bitch interloper that he wouldn't have noticed if his own feet were on fire. Neither did Kernel, who was looking at Debi, and neither did Debi, who was enjoying being looked at.
Instead, they paid for their items, not drawing so much as a second glance from the clerk who'd worked near West High for too long to be surprised by anything, and went out to load up Marina's car. The malevolent shadowy hulk behind them watched, unseen, until they pulled out of the parking lot and headed back towards the school.
He pulled out a cell phone and dialed an unlisted number. "Confirmed, sir. They're making a move."
"Deal with them," came the reply, and the the phone went dead.
--==--
Kernel and Debi walked in to see Marina, Joe and Mark all decking themselves out in camouflage. Debi stared curiously.
"Um ... wha?" Marina sighed heavily.
"Oh don't tell me neither of you brought camo either."
"We were supposed to?" Kernel asked.
"Of course you were supposed to!" Marina scolded. "How else are we going to conduct a covert op?! Wearing--" She gestured nebulously at Debi. "--Sky blue sweaters?!"
"Hey!" Debi protested. "You said this was cute! You told me to buy it!"
"Well lucky for the two of you I keep enough spare fatigues around for contingencies like this." She walked to a hall closet and opened it -- it was entirely filled with standard Army-issue camouflage field uniforms. Marina was fortunate enough to have a godfather who was a captain in the United States Marine Corps. She'd been getting mortar shells, pistol holsters, survival knives and fatigues for every birthday and Christmas since she was a baby. He'd even snuck her a live grenade for her Sweet Sixteenth, telling her to save it for prom. Kernel blurted out a laugh.
"What's so funny?" Marina asked. Kernel gestured at the camouflage-filled closet.
"Nothing, I just can't see the closet," he said, snickering. Marina glared at him.
"Very funny, mister. Now find your sizes, change and be ready for action in five minutes! We're on a schedule, here!" Marina commanded.
"Yes ma'am!" Kernel said.
"In separate rooms, mister," Marina corrected the Kernel's sinister notions. "Debi, you can take the downstairs bathroom. You, you hetero-male-pervert, go upstairs and to the left." They both obeyed.
Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Kernel came lumbering down the stairs. "Reporting for duty, ma'am!" He said, enthused.
"At ease, maggot," Marina said. "DEBI!!!" She yelled to the bathroom.
"WHAT?!" Came Debi's reply.
"HURRY UP!!"
"THESE PANTS ITCH!"
"WHAT ABOUT THE BOOTS?"
"THEY'RE A LITTLE TIGHT BUT OKAY FOR A FEW HOURS I GUESS."
Joe butted in. "COULD YOU TWO STOP YELLING ACROSS THE DAMN HOUSE?" Just then the bathroom door opened, and out walked Debi, uniform perfectly fit and trim with her hair pulled back in a regulation but oh-so-sexy bun. Kernel stared, gape-jawed. Fuck the dress, she's wearing that to the dance.
"Marina, do you have an M4 you could give Debi just to hold for a few seconds?" Kernel asked innocently.
"We're not sexing her up anymore for you," Joe blurted out. Everyone stared at him. He had to recover. "How'd you get your uniform on so well?" He asked Debi quickly.
"Oh come on Joe. We've been friends since grade school. You think Marina would let me associate with her for all these years if I didn't know to throw on a uniform in under five minutes?" Marina looked at Joe.
"It's true. First time she was over here, I made her learn." Joe and Kernel were practically salivating over the notion of two bombshells like Marina and Debi playing dress-up with army fatigues.
"Okay, we're all set," Marina said. "Let's move you maggots! You wanna live forever?!"
--
Marina's car slowly crept through the housing development with its headlights turned off. The five of them were crammed inside, with Joe riding shotgun and Mark having to put up with the dreamy-eyed crap Debi and Kernel were pulling.
"Okay, we're about a block away. We'll hoof it the rest of the way," Marina said. She was about to open her door when she stopped. "Wait!" She hissed.
"What?" Joe whispered. Marina waited.
"Thought I saw a reflection of something in the mirror ... probably nothing."
"Yeah, who'd have thought reflections would show up on mirrors," Mark sarcastically whispered. They all got out and slowly moved to the trunk. Marina opened it quietly and pulled out the two large, Israeli standard-issue military duffels.
"Remember, these are to be empty when we're through," Marina said. "Let's move." Kernel and Joe took the two duffels. "Okay, Joe, Kernel, bring up the rear. Mark, you and Debi in the middle. I'll take point."
Marina expertly led them to Galkine's front yard with a series of cryptic hand signals that Kernel was amazed to have guessed the meaning of. I think a fist means "stop." They crouched in front of the fence around Galkine's house.
"This is definitely the place, Mark said." The sickle and hammer adorning the front gate gave that much away.
"Hm ... front gate's open, but Galkine's car isn't here," Marina observed.
"That's too convenient," Mark said. "What if it's a trap?" Marina considered what he was saying.
"Then we burn that bridge when we come to it," she said resolutely. She stretched out her hand. "Mark Two-Ply Toilet Paper Roll, please." Kernel slapped a fresh role in her hand.
"Marina, you get the first strike. Make it a good one," Kernel encouraged. Marina nodded, got up and walked toward the nearest tree. She threw back her arm and was about to catapult the roll of bathroom tissue when a steely hand clamped on to her wrist. She froze.
"Well, so that intel was accurate, after all," an all-to-familiar voice spoke. The El Tee walked her back to the rest of the group, who were all too busy holding their bowels together to try and run.
"So this is how Galkine's house has stayed clean all these years!" Marina said. "He's got you watch-dogging it!" The El Tee ignored her accusation.
"Kids, whatever you know, or think you know, I suggest you keep it to yourselves. Understood?" All except Marina nodded heartily in agreement. The El Tee patted her on the shoulder.
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm impressed. But one snitch can ruin even the most meticulous planning," he said. "Now all of you get lost." Marina scowled as she walked away. Kernel and Joe picked up the duffels and were about to be on their way when the El Tee stopped them.
"Ah ah ah, leave those," he commanded. "You kids could get into a lot of trouble, carrying this kind of ordnance around." Marina protested.
"Those are Israeli military-issue duffels! They cost--"
"About forty bucks at an Army Surplus store," the El Tee finished. "And I also happen to know you've got about twenty more at home." Marina shot him a dark glance and stalked off with the rest of her company.
When they were out of hearing range, the El Tee flipped his cell phone open and dialed an unlisted number. The other end picked up. "It's done." Then the other side hung up.
--==--
"Who talked?!" Marina yelled, furious that her carefully-planned operation had been foiled. After the El Tee's intervention, Marina issued the "Abort" signal, which involved a rendezvous back at Operations Control -- otherwise known as Marina's house. Marina was currently pacing in front of the couch on which Joe, Mark, the Kernel and Debi were seated. In that order. Which really pissed Joe off. But everyone else was too busy worrying about whether Marina was going to drag them into separate interrogation rooms for "special information extraction."
"This information was classified. Do you know what Uncle Sam thinks of people who leak classified information? They're TRAITORS! Do you know what happens to traitors in the United States of America?!"
"They get jobs as political commentators?" Mark said wryly, in reference to the Douchebag of Liberty himself, Robert Novak. The rest of the couch snickered. Even Marina snerked slightly.
No, you raving Deanite," she began, but she quickly started cracking up. Everyone else, including Joe, followed suit. For the next five minutes, they were all just laughing their asses off at the absurdity of the night.
"Novak is such a douche!" Kernel yelled through tears.
The laughter slowly died down until everyone's stomach was hurting.
"No seriously though, how did El Tee find out we were hitting Galkine's house?" Marina asked.
"Eh, who knows," Joe said. "Maybe someone saw us at the supermarket or something."
"Let's just go to the bonfire," Debi suggested. "Maybe Dale will throw a stash on it or something and we can watch the teachers wriggle." Kernel agreed enthusiastically.
"That sounds like a plan to me!" Debi looked at him scrutinizingly.
"What, do you hope Dale throws a stash on? I didn't know you were a pothead." Kernel felt his face flush. Any reasonable person could see she was just playing, but the paranoia that came from working long and hard on securing Debi's hand at the Homecoming dance quickly eroded rational thought functions.
"Wha, I mean, no ... what I meant, you know," he paused. "I meant whatever you think I should have meant." Joe was slightly amused to see Kernel squirming, but he knew it wouldn't last. Debi chuckled.
"Try not to panic," she said. "I'm just playing around." Kernel sighed.
"You sure?"
"Of course she's sure," Joe butted in. Everyone looked at him curiously. Joe had to think of something, and fast. "Let's just go." Well done! Now all you have to do is find a hole to crawl into, and no one will suspect a thing. Retard. Kernel broke the tension.
"Yeah, let's just go. They'll be lighting it up in fifteen minutes."
Marina piped up.
"All right! Avengers, assemble! We're taking the Kernel's car!"
"We are?" Kernel said.
"Shotgun!" Debi yelled.
"Guess that makes me bitch," Joe grumbled under his breath.
--
The five of them pulled into the parking lot behind the football field where the bonfire was traditionally held. Marina took point, with Mark and Joe behind her and Debi and Kernel behind them. Hundreds of students crowded the field, which was stationed by what looked like bouncers. Hey hey, Gary's here! Marina waved to one of the bouncers across the field. He smiled back and found a small kid to manhandle for her enjoyment.
They walked on to the field, noticing that the inferno had not yet been set ablaze. What happened next could've only been weirder if the ending theme from the first Star Wars movie had started playing. Marina heard someone shout, "There they are!"
The crowd broke out into spontaneous applause, hoots and hollers.
"Did we just score a touchdown?" Joe asked.
"No, but we did make sure the most beautiful girl in school arrived safely," Kernel said, squeezing Debi's side.
"Aw, that's so sweet," Debi said. Joe cringed. Just then, Dale came scampering up to them.
"Oh you guys are just fabulous! How the hell did you pull it off?"
"Why, what do you mean, Dale?" Marina asked, honestly not having a clue.
"Oh don't be so modest, sweetheart. Mr. Galkine's house is whiter than a Klansman's cum! Oh I'm so bad! Someone please spank me!"
"But we--" Mark tried to correct Dale, but Marina quickly threw her arm around Mark's neck and pulled his face within mere inches of her tits to shut him up.
"We weren't going to tell anyone," Marina explained.
"Oh please sweetheart. That Gauner kid found out about it and went straight to Stravo this morning. I heard that he had the El Tee on your asses. How'd you manage to shake him off?"
Gauner! Marina thought. "Well, we--"
"Don't even tell me! I don't wanna know! I don't wanna be involved in one of your national security scandals, Marina," Dale faux protested. He noticed Joe's glum demeanor. "Hey sweetheart, perk up!" He jabbed Joe's shoulder a little. But Joe remained solidly percolating and decidedly un-perky. Debi popped in.
"You know, I think we should go and meet some of our adoring public." Kernel pinched the small of her back.
"Great idea, you first," he said playfully.
"Yeah, great," Joe murmured.
--
After shaking hands and politely refusing to deny their involvement, Joe, Mark and Marina headed up to the bleachers to witness the spawn of the conflagration, otherwise known as the bonfire. Kernel and Debi curled up in a corner at the top of the stands and cuddled for the duration.
The blaze erupted, and the crowd cheered. A merry time was being had by all. Then Marina felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder, with its partner solidly fixed on Mark's. The three of them looked behind them to see the El Tee and Stravo sitting right behind them, along with Sunnyvale West's own Silent Bob, Rob Dalton. Seemingly the entire faculty was there, except, curiously, for Galkine.
"Glad you kids could make it," the El Tee said. "Took a little side trip after our last run-in?" Mark and Joe fumbled for words trying to explain that it hadn't been them, but Marina's gaze was solidly locked on the only absent member of the faculty now walking toward them from the end of their row, hands behind his back. Marina could almost see the scene in slow motion.
Only her seeing Galkine approaching.
Mark and Joe confused and unaware.
The wild crowd, completely oblivious to the justice about to be extracted from innocents.
All that was missing was Francis Ford Coppola calling the takes. Marina froze as Galkine approached. The El Tee spied the incoming Russian. Marina saw Galkine's arms move swiftly to produce a pair of pistols. She heard the Russian's battle cry.
"For MOTHAR RUSSIA!!!!"
"Get down Mister Principal!" The El Tee bellowed.
Marina, after years of hailing the technique as the most absurd public school practice in existence, ducked and covered. She braced for impact and felt ... nothing.
Then she heard it. Small clicks followed by splats.
"OW! FUCK!" Stravo yelled.
"MY DONUT! My last jelly donut!" Dalton wept as though he'd just lost his wife.
Then the slightly pungent smell danced on to her nose.
... Paintballs?
--
The home of Yefim Mikhailovich Galkine was white as a Russian wasteland. The front lawn was intricately cross-hatched with only the finest of toilet paper, the driveway fully prepared for a good shave. Streams of errant toilet paper hung from the trees, waving in the wind as though conducting a symphony.
The lone observer stared in wonder. How the hell did they pull it off? He wondered to himself. So many fond memories ...
His eyes fell upon the driveway. On top of the highest of the rolling hills of shaving cream sat the unmistakable calling card of one of the vandals. It blended so well with the white shaving cream that he'd almost missed it. But it was there.
A lone, powdered-sugar donut sat patiently, awaiting its master's inevitable return.
Damien Sorresso
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
Η ζωή, η ζωή εδω τελειώνει!
"Science is one cold-hearted bitch with a 14" strap-on" - Masuka 'Dexter'
"Angela is not the woman you think she is Gabriel, she's done terrible things"
"So have I, and I'm going to do them all to you." - Sylar to Arthur 'Heroes'
Seems to have stuck if you ask me, I think I'm going to need a new name for sure. Excellent stuff, well worth the wait, hard to find any particular bits that were above and beyond the rest of it, it all read and flowed extremely well.
"...a fountain of mirth, issuing forth from the penis of a cupid..." ~ Dalton / Winner of the 'Frank Hipper Most Horrific Drag EVAR' award - 2004 / The artist formerly known as The_Lumberjack.
Evil Brit Conspiracy: Token Moose Obsessed Kebab Munching Semi Geordie
Zerg Goddess wrote:Not too many laughs. I'm curious who did ht eTP'ing of the russian's house. LT maybe?
Dalton definetly, the donaught, and possibly the El Tee and Stravo too.
Η ζωή, η ζωή εδω τελειώνει!
"Science is one cold-hearted bitch with a 14" strap-on" - Masuka 'Dexter'
"Angela is not the woman you think she is Gabriel, she's done terrible things"
"So have I, and I'm going to do them all to you." - Sylar to Arthur 'Heroes'
I'm studying for the CPA exam. Have a nice summer, and if you're down just sit back and realize that Joe is off somewhere, doing much worse than you are.
Good job you two, it was awesome. I expect the next episode soonish. None of this waiting for months bullshit. Understood?
| GALE | Society of Sisters: No Boys Allowed | Keepers of the Lore | Mecha Maniacs | The Rat Pack: Frank "Blue Eyes" Sinatra | Minister of Sexy | ACPATHNTDWATGODW FOREVER!! | "I give into sin because I like to practice what I preach."
