Can I have a scene where the El Masters get into a bar fight against a group of guys at the bar?
“Yo, what’s with the cosplay?”
The woman speaking was clearly drunk, slurring her words together and stumbling towards the El Masters. She punched Denif lightly on the shoulder, not seeming to see the dragon’s lip curl in disgust.
“Comin’ to the bar and drinkin’ as if yer the El Masters…. Das funny. Ha.” The drunk girl started laughing. Denif removed her hand from his shoulder.
“Is it?” Solace asked flatly. Heads started turning around the bar, looking at their little group.
“Ey, you shouldn’t disrespect the El like that,” someone growled. A chorus of lukewarm agreement rose around the bar. The drunk girl who’d started it all clamped her hand on Denif’s shoulder again, her grip turning steely.
“Maaaaybe you should find someplace else to drink,” she suggested, a dangerous light in her drunk eyes. Denif shook her off once more.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think so.”
The girl stumbled back and frowned. Someone in the back started chanting, and the others took it up.
“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”
A group of men and women from a nearby table rose, spurred on by the chants. Ventus knocked back a shot and swiveled around on his bar stool, grinning.
“I’ve got this,” he said lightly.
The air pressure wavered for a moment, then dropped sharply. Everyone in the bar who wasn’t a Master passed out instantly.
Solace drained his drink. “So,” he said conversationally, ignoring the unconscious people all around them, “where were we?”
-At the ripe age of 21, I have finally come to find just what the phrase “adult toys” really means. This breakthrough was made after a man purchased a plastic miniature buffalo that was as anatomically-correct as it was well-endowed.
-A woman slams a severed Troll head on my counter. My mind races to decide exactly what her message is. She is either telling me that she wants to purchase this trophy, or that I am going to be next. I hope to find out before it’s too late.
-I found a greeting card featuring a textless portrait of an anthropomorphic and incredibly muscular cow standing over an open grill, tongs in hand, hat on head. I know not what the message inside read, but I have no interest in finding out. The universe this card presents to me is full of logic I find deeply unsettling.
-An older gentleman genuinely and passionately bought into the cliched joke of “that item won’t scan, so it must be free!” While I wish that this encounter had been avoided altogether, I do respect anyone willing to fight tooth and nail for what they believe in. The bards will sing of this battle for time immemorial.
-“Is the Coke Icee okay for kids?” I was entirely unprepared for such a seemingly silent child to ask me such a loaded question. “Of course,” I told him. He paused for a moment, this revelation setting in. “Wow,” he whispered. “I’ve never heard of a Coke that’s okay for kids before.” The sheer terror on his mother’s face told me that I had just undone years of anti-Coke conditioning. I stand by my actions. This truth will serve him well in the coming future.
-A child threw himself over my conveyor belt, shouting “This is my domain!” He ruled his new kingdom with an iron fist and steely focus, until he became mesmerized by the fact that his hands were being pulled down the register from him. With the utmost grace, he stepped down from his thrown and retired to a live of excitedly cheering on his hands as they raced down the belt.
An extremely late birthday fic for @wrathofthestag, who shares my hopes for Coach and Bitty. Here’s a little fic about how I hope the summer goes for the Bittle Clan…
that coming out to coach would end one of three ways.
scenario was the one that had kept him silent since middle school when he
realized that it didn’t matter how many girls stole kisses from him, he just
wasn’t interested. He could see Coach’s face turning to stone, the way it did
when the Dawgs lost a game in overtime, and hear his father’s steely voice
proclaiming I have no son. Some
nights he would still wake up shaking when he thought about that scenario, if
he was lucky, Jack would be there to gather him up and mutter soothing bits of
nonsense into his hair as he trembled.
scenario was more likely, but still not something Bitty was looking forward to.
Coach would press his lips together until they disappeared behind his mustache,
then nod with a resigned air. If he was lucky, Bitty would get an awkward slap
on the back and Coach would mutter something Suzanne told him Oprah said to
say. It would be disappointment, but acceptance. Some days Bitty wondered if
that wouldn’t be worse than outright anger.
scenario Bitty blamed on Chowder, who seemed to think everyone in the world
would be thrilled with a gay son. In this dream setup, Coach cried, opening his
arms to his son and assuring Bitty that he could never be prouder of a child.
They would cry together, then, hugged up on the porch swing, talking about life
and maybe boys.
Bitty bit his
lip, wondering which scenario he would be living through. He rolled his
shoulder, preparing for a disappointed pat. He glanced at his mother in the kitchen.
With a sigh,
Suzanne moved to the refrigerator, picking out two beers and holding them out
to Bitty. She kissed his forehead. “Go on, I’ll be doing dishes if you need me.”