Friday, December 18, 2009
"Hey, Gar?" "Yeah?" "Mind letting me pilot for once? I mean, I did build it." "Yeah, that's true, you did build the ship. You also crashed it right after you finished it then spent three weeks fixing it back up." "What's your point?" "Do I need one." Kish came up and put a hand on Wolf's shoulder. "It's okay. He's just saying you pilot like a blind man. Actually, I think the blind man might do better." "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Kish. Fuck." --- Kish walked up to Wolf while he sat at the table, a cloth spread over it and random parts were placed about. Kish went to reach for one. "Don't touch." "Why, what harm could it do?" "Well, the part you were about to reach for can explode if you aren't properly grounded, and unlike you, I'd rather keep living." "Oh. Well, what about this-" "-no. Like I said, don't touch." "What? Not every single one of these parts can explode." "Yeah, but you seem to gravitate to "stuff that could make life miserable for Wolf", so I thought it best to cut you off." "I'm not that bad. Gar, am I that bad?" "Yes, Kish, you are that bad," Gar called from the cockpit. --- "Gar, you stay with the ship. I'm taking Kish." "And why do I stay with the ship." "Because I fly like a blind man of psychotropic drugs, and Kish flies like a...well, we really don't want to know how he flies." "Fine. But why take him?" "Well, more to act as a distraction." Kish walked up wearing a purple cape. "I'm ready." "See what I mean?" --- "Kish, wait here." "Why?" "Just, guh, just do it." "Fine." Wolf stalked off further into the interior of the bar, glancing about left and right. He approached a table in the back while Kish made his way to the front. "Hey," Kish said, his purple, silk cape fluttered. The bartender looked at him, eyes wide a moment before he glared sharply. "And just who in the fuck are you?" "Oh, I'm Kish." "Why the purple cape? What are you, some kind of superhero?" "Well I am super."
So, I'm at work tonight and I'm talking with one of the bakers. We're talking about the gifts we'll be giving loved ones at Christmas. Then she pipes up that she's thinking of getting another coworker a t-shirt, custom job at that. I ask her what about. So she looks at me and says, very seriously, that the caption would be "What do you get a hypochondriac that has everything?" I couldn't stop laughing, because the coworker in question is a hypochondriac and the idea just by itself is hilarious. I told her that if she does get the shirt done up, she should also put an empty bottle of pills fallen over on its side next to, or in the background of the caption. You know, for emphasis.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
"Where's Wolf?" "Working, Kish." "On what?" "Not getting killed." "Where is he?" "Not here, obviously." "Well-" "Kish,-" Gar put his palms to his face, dragging them downward for a moment, "-it's times like this I wish Wolf would take you with him. Then it'd be a two-way split." "What? And why wouldn't I get paid." "Because you lack a skill Wolf has." "And that is?" "Not getting killed." Kish grew quiet. He would have made himself useful had Wolf been there to tell him to make himself useful. Instead, he just sat in the navigation seat waiting, wondering what it was Wolf was doing. The best answer he knew he'd get out of Gar was "working." Working for who? Was this another contract? Who was their contact? He couldn't help but feel he was sometimes treated like a child and kept out of the loop. He was the best guy for dealing with people, surprisingly, despite being the most antisocial of the three. After about an hour of sitting there, waiting, the comm crackled to life. "Start the ship! Start the ship!" a tinny voice squawked. "What?" "Dammit, Gar! Start the fucking ship!" "What's wrong?" A flash of red laser fire splattered in the direction of the ship. Gar watched through the HUD Wolf running back at breakneck speed, hopping over debris and past obstacles. Behind him, trailing but catching up, were a series of guards taking pot shots at him with sidearms. "Oh." "So," Kish began, "that's what 'not getting killed' looks like." Wolf came rushing past as Gar brought the main forward weapons online and began to send furrows of coherent red energy flashing into the oncoming enemy force. Bright explosions of dirt and debris and bodies, whole and otherwise, flung everywhere at once. He held down the trigger until a status light on his console clicked green signaling the hold having been sealed and Wolf now being inside. He rushed up into the cockpit, dressed in a black jumpsuit holding a plasma assault rifle. He had a pair of goggles hanging around his neck from a strap and began doing up his crash restraints, all the while screaming "Go, go go!" "What the hell did you do down there?" Gar asked. "Stirred up the hornets nest, that's what! Fuck! I hope they aren't getting any air support, that'd just screw my day over." Gar grimaced at that remark, lifted the Grinning Jackal up on its anti-grav thrusters before kicking in the main engines and blasting skyward at speed. Wolf began monitoring the tactical console he was sitting at. "They're sending fighters. Looks like a half squad of 'em," Wolf said. "Kish, get a jump course plotted out of this shitpit." "Working on it." The Jackel jerked about as Gar sent the craft through a series of evasive maneuvers. But the larger craft was still taking strikes from the more agile fighters. "Jump course plotted!" Kish said before bringing up a tactical display. Six fighters, all blasting away, and more incoming. "Uh, more fighters incoming. I'm gonna take the guns."