July 16, 2001 ... The Last Bar Fight Post (We Think)

The Last Bar Fight Post (We Think)
By, Like, A Gazillion People (who are all very tired)

Time: Late Monday/Early Tuesday
Place: The Raven

"You!" Jackson shouted, pointing a finger angrily at Christy as she left Janette-LaCroix's office. "I owe you from before. I'm gonna enjoy this."

Erik's voice wafted from behind him. "I'm sorry, sir, but if you'd like to speak to the Nunketeer, you'll have to make an appointment." This was punctuated by a sharp kick to the back of Jackson's knee, which collapsed under him.

Jackson turned his head and looked up at Erik. "And you! I'm gonna get you, cape-boy!"

"You'll have to get us both," Paul said, approaching from Jackson's other side. "Erik mentioned that you had shown some... interest in my sword. Well, let's see if you deserve it."

Jackson looked left and right, sizing up his opponents. Then, in defiance of all natural laws, he leapt straight up, hurdled a rafter, and landed on a pool table across the bar. He grabbed the bridge from the cue rack with both hands, wielding it like a staff.

Erik and Paul looked at each other and nodded. They kicked backwards, breaking a barstool, and each grabbed one of the legs, as if they were wooden practice swords.

"Finally," Jackson called, leaping forward across the bar and landing in front of the Addicted Duo, "I will have what is mine!"

Kimmer was still shooting off streams of seltzer, and when she emptied a bottle, she'd toss it into the fracas. The waving hands of the bar fighters bobbed the canisters over the heads of the throng, as though they were beach balls released into the audience at a rock concert of the crowd at a football game.

The Ratpackers crawled to the edge of the rumble, pushing others out of the way to catch Kimmer's seltzer missiles in their mouths. Johnsie made it first, but caught a mouthful, squinted, then wound up with a stream flying up his nose. "H'it tickles!"

Libby pushed on his head, then stood on his shoulders to get in the way of the water instead. Catching a gulpful, she squealed, "Wot, no sugar free rasp-berribee syrupy stuff ta go wit' h'it?" then bounced off Johnsie's shoulders to push him back in front of the spray in her place.

Being a good hostess, in or out of bar fights, Kimmer ducked behind the bar and pulled out a pump of 'Super Sticky Syrp Berribee Slop' and began squirting it on the bar patrons faster than you can say 'fake blood' at a GWAR concert.

Karen and Felicia leapt out of the way, grabbing hold of the chains mounted from the ceiling, and began to swing like Tarzans into and out of the mob, kicking and screaming war cries as they pendulum-ed back and forth.

Laura ducked, crawled around the bar commando-style, then straightened like a lance. Swiping off her bowler, she flicked it like a James Bond evil henchman, knocking the berry syrup bottle from Kimmer's grasp. The Ravenette's battle luck ended, for four Elvii (one suspiciously in a sequined bathrobe) grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her over the bar. The formed a huddle over Kimmer's flailing form, blocking her from view. When they stepped back, it revealed the Ravenette leader was now sporting a white polyester jumpsuit ensemble. (White polyester = Ravenette kryptonite)

Celeste sat under one of the few still-standing tables in the aptly named bar, stirring her fourth Bloody Mary with one pinkie. Her once well-coiffed hair hung limp, as did her ex-spiffy designer dress. She briefly considered dumping the tomato-based drink on her head, but suppressed the impulse and put it where it would do the most good, down her throat. It was a stiffish drink, and her eyes squeezed shut at the beautiful pain as it burned its way down.... when she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring into one great, big EYE--

"Eeeee!" the Cousine shrieked a fairly girly shriek and would have jumped back a foot but for the fact that she was parked securely on her butt.

"My moose says," the eye said, pulling back, "my McMoose say, 'you stink!'"

"Mc-*LEEE*-sa!" said the Cousine, pissed in more ways than one. "You could have come up with something better than that. How about, um, my moose says, 'Take care of the sounds and the scents will take care of themselves.'"

"My moose never read Alice in Wonderland," McLisa said. "Plastic, you know."

The Cousine's nose wrinkled with distaste as she slowly became aware that she wasn't the only one hiding out under the table with an odor problem. "You are no spring rose yourself, McStinky-Chick."

"Sewer," said McLisa succinctly.

"Sue *who*" said Celeste. "There are just SO many people whose fault this is. It would kind of like be the opposite of a class-action suit."

Gozer, who has attended at least two bar fights in his short little kitty-cat life, appeared in the air in front of them, or at least his head did. His little evil-yellow eyes blinked in surprise at the dreadful smell of skunk juice and sewage, then suddenly his nose disappeared. The sight of a disembodied cat head without a nose was almost, but not quite, enough to send the two inebriates back into a kind of grossed-out sobriety.

"Now, *that*," said McLisa, "is not something you see every day."

"Or would want to," rejoined the Cousine.

The little disembodied kitty head gave a little disembodied kitty-head raspberry of disgust and disappeared.

"Shall we?"


The two women shakily climbed out from under the table, and just in time, as a rather large body hit the table, sending it crashing across the room.

The three-way battle between Jackson, Erik, and Paul raged on. Neither side had managed to land a solid blow, although there had been some close calls on both sides. Jackson seemed to have an uncanny knack for *knowing* from where the next attack was coming, and was there to parry almost before the strike was delivered.

The tide of the battle turned suddenly when Jackson managed to hook the tip of Erik's stick with the metal portion of the bridge, yanking him forward and off-balance. Then, as if Jackson knew Erik's weak spot, he slammed the other end of the bridge into the back of Erik's hurt shoulder, driving Erik to the ground. His other adversary all but forgotten, Jackson stood over the fallen Nunkamale, poised to deliver a last, great blow.

With a violent scream of "NOTHING PERMANENT!", Paul surged forward and swung his weapon, sending it into the small of Jackson's back. The larger man crashed into a table and fell to the floor. Before Paul could reach him, though, he managed to make it to his feet and return to a ready stance.

"Okay, *boy*. Let's see what you've got," Jackson mocked as he began a sweeping attack.

Paul parried the attack and pulled close to Jackson. "What I have, I believe, is the sword you want," he hissed before pushing away.

This had the intended effect on Jackson, causing him to lose his temper. He lashed out at Paul with a volley of strikes and thrusts, which the younger man had difficulty keeping up with. However, the constant parries stressed the bridge greatly, and Paul took his shot.

Following a parry of the metal end of the bridge, Paul swung his makeshift sword down at Jackson's head. Jackson moved to intercept with the center portion of the staff, just as Paul knew he would. However, the bridge had taken too much punishment, and Paul's attack broke straight through, shattering the bridge into two pieces, and continued downward to wallop Jackson right between the eyes.

Jackson fell to the ground with a very surprised look on his face, cracking his head on the floor. Paul stood over him, smirking. "Too bad. Guess you don't deserve the sword, after all."

Jackson was too stunned to reply, and Paul left him there and moved to help Erik to his feet.

Patt finally wandered into the room again from her conversation with Janette-LaCroix, saw the signs of continuing rumble, and let out a heavy sigh. "Are you people still going at it? I'm tired." She stepped behind the bar, dodged around Laura, who was now thwapping Deanie and Val with American Beauty roses, and raided the beer fridge. Reaching around the Heinekin bottles and the latex head of an Egyptian tomb-raider, she pulled out an ice-cold Bud. "Ahh. Ambrosia."

Patt tilted her head back to take the first refreshing sip.

*Wiffle!* *DOOM* *Crack!* *Splash-Dribble-Dribble*

Tracy Sue had shattered the bottom of her Bud bottle with a well-placed whack of her bat. Patt looked down at her shirt, saw the spreading stain in the fabric, and contemplated sucking on the hem. She was very thirsty. The sight of her ruined beer bottle was too much to bear, and Patt rolled up her sleeves for one more round. "I'll get you, you slacker, and your little llama, too!"

As Patt proceeded to 'mature' the Vaqmadre, Johnsie popped up behind Christy tugged on her mousy protuberances. "Tol' ya they weren't real h'ears," Johnsie announced as they tumbled off. She thunked him in the nose, played Parcheesi on his feet with her non-sensible shoes, and crammed her Happiest Crown On Earth back on her head. (Because a Nunketeer's head is not to be messed with, unless you're a fellow faction leader.)

All at once, a spittoon fell onto the scene from the 'Muddy Waters' bar fight post, rimmed Christy's head (It pays to wear the mouse ears, baby!), then plopped upended upon Patt's noggin.

Everyone froze mid-punch. "Eehhhhhhhwwwwww!!!"

"That's it!" Patt yelped, yanking the spittoon off her head and tossing it away. (It landed later in Tracy Sue Morris' writing.) "Barfight over! I'm headed back to the Shrine for a shower and a good night's sleep!"

End Of Bar Fight
Go Home
Nothing To Read Here

Subject: WAR: The Last Bar Fight Post (We Think)
Date: Tue, 17 Jul 2001 21:07:53 -0400
From: "Bonnie Rutledge" llamababe [at] CAROLINA.RR.COM
Reply-To: Bonnie Rutledge llamababe [at] CAROLINA.RR.COM
(Permission given to archive this story)


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