Mitchell Woods: All the while, rings of white flash in the bare rooftop moonlight (there is an extraneous moon in the sky; long story) as a Templar knight sways and lunges around Mitchell’s flourishing claymore. Mitchell missteps; at once the knight dives into range with lombard sword stretched skyward. But here, in the clamor of iron and sweat, there is equality. With a (n uncharacteristic) smirk, Mitchell swings up the great slab of metal and catches it by the pommel, driving it forth to meet blade and blood. He can feel the surety of his tensing limbs as he watches it melt in the Templar’s eyes. But avast, the lombard passively scathes the shingles and its owner leaps to Mitchell’s flank; the heat of melting surety flares as Mitchell goes down with a rawhide boot’s toe in his ribs. He hits the… roof… and his dirge is the rap of exploding orbs of colorant in the darkness below. The Templar is upon his prey at once. Mitchell closes his eyes, if only for a glance at whatever may lie ahead for his soul, and the Templar’s sword thrusts so coldly downward into Mitchell’s heart. He feels a mildly uncomfortable prodding sensation before the sword breaks contact with his chest. In the heat of the moment, Mitchell had forgotten that they were fighting with Nerf swords; awkwardness ensues.
Sugie: Whoa, that got a little dark there for a minute.
Sugie’s been having a nap up in the rafters, but she now peeks her head out to an unbelievably colorful mess. She switches out her lime green balls for neon orange, just to add to the mix.
She spies Ben as he’s tasting a bit of paint off his gloves – what, it looks tasty! – but his face indicates it’s not. He doesn’t think to look up, and continues his search amongst the furniture. As he comes closer, Sugie cocks her gun, waits until she has the perfect shot, and then SPLAT! Right in the noggin, Ben’s helmet is covered with bright orange, on top of the blood red.
Sugie leans back into the protection of the rafters as he shoots with his now legal gun, but she can’t escape now, now her hiding spot has been found out…
Ben: Ben is quickly becoming addicted to the taste of paint. He feels, rather than hears Sugie’s presence in the rafters above him. More shooting at this new player, he feels, will do him no good. So, the immediate past is immediately forgotten, Ben senses a kindred spirit. In a fit of magnanimity, he offers to (metaphorically) scratch Sugie’s back if she scratches his, to team up and go after Angela and Jaselyn. Strength in numbers and so forth…
Sugie: Sugie, knowing she couldn’t hack it alone much longer, joins with Ben, but only if he will stop eating the paint. That could lead down dark alleys. She now has an ally, and the head off, side by side, looking for Jaselyn and Angela…
Edward Simmons: The smell of paint was overwhelming, He tried his best to walk past the garage door as the the sounds of “put put” could be heard throughout the cool night air.
Suddenly he hatched a plan.
Silently he open the garage door. Just enough so he could slip in unseen. Huddling in the corner, hidden by a piece of paper. He pulls out a ham sandwich from his back pocket and a large cola from somewhere no one knows or cares.
He could watch the Hobbit another night. These crazy folk where better than wasting twenty dollars.
Angela: “I love the smell of paint fumes in the morning.” Angela says and picks herself up off the floor. With a gleam in her eye, she calls to Jaselyn, “Lets get ’em,” and tosses Jaselyn a couple of grenades. Backs to the wall, they arrive at the mouth of the black alleyway.
Angela stops. “Computer. Change program, Streets of New York, Brooklyn, 1946.” The Holodeck obliges and loads the dark, filthy streets of New York in a late summer rain. A cat screeches in the distance. Our spat-covered shoes grind against the grit on the pavement that glistens in the street light overhead. We now are all wearing zoot suits and spiffy matching hats. Angela breathes deeply and says, “I love that smell (the smell of New York city in the summer rain AND NOT the smell of zoot suits). Come on, Jaselyn. Balls to the wall,” and together they enter the alley way.
“Computer,” Angela calls from the shadows. “Provide Edward and Mitchell with loaded paintball gun replicas of mafia styled firearms from the 1940’s.”
The computer obliges and materializes said weapons in a phone booth on the corner of Jackson and 5th where they stand. “Your weapons, gentlemen,” Angela calls from the alley, “if you choose to accept them.”