Pokemon! Snap

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 20
************************

As Geraldine went on checking out the numerous but altogether under-10-dollar items, Cal turned to Midnight to ask a few questions; for example, why she was a wanted woman, and why she didn’t seem to care.

Cal: “Why?” His brain short-circuited, and this was the whole result. Fortunately, Midnight was highly-skilled in translating such transmissions. Her good looks had attracted the kind of men who didn’t much care what part of the brain their words came from, as long as their brains got laid. Those men who did honestly intend to talk from a deeper place either scared themselves far away from Midnight, or transformed into the former types of men upon approach. Cal wouldn’t have placed himself in either category. Then again, few people do place themselves correctly.

Midnight: “I don’t know.”

Cal: “But you do know. You said you did, when she showed you your picture.”

Midnight: “I know that the police don’t want Rog or me buying food. This is about the eighth place we’ve tried, choosing random locations as we spiraled out from the center of town. I don’t know why we’re not allowed to eat. And I don’t seem to care because I’m not that hungry, and I’ve been having fun spiraling.

Cal: “You will be hungry, though. That’s how the human body works.”

Midnight: “Hooray! You’re sarcastic again.”

Cal: “I thought you didn’t like that.”

Midnight: “I don’t like when you overdo it. You were flooding the market, killing the price on sarcasm coming from you and everyone around you. It was worrying from an economic perspective.”

Cal: “And you are an economics major?”

Midnight: “Nope. You don’t have to go to school to learn the basic workings of society. You simply need to be aware of your environment. Smell the air and all that fun stuff.”

Cal realized that he did not get the “smell the air” saying. He also realized that he still knew next to nothing about his new cohorts. Did Midnight even go to school?

Midnight: “Although it doesn’t hurt if you’ve dated an economics major.”

Rog awoke from his depressed stasis to become an active image of despair. Remaining on the floor that had become a second home, his was a silent scream; nonetheless, its shrill tone still managed to tear at Cal’s soul. At least, that’s what Cal thought was going on.

Geraldine: “Excuse me, young man who reminds me of my husband.”

Cal: “Yes?” Midnight elbowed. “(Ahem) I mean… Yes, kindly lady?”

Geraldine: “Oh my! Everything is just about in order, and it is absolutely wonderful that it is. I’m not afraid to admit that my store has fallen on hard times as of late, what with all those men in suits running their own stores nowadays. They look quite handsome in suits, I’ll admit, but I wish they would be more polite. They don’t seem to care whether I’m here or not, and I never notice anything anyone would care about hanging over their doors.

“Anyway, were you going to buy this picture?” She held up the photo of Rog.

Cal: “Umm… no.” On second thought, it would have been medically irresponsible to risk sending Rog into an even darker state. Cal qualified his refusal. “I didn’t think it was for sale.”

Geraldine turned the picture over and looked at it herself. “Oh my! This is the picture from the police. I can’t believe I asked you that. I don’t even know if it’s legal to sell documents like this. I don’t think it can be. No, that wouldn’t make sense. And frankly, it would be kind of rude, in a regifting sort of way. Never mind that I asked. I meant to ask if you wanted this other picture, but, now that I think of it, I got this one from the police as well.”

It wasn’t the picture of Midnight, which, given the nature of men, would have been a steal at anything under ten dollars.

It was a picture of Cal. Obviously.

Grandpa

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 19
***************

Cal pushed his front foot a bit more forward. His chance to be the hero had re-arrived. Heroes say awesome things when they’re being heroic, and Cal, like any child of the modern age, knew this. He’d failed to say anything of worth after fending off a scorpion horde, yet maybe this low-key fiscal dilemma would serve as the perfect preparation for any future heroism. A witty one-liner rushed towards his mouth… “I can pay for ten dollars worth of this stuff.”

The witty one-liner hadn’t made it. Some amateur script from the middle of Cal’s brain had beaten it out.

Geraldine: “Oh my! You haven’t said anything that strikes me as polite, but I can tell by your generosity that you are a good boy. In fact, you remind me a bit of my husband – not so much in looks or personality, but in the way you carry yourself. Harry died in World War II. I hang that toy zeppelin over the door to remind myself of him every time I walk in and out the door; not that I would ever forget him – him being my wonderful husband and a marvelous man. It’s just good to have reminders like that, even if they pop up more frequently in people like you than they do in physical objects. I will accept your ten dollar bill, and I will check out these groceries.” She started to grab the sandwich Rog had not so politely slammed on the counter. “Remember: ‘Simply carrying yourself well is nothing if you don’t have anything on your back.’ That’s what Harry said to me, before he left. Then he gave me a kiss. Then I said to him, ‘Even though you’re going to war, remember to be polite. It means a lot to people.’ I never saw him again, but I got letters from some of his friends. They told me a lot of things, but they never mentioned whether or not Harry was polite. I think the letters themselves mean that he probably was.”

The story ended. Cal waited a moment, to ascertain this fact. Then he said to her: “Thank you, kindly lady.”

Geraldine: “Oh my!”

Gang Back Together

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 18
****************

Midnight: “Cal! You’re here!”

Rog groaned in the background, conveniently, since he had already been groaning.

Cal (stunned): “I am. Why are you?”

Midnight: “Don’t be so excited to see us. Whoops! It looks like I’m already picking up some of your trademark sarcasm. Meanwhile, you’ve made a turn for the worse, taking on an air of bitterness.”

Cal (snapping out of it): “No, no. I’m just confused again. I didn’t expect to see you so near my house. Do you live near here?”

Midnight: “Nope.”

Cal: “Then I guess I should ask if you’re stalking me.”

Midnight: “Nope.” Her voice then transformed into a faux-whisper. “Somebody is stalking me, though.”

Cal: “Who?”

Midnight made a triumphant gesture, presenting Rog.

Rog: “WHAT?!”

Cal: “Oh. I could’ve guessed that.”

Rog: “My sultana, surely you know that I simply bequest your company. It is you who picked up the phone this morning – you who are still in control.” The fact that he was using the word “sultana” revealed the weaknesses in Rog’s argument.

Midnight: “Calm down, Rog. I’m joking. Don’t be so touchy.”

Rog attempted to follow her instructions: “I’m sorry, madame. Everything is…”

Midnight (interrupting): “Nobody likes a touchy stalker.”

However Rog intended to end his sentence, he didn’t. He collapsed to the floor instead.

Geraldine (to Midnight): “Excuse me, miss.”

Midnight: “Yes, kindly lady?”

Geraldine: “Oh my. What a polite young woman. People your age are usually very rude customers. Why, don’t get me started on the young man with goggles I just had an encounter with. Where did he go, anyway?” A crushed shadow flickered somewhere below.

Geraldine (continuing): “Miss, you have been so nice to me in these past few moments. I have something I want to say to you.”

Midnight: “Yes, kindly lady?”

Geraldine: “Oh! There it is again! You really are polite, aren’t you?” Midnight simply smiled. “Anyway, I want to say that even though you seem like a wonderful person, you’d be better off looking for food at another store. I’m not supposed to sell you anything, either.” Geraldine held up a photo of Midnight.

Midnight kept smiling: “I know.”

A Pun Too Far

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 17
************

“Young man, I know this picture is of you. Look, you’re wearing the same goggles on your head. Do you like to swim?” The old lady was making her case in the calmest, sweetest manner possible. For whatever reason, Rog was not responding in kind.

Rog: “I know it’s me, but I’m hungry; I need food; and I have money to pay for it.”

Old Lady (aka Geraldine): “I was a lifeguard one summer, you know. I could do all the strokes. Let’s see… There’s the front stroke… the back stroke… the left stroke…”

Rog: “This is the food I want.” He slammed down a sandwich and chips. “This is my money.” He slammed down a credit card. “Please swipe it now.”

Geraldine (holding up the aforementioned picture): “I can’t help you, young man. The police gentlemen gave me this picture of you and told me not to give you anything.”

Rog: “You’re not giving me anything! We are making a fair exchange. This food, for the amount of money its worth.”

Geraldine: “Oh, no, no, no. How do I know this credit card isn’t a trick? I heard on the news that young people like to take advantage of old people, especially with credit cards. Those can even be used to break into buildings!”

Rog: “But you know that this card is mine! The name matches the one on that cop photo you have.”

Geraldine: “I didn’t steal it. The police gentlemen gave it to me, and I happen to know that police do not like it when people steal.”

Rog: “What are you talking about?!”

Geraldine: “You said that I copped this photograph. I did no such thing. Why would I steal a picture of you? We just met.”

Rog, like the unseen audience, was baffled and distraught.

Geraldine started to look at the picture again, reaching up to adjust her glasses… which weren’t there. “Oh ho! I almost forgot about my cataract surgery. I’m always doing that, trying to touch things that aren’t even there anymore. I suppose it’s a matter of habit. You’ll come to understand yourself in a matter of years, young man.”

Rog: “No, I won’t, because I won’t live that long, because nobody in this damn town is giving me any food.”

Geraldine: “Your goggles are almost like glasses, aren’t they? They make those, don’t they? Goggle-glasses?”

Whatever Rog had done to get himself on the police radar was about to get a lot worse. He was about to hit the kindest, oldest, and most stereotypical person in town. Cal, who had been watching long enough to grasp the situation but not long enough that his “idly standing by” act would seem weird, was ready to step in. His cold, hard (in a papery sense) cash seemed the perfect solution to this new age problem of metaphysical property and identity confusion.

The more-pointed feet of Midnight stepped in first.

Plastic Literature

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 16
*****************

Cal parked his bike outside his local grocer’s. It was a smaller, mom-and-pop store, with the mom actually being more of a grandmom and the pop being dead since World War II. Corporate owners had offered to buy the place out, as they do, but the old lady refused to sell. This place was all she had, except for the countless number of cats her sweaters revealed. The colors of the fur spread about the garment were too varied to come from one-to-three cats. Four-to-nine was more likely.

Cal knew all this information via his own mom. He didn’t really like small talk, nor did he take too much interest in what women over forty wore. Nor did he often go to the store, his mom taking care of that, too. Thank the gods she wasn’t dead.

Cal was adept enough to deduce on his own that the old lady’s name was Geraldine. The name of the store was Geraldine’s.

Reaching into his wallet, Calvin imagined he’d find the classical display of cobwebs. Instead, he found a bunch of old receipts and one ten-dollar bill. That would be enough to buy cereal and milk. And gum. And maybe a package of licorice for later.

By the time he finished shopping (about three minutes after he started), Cal had collected a small mess of stuff that, when grouped together, resulted in the most difficult carrying combination possible. A dry, square box. A wet, oval/rectangle plastic jug. A small, foil stick. A cheap, crackly bag. “I hate shopping,” he decided. At the same time, he decided that he loved shopping carts, some of which were on display at the front of the store. Cal had passed them up upon entering in a show of disinterest. His idiocy resounded.

Still, everything is relative. As he struggled to the counter, Cal recognized a young man arguing with an old lady. The old lady wore a sweater covered in cat fur. The young man wore goggles atop his head.

That is idiocy.

***********************

Milk jugs plus Baby Pals equals this.

A Break from the Action

We here at Six Lines hope you are enjoying those other things written here. I think there's another one today. Don't miss it. Whatever.

The important thing we have to announce is our sponsorship* of a new Nintendo DS game, due out early next year. It's called Baby Pals, and (giggle) it's all about you raising a baby! Tee hee!

Check out the totally awesome screens below! Burp!

Slight Expansion

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 15
**********************

There was no response.

“Mom?”

Silence.

Cal could think of only two possible explanations for the current situation. Either his mother had gone out, which she rarely did. Or she was dead, which she even more rarely did. In both cases, a rarity would again be responsible for disaster - Cal would remain hungry.

Also, in one of those cases, his mother would be dead.

“I hate the morning,” Cal thought. And with this thought, he realized another explanation. Under this third option, one of the other two would be proven wrong. The other would be proven right. Really, then, this new choice just rationalized one of the other two. It was not new at all.

What was it? It was the morning.

Cal’s mom always went out in the morning. Not usually being conscious during this timeframe, Cal discounted it from his universe. Thus, a reality in which his mom sometimes went out was distorted into one in which she did only now and again.

In every reality, Cal was still hungry. He was still tired. And he was now an idiot. After running into a door, dramatically opening an empty refrigerator, and questioning the pulse of a woman out on errands, a man needs no third party to ascertain his idiocy.

“Too much has happened.” This was what Cal said. The words sounded as if they were attempting to justify the occurred idiocy, giving the reason of cerebral workload. Maybe, by fooling himself into believing that he hadn’t acted like a fool, Cal could pick himself up and rejuvenate his weakening image.

In fact, they were words of surrender. “Too much has happened…” to be able to go back to sleep. This was what Cal meant. He started back to his room, awake, and aware of the path he had to take. He would put on some clothes, grab his jacket (an accessory to his clothes), and bike to the grocery store.

And he would do it all without running into a single door.

Forgotten Author

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 14
*****************

Interestingly, this note featured different handwriting than the others. Either Cal wasn’t dealing with the same author, or the original author had decided to make things even weirder by constantly changing his font.

The answer: It wasn’t the same author. Cal wrote it. It just took him a second to remember.

You know. The morning.

Closing his about-to-gape-in-awe jaw, Cal asked himself why he’d decided to imitate the “obviously.” Nothing that insightful sprung to mind. Oh well.

Whatever the case, the events of last night were revealed to be true, down to the final detail of Cal writing himself to ascertain that fact. After he’d decided that it all didn’t happen, he must have decided that it did. Or at least, he decided that it would have did, if the message he wrote himself were there, where it was, where he left it, on his door.

The time to use the bathroom and forget about this mess had come. With the sun at his back, Cal marched towards his destiny – a destiny he’d achieved many times before, and was due to achieve again. The greatest general of the greatest army couldn’t have lurched towards his goal more purposely than Cal did then.

The result: He achieved.

More than that, Cal had used his time achieving to map out the rest of his day. He was going to head downstairs. He was going to grab something to eat. He was going to go back upstairs. He was going back to sleep.

It was an infallible plan, so long as no more doors interrupted his progress. The bathroom door provided the first obstacle. Turning the handle he’d locked just seconds before, Cal easily overcame this obstruction. Invisible fans cheered.

Next was the staircase. No doors encased this terrain, and Cal easily slowed down the stairs in a yawning spectacle.

Gasp! A forgotten barrier laid waiting for him in the kitchen. The refrigerator containing the eggs he desired was closed, and Cal would need, in order to rectify this situation, to open its door. Muscles moved in tandem, synapses signaled that the plan had not been changed, and the battle begun.

Cal’s pointer finger led the way, wrapping itself around the icebox’s silvery arch. His middle finger followed in typical defiance, cursing the thought of an unopened door. Then his ring finger – barren of any display – shouted to the world that this was a free man with the power to do what he willed. Next the pinky. Who cares. And finally, the opposable thumb did its thing, proving to the world that man was indeed the highest species. The refrigerator had little choice but to surrender itself to the chain of events. It opened.

Gasp! It was barren.

Cal shouted: “Mom!”

The Next Days

Bad Guys Need Flowers - New Chapter, Pt. 13

****************

Cal awoke the next morning. The exact time was irrelevant. The fact that it was morning was astounding.

Exhausted from the sheer perplexity of the previous day, Cal had fallen asleep before midnight. Rare was the night he turned himself off before Conan, but rarities exist because they occur. Oftentimes, rarities are viewed as items of joy – a diamond of rare color, a horse of rare strength, a rapper of rare rhymnation. In the case at hand, rarity was a disaster.

What the hell was Cal going to do with a whole day?

He certainly wasn’t going to look for jobs – that was clear. He’d done that the last x number of days, and the banal literature categorized under the title “Job Postings” had driven him to the point of hallucination. Or so he’d decided the night before.

Surely none of that scorpion stuff was real. Who would spend the time to import so many desert creatures to the Midwest? Somebody who got up in the morning, maybe; still, even after Cal grasped this concept of “a full day’s work,” the possibility remained slim.

The “notes in the pockets” thing? A nice trick. Hardly feasible in the real world.

And that girl…

“Look. There’s my computer,” Cal thought. “All nice and not blown up. What more proof do I need that life is as it always was – static.”

Cal lurched towards his door, having come to a conclusion as to what to do: Use the bathroom. As he walked, the morning sun shot blinding darts of light at his eyes. This is what the sun is won to do, yes, but it usually only does so through certain windows at certain times of day. For some, those times do not exist. Consequently, things happen. Unaccustomed to the solar element, and unaccustomed to the act of morning walking in general, Cal lurched a bit too far. A thing happened. He slammed face first into the door. Stars swirled, shooting darts of their own metaphysical light. Fortunately for Cal, this light existed at no certain time in his visual spectrum. No further thing happened.

Recovering well enough to realize that his next step should be backwards, away from the door, Cal did so. The move proved prudent. There, staring him straight in the face, posted to the door, was a note:

It really happened. Obviously.

Even Odds

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 12
*********************

Cal looked at Midnight, who was still lingering. If a few more seconds had passed, one might have even said she was loitering.

There they went. She was loitering.

Cal (not noticing the breaking point): “Are you lingering?”

Midnight: “Maybe. I’m trying to figure you out.”

Cal: “How so?”

Midnight: “Well, at first I thought you were awkward and quiet. Then you got a bit snappy. Then you got sarcastic. Then you quieted down and took action. Then you got a little arrogant. And in the end you became sarcastic again.”

Cal: “I guess sarcastic wins then, eh?”

Midnight: “It’s not fair if you play it that way. Anyway, I’ll publish my ‘Theory of Cal’ later. It’d be boring if we knew it all straight away, eh?”

Cal noised his indifference: “Ehh.”

Midnight: “I do have one question, though. What was with that snappy bit? It’s the only section that doesn’t really meld with my early thesis.”

Cal: “Do you want a sarcastic response or a real response?”

Midnight: “Real. If you’re always sarcastic, you’ll bore me.”

Cal: “There wasn’t any reason to what was going on. That upset me. That’s my reason.”

Midnight: “Hmm. But you were snappy at the part when we were talking about my name, weren’t you?”

Cal: “Exactly.”

A brief standoff occurred, with Cal unsure of how Midnight would react to his latest answer. The standoff passed. She smiled.

Midnight: “Got it.”

Cal: “What did you get?”

Midnight: “Everything.”

The two shared another moment. To an outside observer, it would seem as if a trend was developing.

Midnight: “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Maybe there’ll be more reason than today.”

Cal (sarcastically): “That wouldn’t be the hardest thing to achieve.”

Midnight paused to analyze the comment: “Hmm. I suppose that, in its own way, your character can be considered charming. Just don’t lean on it too much. You’ll start to walk with a limp.”

Cal had no response.

Midnight: “Oh, and feel free to bring something tomorrow to lighten the place up. I think I’m gonna bring roses.

“Even bad guys need flowers.”

The Next Level

The humans reached into their pockets and removed their new notes, all of which were the same once again. Sally held hers in her mouth, no one noticing where it came from or that it was even there. The others were too busy reading. Anyway, she looked cute.

Congratulations. You have killed. You are level 1 Bad Guys. More (plus) on back.

See you here tomorrow. Plus – These are your pants. Obviously.

Cal: “I still don’t get it.”

Midnight: “Nobody does. I think that’s part of the fun.”

Rog: “How come this is calling us bad? We killed in self-defense. I’m pretty sure that’s legal.”

Sally: “Meow.”

Midnight: “We wanted to be bad.”

Cal: “Oh.”

Rog: “What?”

Midnight: “I did, at least. It was today that I thought about the adventure of evil.”

Rog: “You did? My queen, so did I! You do not have to live alone with your insanity! It will be me and you from here on out. Together. Crazy.”

Midnight (ignoring Rog, continuing to think out loud): “I imagined a life more exciting, and here it is. How did I get here? Well, I walked. Before that, though, I was online and…”

Calvin (eyes widening): “Your computer exploded?”

Rog (jumping in front of Calvin): “It did? My queen, so did mine! I mean, my PDA did, because I surf the internet on my handheld.” He yet again smiled the smile of supposed success. “You do not have to live alone with your exploding technology. It will be me and you. Together. Exploding.”

Midnight: “Hmmm. So that’s the link.”

Calvin: “It’s not, though. My computer didn’t really explode.”

Midnight: “Nope. Neither did mine.”

Rog: “It didn’t? Yeah, me neither." He removed and displayed his shiny PDA. Ta da! "Then it will be me and you. Together. Not ex…”

Midnight (interrupting Rog, to Rog): “Did you say you have a car?”

Rog (proudly): “Aha! I said I have a Hummer.”

Midnight: “I guess that’s a car. Will you drive me home?”

Rog: “Does a cock crow?”

Midnight: “Apparently.”

Rog (ignorant): “Follow me to your new life. I will rush ahead, to warm the engine and, consequently, your heart.”

Midnight vomited a little bit in her mouth as Rog sped off. She also lingered, with Cal.

For Dave and Chris

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 10
**************

In one of the far corners of the building, there was no exit. Bump. Bump. Bump. There was only darkness. Loneliness was there, too, but loneliness is lonely, so it’s alone. The exit was never going to appear. Nothing was ever going to appear.

“Leave it!” Cal shouted at Midnight, who’d prepared her pole for yet another final blow. “I think it’s blind.”

Midnight: “Which means it can still kill us, especially if it senses us in any other way, such as noise, like your shouting.”

Cal: “Give me one minute.” Midnight tightened her grip. Cal tightened his eyes, and told her once more to “Hold on” before rushing away.

Midnight remained coiled, a mouse trap ready to snap. The mouse in this case was a scorpion - a scorpion that (as has been foretold) had no idea what it was doing and was hissing quite upsetly about this fact. Despite the commotion, it continued in its hopeless attempt to walk through a wall.

Cal rushed back holding… a terrarium? Taking off the top, he carefully placed it over the scorpion. He then slid the top underneath, flipped, and presented to all his prisoner.

Midnight: “Two questions.”

Cal: “Yes?”

Midnight: “One: Did you bring that terrarium from home?”

Cal: “Nope. It was in the second closet.”

Rog , who’d been observing the occurrence, muttered to himself: “Why didn’t I choose the second one…”

Midnight: “Weird. Two: Why the hell did you do that?”

Cal: “Well, in the event that we can’t interrogate it…”

Midnight sarcastically ha-ed.

Cal (responding and continuing): “Ouch… we can at least save ourselves.”

Rog: “We could have saved ourselves by killing it.”

Cal: “That’s not what I meant. Look, maybe I felt bad for the guy. We just turned his whole family into kebabs.”

Rog (incredulously): “Except that they attacked us, meaning they asked for it.”

Midnight: “Let me ask another question.”

Cal: “Yes?”

Midnight: “Do you eat kebabs?”

Cal: “Sometimes.”

Midnight: “Well, the times that you do, you are choosing to do what you were just forced to do to survive.”

Cal: “I only eat chicken and fish.”

Midnight: “You’re a saint, and that’s irrelevant.”

Cal: “I know, to both. Alright. I can’t explain myself. How about this, then: It might come in handy.”

Rog: “It might escape and kill us all.”

Cal (finally commenting on the goggles in Rog’s wardrobe): “Were you planning on swimming?”

Midnight (opting to conclude the conversation): “Keep the scorpion. The goggles are dumb. There’s another note in my pocket.”

Soon After

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 9

Actually, it wasn’t easy at all. Thrusting pool equipment through, say, one hundred scorpions was hard work. It wasn’t paid, either, in anything other than survival. What it was was dynamic, upbeat, and team-oriented – all without the caveat of releasing one’s life to corporate mundanity.

It was also done. The humans had won.

Sally the allied non-human looked from her tubby perch at her three collapsed comrades. She then went back to doing what she’d done during the fight – sleeping.

Midnight: “Well done, all. You have made not only your commander proud, but your entire nation.”

Rog: “Hail! Huzzah!”

A pause, unfilled by noise.

Rog: “Uh… Happiness! Horniness?”

Cal: “There ya go.”

Rog glared at Cal, visibly angry at this sarcastic defamation. With the source of the anger still present, however - in the form of Midnight - the glare soon reshaped into a content grin (a happy grin? a horny grin?). “So man, where’d you get the poles?”

Cal: “They were in the second closet. I think they must’ve been for fishing leaves out of the pool or something.”

Rog: “Ah ha! Now who’s the foolish one? Why would there be leaves in an indoor pool?” The point was a good one, and Cal kept his mouth shut.

Midnight (not so much interested in disproving Rog as ponderous): “I think I saw a wading pool outside. They also coulda used ‘em to knock out all the crap in the drains. I’ve seen women shave in locker rooms. I’ve seen them shave everything. I’ve seen it all.”

Rog: “Sick, my liege!” (continuing) “Oh, I wanted to clarify something from before. When I said, during the fight, that I’m not that stupid, what I meant was that I’m not stupid at all. I’m actually a business major over at DerTech.”

A longer pause, unfilled by even less noise.

Until… Hssssssssssssssss.

Enough for now

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 8

***********************

“Catch!” Cal appeared, throwing newfound weapons at Midnight and Rog. Midnight snatched the item – which appeared to be little more than a sharpened metal pole – out of the air, turned, and immediately skewered two approaching scorpions. Rog only turned, to avoid getting hit by the pole.

“Pick it up!” Midnight yelled. Rog obeyed. “Now stab…” she demonstrated again (this time spearing three) “… and dispose.” She thrust the poker-end over the pool, where the dying scorpions detached and dropped. “Repeat.”

Cal joined the fight from his outside position, picking out the ones arising from the pool. Midnight shouted over to him, “Hey! You’re getting the cheap kills.”

Cal: “It’s not cheap. It’s prudent tactics. This is how we won The Revolutionary War.”

Rog (struggling to shake a scorpion off his stick): “We won by killing scorpions?”

Midnight: “No! We won by…”

Rog: “Oh yeah, I get it. Prudent tactics… Sorry, ma’am. I’m not that stupid. I’m just a bit distracted.”

Midnight: “We all are. Let’s finish the fight.”

Rog: “Oh! Like in…”

Midnight: “Concentrate! And finish it.”

And with that, the self-ordained leader quieted the legions. The ravenous scorpions, while easily holding the advantage in numbers, failed in all other categories: speed, agility, strength, and, most-importantly, spiked metal poles.

Again, it was (as they’ve said) almost too easy.

Who wants pie?

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 7

********************

Midnight (to the returning Rog): “What the hell is that?”

Rog: “It is what we shall use to battle, sire!”

Midnight (reading the tub): “Chlorine?”

Rog: “Indeed! We can soak the mops with the chlorine, wet the area around us – creating a sort of defense circle – and watch as the scorpions collapse from the chlorine fumes.”

Midnight: “Hmmm.”

Rog: “Shall I begin?”

Midnight: “How about if I begin? First, I believe you are confusing chlorine with chloroform, in that chloroform is used to knock people out. Chlorine will mostly disinfect the scorpions before they poison us with their purified venom. Second, that tub you’re holding is full of granular chlorine. That means it’s full of solid, making your liquid-based plan a bit impossible.”

Rog: “There must be a water faucet nearby…” Midnight interrupted, grabbing a mop and whacking Rog in the process.

Midnight: “Except that I already told you the chlorine is worthless. Let’s just use these mops to knock the scorpions into the empty pool.”

Rog: “That could work.”

The attack began. Hungry, angry, rabid, or else wise, these scorpions were not about to pass on by. They wanted a fight, and they wanted blood. Or flesh. Or hair?

Midnight grabbed Sally and placed her atop the chlorine tub. “Stay,” she ordered the frizzled feline, before running off to battle.

Rog was feverishly waving his mop in the direction of the first scorpion wave, and, via a combination of luck and luck, he was enjoying some success. When Midnight arrived, a dose of skill was added, and the success rate rocketed. “To the right!” she yelled at Rog, reminding him that his spasms should at least be directed towards the pool.

FwipHssss FwipHssss. Mop-handle struck exoskeleton, and one-by-one the scorpions fell into the empty pool. The first assault was failing. It was (as they say) all too easy.

Midnight: “Where the hell is Cal?”

Rog: “I am here for you!”

Midnight: “I didn’t ask that. We need reinforcements.”

Rog: “But we are winning..., aren’t we?”

Midnight (scoring another two hits): “If they can climb down walls, then they can climb up, too.”

Rog: “Do you know that for sure? I would think up is harder than down. It’s possible they’re just falling…”

Midnight: “I know that for sure.” She looked past Rog and into the pool.

As a second wave of scorpions attacked from above, the first began to emerge from below.

It was (as they say) a two-front war.

There's more?

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 6
*************************

Sally meowed.

Cal: “I think that means a storm is coming.”

Midnight: “No shit.”

Cal and Rog looked to Midnight, stunned by this vulgar revelation.

Midnight: “Get over it, and go find some weapons.”

Far above, in the corners of the cavernous hall, swarms of darkness began to move down the wall. What appeared to be shadows were scorpions, and what appeared to be scorpions were scorpions’ shadows. It would have been confusing, if it weren’t so scary.

Rog grabbed Cal. “C’mon, man,” he shouted. “I think I saw a maintenance closet in the front hallway.” Not really knowing what else to do, Cal followed.

In fact, there were two maintenance closets. Rog was wrong again. They opened the first and began to rustle through what promised to be little more than brooms and buckets.

Rog: “So what do you think is going on, man? Some kind of psycho killer stuff?”

Cal: “I don’t know.” Really, how could he know? Scorpions were about to attack, at an abandoned community pool, in the Midwest. “I don’t know.”

Rog: “Yeah, well neither do I. But it’s kind of awesome, right? I mean, scorpions!”

Cal three-peated: “I don’t know.” Rog was right, though. This was kind of awesome.

Rog eventually held up two mops and a tub labeled chlorine. “Well, these are my weapons. I’m taking an extra mop for Midnight. You grab what you want.” He rushed away to at least create the illusion of being the valiant knight. Cal stayed behind to find something that might, you know, serve as a real weapon. Surely the swim meets that had been held here required a secret cache of starter pistols…

The End of the Very Beginning

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 5
********************

“Hey, Midnight.” Rog shouted as he walked back, either ignoring or forgetting about Cal. “I’m back, and I think my note’s a little different.

“I found a new friend, too.”

“Another one?” thought Cal.

Rog stepped out of the hallway and into view, where he bent down to release the final arriver. She stepped forward, looked around a bit, and announced her arrival.

“Mew.”

A calico cat sat, without a hat, her tail gently swaying in greeting.

Cal (to Rog): “You brought your cat?”

Rog: “No, no. The cat was outside the door, pawing to get in. She’s probably a stray who lives here and eats rats.”

Midnight (bending down to greet the cat): “A stray with a collar and a name, eh?”

Rog (embarrassed): “What? Oh, she must have just put her collar on. I don’t usually miss things like that.”

Eyes rolled all around - cat included.

Midnight (bending down to read the cat’s collar): “Hello… Sally.”

Cal: “Whoa. She’s got a more human name than you.”

Midnight (standing up, angry): “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Cal: “Maybe. Do you not like jokes?”

Midnight: “I like jokes that aren’t ignorant.”

Cal erupted, for some reason he wasn’t yet sure of: “And how is a joke about your name ignorant? Did God don you with that name after you saved a small village? Or are all jokes that you don’t like ignorant?”

Rog (defending his queen): “I didn’t like the joke, either. I thought it was crass, racist…”

Midnight (to Rog): “You need to shut up, too, before my ass erodes from your kissing.”

Rog: “I would never do anything to damage your perfect ass, my dearest, unless you compelled me to.”

Midnight “ugh”ed and relocated her attention on the cat. “Looks like Sally is gonna be my only friend here, aren’t you Sally?”

Sally looked up at her, holding one of the notes in her mouth.

“Aww. Isn’t that cute? She wants to be as confused as we are.”

Rog: “I think that’s my note. It has a coffee stain on it, because, you know, I drink coffee.” Again he winked at Midnight. Is coffee supposed to be impressive?

Midnight (reading the note): “Well if it is yours, then it’s the same as mine and that other guy’s.” Apparently Cal was in time-out, where he wasn’t allowed the pleasure of hearing his own name.

Rog: “Whoops. I guess I can be wrong… Hold on, maybe not. My note is still in my pocket.”

Cal: “So I guess the cat drinks coffee, too.” The joke got no reaction. Cal was disappointed, as this was his best line so far.

Rog (confusedly looking at the note he just drew out): “I don’t get it. This one is completely different.”

Cal: “Well, that’s how you said it would be.”

Rog: “No. I mean completely different. I haven’t seen this one before.”

Cal: “What does it say?”

Rog (quoting the note): “Enjoy the scorpions.”

Cal: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Looking to Midnight, Cal realized he was out of time-out, but probably not for a good reason. Midnight was giving him that uncertain look again. “I don’t know, but I have it, too.” She was holding another copy of the new note.

Cal touched his pocket. Something crinkled.

Then something high above them crinkled, in a metallic way, followed by a sound similar to sand being dumped out of a bag. Hissssssssssss.

The sound wasn’t sand. Obviously.

Relieving

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Part 4
*******************
Girl (responding to the query which ended Part 3): “I guess I am.”

Calvin’s eyes opened wide. If this were true, then what the frak was the girl trying to pull before?

Girl: “I mean, since neither of you boys is gonna take charge, then I will. You may bow to your leader, Midnight.”

Rog (looking at his watch): “I have 6 PM. Unless I’m way off, it’s not midnight.”

Midnight: “No, no, no. My name is Midnight. You may bow to Midnight, not at Midnight. The time is time to bow to me.”

Calvin noticeably began to smile, and Rog began to chuckle quite heartily.

Midnight: “What is it? Is there something on me?”

Calvin: “Your name is Midnight?”

Midnight (defiantly): “Yes. What’s yours?” Rog continued his small fit in the background.

Calvin: “Calvin.”

Midnight: “Too long. I don’t want to say that ‘v’ all the time. Shorten it to Cal.”

Well, she was certainly displaying leadership qualities – quick, irrational decisions. Irrational, though, is not always wrong. The shorter name did have its qualities.

Cal: “I’m to take advice from a girl who calls herself Midnight?”

Midnight: “It’s not so much advice, as it is an order.” And then she flipped on the charm switch again, leaning into Cal in a commandeering, you-can-see-my-cleavage-better-this-way position. “Are you questioning my orders?”

Cal sighed and turned away. He’d liked what he’d seen (not yet having a vasectomy); however, he didn’t like where this was going. Although college degrees are often awarded to social idiots, Cal was not one of them. He knew Midnight was trying to reel him in, so he swam away. Now was not the time to be giving in to unknown power.

Rog, on the other hand, was taking the bait. Hard. At the sight of Midnight’s alluring lures, he’d run over and slid to the ground, bowing as low as he could. “My full name is Roger, but I’ve already shortened it to Rog. Do you approve, master?”

Midnight frowned a bit at the ease of this catch. “Hmm, I don’t really care. I don’t like either option, to be honest.”

“Yes, my liege. Then I will stick with Rog, until you demand otherwise.”

It was Midnight’s turn to sigh and look away.

Cal: “Wait. If you’re in charge, then I really don’t get that thing before…”

Midnight: “I’m only in charge because your inaction put me in charge.”

Cal: “So, you sent me this note?” Cal pulled the meeting note out of his pocket.

Midnight: “No. Otherwise I wouldn’t have this note.” Midnight pulled the same note out of her jeans pocket. Obviously, those were her pants.

They looked to Rog, who was still crouched on the floor, praying to his Midnight goddess. Recognizing the silence as his turn to speak, he peered up. “I got one, too.”

Cal (handing Rog his note): “And it looked exactly like this, correct?”

Rog: “Actually, I don’t think so. Let me go out to my Hummer and check on that.” Rog winked at Midnight, expecting some love for his Hummer. In the midst of re-inspecting her note, she gave no indication of hearing him.

A beat of silence passed as Rog stepped out. Midnight was still looking at the note, sincere doubt developing inside her.

“Cal, what time is it? And don’t make a joke.”

“I don’t have a watch, but I’d say at least 6:15/”

“No one else is coming, are they?”

“I don’t know. I’d think somebody would. The notes have to mean something.”

“They should.”

Another beat passed. Midnight looked up. Staring deep into Cal’s eyes, she tried to convince them both. “We’re going to be okay. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

The all-powerful Midnight, who had essentially proclaimed herself queen, was already succumbing to the inevitable fear uncertainty breeds. For the first time, Cal saw in Midnight someone he could like on a human level. Maybe he would’ve recognized this, too, if he hadn’t been so uncertain himself.