@Liliya

Tom slapped one of the LARPers across the face, the pudgy black wood elf staggering back.

"How was that for a critical hit, son? Now get those foam swords outta my face and your tents off my lawn before I make you eat them damn character sheets y'all keep waving around!"

Aww hell naw. The man sitting cross legged clumsily strumming chords on his lyre, in reality a poorly modified wooden box, or maybe it had been a crate or something in the beginning for all he knew, that had been come across and picked up on the side of the I-90 outside of Gary, Indiana on he and his gaming group’s way to a convention in Chicago last year met with his equally clumsy wood working skills and some of his step dad’s, “borrowed,” power tools was not about to sit around and watch this shit go down without doing something about it. He had just been trying to pick up on those three fat chicks, and by extension the ugly one’s smoking hot mom who dropped them off here once a month every last Saturday for the Greater Kentucky United Live Action Roleplay Smack Down, minding his own business when some Colonel Sanders looking mofo just walked up and hit his dungeon master. He had just been saying some PC shit about how awful it was that women in the Live Action Roleplay community were held to such unrealistic double standards and that the community should be making every effort to make everyone feel as comfortable as possible rather than encouraging body shaming and male dominated power structures, how his group was so lucky to have women and minorities conscribe half of their number and how great it was for the community that their group was representing women in the subculture blah, blah, blah. He didn’t give a shit, there were two women in his outfit, the Knights of Fortune, and both of them were smoking hot, plus unlike these chicks they didn’t talk like they’d been brought up by cracked out bayou hicks with only slightly less brain cells then teeth, but he also had to live with them. Plus they actually knew him, knew what he was up to right now in fact, and if it weren’t for the group they wouldn’t have given him the time of day. These chicks on the other hand, especially the ugly one’s mom, were total strangers and were totally losable at his first convenience or desire.

He had been working on this for eight months now, and the way he saw it best case scenario he became a good enough friend of theirs to get invited over to the ugly one’s place and chat up the mom, she was divorced and dating but without much success so far as he could tell, and happen to get lucky and catch her on a day she happened to be feeling down about her situation, schmooze her a bit, share an expensive bottle of wine he’d bring over after slapping a much cheaper bottle’s barcode over it before taking it through self-checkout, show off some of the dance moves he’d picked up in drama and community theatre classes over the years, the old fancy stuff rather than his more developed and interesting hip hop routines, and maybe he’d get lucky. Worst case scenario he’d hook up with one of these chicks to feel like he got something out of this whole endeavor and drop the Kentucky group, along with his burner phone whose number was the only one of his they had, and the social media pages he had set up years ago and filled with friends that he didn’t know and posts that meant nothing, just like the twenty some other identically fake and meaningless accounts used for looking real without having any actual relation to his real life, then walking away from the whole thing entirely. No one besides him in his group actually liked coming to Kentucky once a month and he had only kept them going to the effort because he pointed out that they had an awesome monthly barbeque after the session that was free with a home made side dish or five bucks without, they always stopped at a grocery store and bought a couple four ninety five pies that got quickly transferred over to bamboo steamer baskets to save a few bucks, and nothing in Indiana, Detroit or Chicago even came close to rivaling the event in respect to the food. Kenzie and Mac were both predominantly food driven, and so far he’d kept the scheme going long enough to begin nearing the finish line of the operation.

He was close enough to taste the fruits of all his hard work, the payoff for all these Saturday trips down to Kentucky, and some f@#$ing guy had to come in and hit Mac. It was the South, he got it, someone was likely to start shit one of these days. Even in the North people would often hassle the LARPers, throw shit at them, even slash their tires in the parking lot every now and then, but why’d he have to pick Mac of all people? Sure he was fat and black, but there were three other black guys at the event, and half the people who showed up to these things were fat, including two of the aforementioned black guys. If he’d just hit one of them instead he could have just kept on talking and let the thing sort itself out, but this was different. He wasn’t sure Mac even liked him, and frankly he wasn’t sure if he even liked Mac all that much, but even if he was a whiny, overly rules oriented control freak he was his dungeon master. The twang of his string breaking in mid song took him by surprise just as much as it had taken the three women seated around him, and as time picked up it’s normal pace and the red started to recede from his vision he smiled warmly towards them, and it only now occurred to him that he must have had the dead stare of a raving lunatic plastered to his face for a moment in full view of his audience, now baring his silvered teeth in a more amicable manner before excusing himself. “Right hairy knees I am ladies, must be excusing mi’self for a tiddy bit. Mac-E boy meh bruv o’er theyuh seems to have had ‘iself a bi’ ‘ov an accident, best help ‘im out, innit?” he stood, tossing the lyre to the ground before hurrying over to the man accosting Mac in the field below. “Oi, Ker-nal F@#$boi, you takin’ the piss? How’s about you Harry Holt ‘fore I get down there and your Hovis!?” Damn event rules said foam only, so he’d left the real stuff behind.

Edit: Oops, forgot to censor one of the F-bombs. Sorry about that.

@Liliya

Tom waved an irate finger at the champion of the nerds, teeth clenched.

"Now, my girlfriend's gonna be here in ten minutes, you Vanilla Ice Legolas dumpster baby. I don't want her to see cops here, or all these dweebs, so y'just tell me what it'll take t'get you gone."

Vanilla Ice Legolas Dumpster Baby? It all clicked in Jimmy’s mind with this comment, he knew exactly what kind of contest this was going to be. He didn’t particularly want cops here either, had enough trouble as is with the ones back home, and if he got held up in Kentucky for any real length of time he wouldn’t be able to hold onto his already shaky job as a Squaddie at Best Buys. He didn’t like telling old people over the phone that they needed to turn their devices on if the screen was black, asking aggravated people if they had plugged in their appliances, and of the ones who got real pissed off at the question at least sixty percent by his count had in fact forgotten to plug the damn things in, once he had some old lady with an ancient flip phone ask why the outside clock always said the wrong time, damn thing still had the plastic example display plastered on it. Didn’t change the fact that it was the best paying gig he had right now, and if the cash stopped flowing in it wouldn’t be long before not being able to afford his monthly trips down to Kentucky to try and get some would be the least of his worries. Sure he could go back to working at Spencers at the mall, but he’d kind of mucked that one up when he told his manager that fish wasn’t supposed to be microwaved in the store. They didn’t have a microwave in the store, but that wasn’t what the whole thing had been about anyway. It ran contrary to his personal beliefs to actively keep someone from getting lucky, but this fool had crossed the line in hitting Mac, and although he would rather have just duked it out with the guy and knocked his teeth in just in time to let him get on with his business with his girlfriend while he went back to entertaining his lady friends it would elicit unwanted attention on the legal front, Gods knew the last thing he needed today was for the neighbors to call the cops and report a street fight.

“I’ll tell yew what yew Uncle Cracker lookin’ bastard,” he made his way to the edge of the guy’s yard noting that Mac had been way off of the accepted playing field by being over here in the first place. Strange given that Mac was such a rules obsessed f@#$er, he could have been kicked out of the event for being over here causing trouble with the natives and to him being kicked out for breaking the rules would have seemed worse than getting hit by a car in the parking lot of the legal battlefield, but his reasons for being over on this hick’s lawn weren’t especially relevant. He could see Kenzie out of the corner of his eye poking her head up back toward the park and looking around, no doubt concerned that he and Mac had both left the place unannounced. Her eyes fixed on his mop of silver-white hair and he lifted a hand and pointed upwards, making a swirling motion with his wrist a few times before returning his focus to Mr. KFC. If it was supposed to mean anything to either Kenzie or the stranger it didn’t, and though in his mind it clearly meant bring the car around she just started walking over towards them anyway. He’d have to improvise. He always carried a couple Beats Pills for just these occasions anyway and, reaching into his pocket for an exaggerated length of time to try and elicit a response from Kentucky here, if he wasn’t physically stopped from doing so would attempt to bring out his phone and, tapping a few times at touch screen prompts, music would start pouring out from one of the Pills carried in leather mesh outside pockets on his jerkin. He’d pull the Pill out if not physically stopped from doing so, and toss it and his phone to Mac who, being a clumsy fucker, would try to catch both, actually catch neither, and have to stoop down to pick both up off the street. Jimmy didn’t care, both were cracked and beat to shit anyway, came with the territory of carrying and wearing them while getting beat on by people with sparring weapons.



“Thee wan' us ter go? Theer gon'a 'ave ter give us a little show then, make us feel like we got aaahr time's worf aaaht ov yew 'ittin' Mac E boyuh over 'ere. How abaaaht I show yew 'ow it's done?” he bared his silvered teeth, cracking his neck. Whirr, twenty nine seconds in and the beat had picked up, Jimmy couldn’t have known the time on the track but he knew that this was his moment to display what he expected out of this challenge should Kentucky here choose to accept it. “White bread here think he's real good with words,” now thirty two seconds in Jimmy kicked his hips back before taking a double step towards the stranger, and still easily five feet from Tom he poked a finger out symbolically towards his chest, “think he's real tough likes to beat up on nerds,” he threw his hands up to his eyes, forming mock glasses over them with his fingers touching the tip of his thumb, before letting his left hand fall back to his side crossing his neck with the index finger of his right hand, now thirty six seconds into the track. “Now I’m a make this clear so be sure and not forget,” forty seconds in, and he turned to face his invisible audience, making a gregarious waving gesture with his right arm before turning back to his opponent. “this one's no fool and on you his mind is dead-set,” forty three seconds in, and Jimmy had pointed with his right index finger to his own head, and then towards Tom’s, poking it out towards him a second time to emphasize the words dead-set. “Pick my teeth when I'm through just like I do with your chicken,” forty seven seconds in, and Jimmy had half shouted ‘teeth’ and ‘through’ in exaggerated emphasis, his right hand holding an imagined tooth pick after the emphasis and poking at his bared fake grill with it. “Colonel's dry ass words, bunk ass spit 'bout to be stricken,” fifty one seconds in, and Jimmy had violently maneuvered his right hand from his face to the side of his right hip in something like a karate chop.

“By rhymes mines be the Illlest,” fifty three seconds in and he had made the decision to pick up the pace with these next few rhymes knowing full well that his time would be out soon. Grasping his belt with both hands Jimmy swayed his hips full circle moving clockwise from twelve, thrusting his hips forward when they came to rest back at twelve. “Cracker up in here's be 'da Liiimpest,” fifty five, and he had stuck his right hand back out toward Tom, his right index finger hanging limply as he cocked his head to his right shoulder while contorting his facial features into an exaggerated frown. “Retreat I Suuggest, Fool ah-ain't be Diistressed,” fifty seven seconds in and his head was back at attention over his shoulder, having turned his body to the side and taking two steps backwards in mock retreat. “By yo funk ass Prrotest, youse a five buck fill up at-best," fifty nine seconds and time, Jimmy twirled in a circle, hands coming in front of himself in mock holding of a KFC bucket, right hand picking at a fake drumstick and carrying it to his face. “Freestyle rap, randomized beats, frt'y seconds awer less, no stealin' established con'en' an' shit. Thee win I get deese f@#$ers ter go. I win I get yaaahr shoes. Deal, innit?” Of course he wasn’t going to lose to Colonel Sanders in a rap battle. But if he did he had no actual power to get the LARPers to go anywhere, and would concede defeat and tell this guy he was going back to the park to tell everyone to go home before instead telling them a side quest was on to slay an infamous band of orcs who had set up in a dungeon just over at Kentucky’s house there, with the owner’s permission of course, just give him a few minutes to get shit ready for them. That should make for an excellent sight when his girlie showed up, thirty odd mostly fat young adults with foam swords checking under every rock for orcs and occasionally hitting one another while he gathered his group up and got the f@#$ out of this state.



“White bread here think he's real good with words, think he's real tough likes to beat up on nerds,
Now I’m a make this clear so be sure and not forget, this one's no fool and on you his mind is dead-set.
Pick my teeth when I'm through just like I do with your chicken, Colonel's dry ass words, bunk ass spit 'bout to be stricken,
By rhymes mines be the Illlest, Cracker up in here's be 'da Liiimpest,
Retreat I Suuggest, Fool ah-ain't be Diistressed,
By yo funk ass Prrotest, youse a five buck fill up at-best,"

@Liliya

"Fine, but if I win ya get off my lawn and don't come back."

Tom crossed his arms and glowered at the invisible audience through his shades as his opponent rapped. At one point during the Colonel jibe Tom threw up his arms as if to accept the jeers from the crowd, patting at the air.

"All right son, lemme show ya how it's done..."

----
"So I'm from Kentucky, I look like I make chicken, it's 'cause I'm legit son, you're the one needs a dickin'.
Yeah, I'm real South, you substitute with a metal mouth, learned your shit off PaRappa the Rapper, could fit that skill in a used gum wrapper,
Initiative, I got, rolled up on you with fury, scary, you only roll dice and that roll says you won't marry,
Single, like the Virgin Mary, the only sex you'll get'll be with that fat hobbit, same sex, just stop it, don't wanna see so gimme my check,
Next time you talk chicken, don't do it with a mouthful of Shrek."

Well then, that was a development. When the Colonel over here had accepted Jimmy’s challenge he had half expected the guy to straight up flop as soon as the beat kicked in, just mumble out some words that either made sense and didn’t rhyme or rhymed but were like “same, bane, lane, kane,” kind of shit. Who would have expected this KFC looking backwoods fool to instead put together a competent string of rhymes and even throw a couple funny ones into the mix, Jimmy even chuckled at that Shrek bit. His shit eating grin had widened further along his cosmetically darkened visage, silvered teeth bared ever so slightly more visibly with each passing rhyme, his eyes increasingly alert, hungry and wildly alive behind the jet sclera of his sunglasses, and settled in a tunnel direct to Kentucky. A real competitor, if only a washed up country bumpkin of a challenger, it appeared that he still had some life left in him to wriggle out by his neck. Mac was clearly distressed by this turn of events, and his desire to get the hell out of Dodge and lack of understanding as to how his having been smacked by a random hick had somehow turned into an impromptu rap battle on the guy’s front lawn didn’t take a nat one spot check to notice, but Jimmy turned his head slightly in his direction and gave him a thumbs up. If the best this guy could do was make a couple off handed comments about virgins and gamers than his shoes were about to make a mighty fine trophy on Mac’s basement wall. He wasn’t paying enough attention to the park at this point to notice that Kenzie was rounding Dahl up and heading over their way, or even to notice that a couple of the more adventurous LARPers had walked over and were standing on the edge of the park watching the show, one was even shooting a video of it on her phone, but he wouldn’t have cared even if he knew. His beat was about to drop, and the only thing on his mind was blood, words and those f@#$ing white leather penny loafers.



Jimmy half jumped half hopped in time with the beat dropping twenty seven seconds into the track that had just clicked on over the randomized playlist, putting his silver-white silk and fingerless wrist covering black leather gloved right hand to his chin, as though stroking the beard he didn’t wear. “So this is the Real South then? Well give my apologies to your Sister,” thirty seconds along the track he slung his left hand out to his side and made a fist with the arm bent at a ninety degree angle at the elbow and raised the right hand a few inches off of and above his chin in a mock kickboxer’s low guard, “No offense to her but I’m about to put the Smack Down on her Mister,” thirty three second in now, and he momentarily stuck out his tongue, turned his right fist palm toward the floor and pointed his right thumb at his head in an Undertaker impersonation. “Yeah I roll dice, play games, swing foam blades in spades,” thirty six seconds into the track, and his left foot kicked back into a ninety degree angle towards his left while his right foot pointed straight on towards Kentucky, his left hand holding an imagined gauche dagger at guard just over his left breast at a forty five degree angle and his right swashing at the air with an invisible cut and thrust rapier. “And I might be a LARPer but this ain’t no Game of Thrones,” thirty nine seconds in, and he shifted his weight and half pirouetted on his rear foot, at least so well as he could in leather work boots and having traded his jacket and slacks in for a leather jerkin and fantasy inspired and dressed up motorcycle chaps, before beginning into a simple box step waltz hands raised to grasp a partner’s, rapping as he danced. “I’m not saying I expect southern ladies to be innocent maids,” forty two seconds in, and step, one two, step one two, side step, and dipping his invisible partner low as he said the last words of his next line, “But your auntie-sister-cousin’s mouth ain’t no place to put your Family Stones,”.

Jimmy clacked his boots together and grabbed at his crotch to emphasize the last bit of his sentiment before launching into a swift dash of words, faster by far this time than last, evidently building towards something at the end and intending on slamming it all through just in time. “I Slaay mighty dragons, drain flagons, load my looted treasures in wagons without Appeal,” forty six seconds in and the pace was quickening, his right hand having been raised to his head level before being violently swiped to the side as his feet parted and he shifted his weight into a more aggressive, forward learning stance. “You Laaay your piggies, like ‘em biggies, smoke your ciggies down in the barn ‘n make ‘em Squeal,” forty seven seconds and change, his hands falling to his waist while he crudely slapped at an imagined pig’s ass and thrust his hips forward, “My Rhymes grand Designs whole damn lot of them Primes which reveal my spirit’s Genteel,” forty nine seconds, and his right foot crossed behind his left leg toe towards the street while he mock bowed to his opponent, head up and eyes forward all the while, “Your Chimes petty crimes, pay dimes, explains why you live in a shitty ass Fifth Wheel,” fifty one and change and just enough time to belt out the last of his thoughts. “But ‘ya know Jaime boy, I wish you, the pigs, and your sister-auntie-cousin girlfriend all the best, You enjoy those three little piglets of your’s in your stapled cardboard castle while it lasts, even if it’s Slumming,” fifty four seconds and it was going to be real tight, though he still took the time to grasp at his throat, blow a mock kiss toward Kentucky and mime out himself climbing up onto something and taking a swan dive off of a high tower before finishing things up. “And it is for you, I can tell from your Southern Slaver Chic, let me guess, daddy had lots of money, lots of ambitions, lots of hopes, dreams for you, but you failed his test? Couldn’t live up, couldn’t matter, you were just too Weak, but heed my words player, this I do attest, I’m the real King Slayer, bringing the North down on you bitch, yeah Winter is Coming.” fifty seven seconds barely, and though he refrained from gasping for air in front of his opponent that last barrage had left Jimmy winded. He’d have to take a few deep breaths to recover from that one, but he hoped the words might have stung and irritated Kentucky a bit, he knew it would elicit a few biting laughs from the crowd. They were too nerdy not to catch some of the shit he snuck into that one.



So this is the Real South then? Well give my apologies to your sister,
No offense to her but I’m about to put the Smack Down on her mister,
Yeah I roll dice, play games, swing foam blades in spades,
And I might be a LARPer but this ain’t no Game of Thrones,
I’m not saying I expect southern ladies to be innocent maids,
But your auntie-sister-cousin’s mouth ain’t no place to put your Family Stones,

I Slaay mighty dragons, drain flagons, load my looted treasures in wagons without Appeal,
You Laaay your piggies, like ‘em biggies, smoke your ciggies down in the barn ‘n make ‘em Squeal,
My Rhymes grand Designs whole damn lot of them Primes which reveal my spirit’s Genteel,
Your Chimes petty crimes, pay dimes, explains why you live in a shitty ass Fifth Wheel,

But ‘ya know Jaime boy, I wish you, the pigs, and your sister-auntie-cousin girlfriend all the best,
You enjoy those three little piglets of your’s in your stapled cardboard castle while it lasts, even if it’s Slumming,
And it is for you, I can tell from your Southern Slaver Chic, let me guess, daddy had lots of money, lots of ambitions, lots of hopes, dreams for you, but you failed his test?
Couldn’t live up, couldn’t matter, you were just too Weak, but heed my words player, this I do attest, I’m the real King Slayer, bringing the North down on you bitch, yeah Winter is Coming.

@Liliya

Tom took up a low power stance, extending a hand towards a large nerd eating out of a box of Popeyes. As if on instinct,
the nerd chucked a fried chicken leg at Tom, who knocked out a rapid fire spell from between his lips.

"WeeMan Shinkickums!"

Wee Man from Jackass stepped into reality as if emerging from an invisible curtain, snatching the chicken leg out of the air and taking a greasy bite, before handing it over to Tom's waiting left hand whereupon it found use as a mic.

"Ooh, bringing family into it, huh? Okay boy. Now it's personal. Lemme show you who you're dealin' with."

---



"Talkin' 'bout my faaaamily stones, but you ain't Sly, my kin may be Southern but they don't roll that way, defy, pay for your sins, live again as my bitch, every day goin' by you'll know which wizard is real,
Feeeeel it, difference 'tween me and you, you live in your mom's basement, encasement in the Elder Scrolls, erasement of your soul, barely had one, was a sad one, chimpanzee in a zoo.

Moooom! Where's my sandwich? My boys need mo' chips! (At this point Tom began rapping at a fiery 250 words per minute) You work your momma like a wife, take a knife, make some dip outta your social life, born white, wanna be black, already a token, Tolkein, in the hood on a Segway, Hip to be Square, no way, Wierd Al already laid claim to you, Too White n' Nerdy, wannabe dirty, go back to ya lair, go sit on the loo watchin' Pornhub, VoldemortXIce Cube like a real boob, can't drink Bud, underaged, not lit, still too old to be doin' this shit."

Jimmy let out a loud yawn as most of the crowd, at first attracted to their presence by the promise of what might have been a mildly entertaining distraction from the day's long hours of mock combat in the form of a rap battle on some guy's front lawn, made for the most part one of three equally embarrassing decisions. In light of the blatant display of magic on the part of the cracker in white many just pissed themselves and started running in terror, other, braver sorts were now pulling out their phones and recording the magic show without a f@#$ given towards the rap that made up the substance of the dispute, and several were now staring dumbfounded at what they had just witnessed clearly without enough wherewithal to make any sort of decision as to their next move. Mac for one looked like the only thing keeping him from running along with many of the others was the sheer amount of concentration he was expending simply to keep from fainting on the spot, a mental back and forth visible in his eyes between the competing forces of rationalization of what he had just witnessed and the underlying, lizard-brain horror of what it might mean that this random guy might actually have the power to command little people to appear out of thin air, and the fears of what that would actually mean in the grand scheme of things as well as for his immediate chances of walking out of this encounter in one piece and without developing severe traumatic psychological damage. Perhaps the guy with the fake grill and an apparent lack of interest in his opponent’s ability to conjure TV personalities into being out of thin air had seen similar displays of magical prowess before, though that would have seemed rather unlikely given he had been chance met at a live action roleplaying event primarily aimed towards young adults who fantasized magic rather than understood the actual dangers represented by individuals who could bend the nature of reality with their minds. Perhaps he was just insane, or convinced that it had been an elaborate display of common smoke and mirror street magic.



Either way, it didn’t stop him from busting into his routine the second the beat dropped. Sixteen seconds into the track and he was as ready as he was ever going to be, taking one last deep breath a moment before jumping to attention and taking a long step forward with his right foot. “Oohh, look out y’all, we got a Bad-Ass Over Here," seventeen seconds and change, and Jimmy threw his hands up in the air, turning his feet around in a circle as though to elicit a response from the remaining audience members. He knew that the kind of pace Kentucky here had belted during that last bit wasn't something most people were going to beat, but just because his opponent was fast didn't mean Jimmy wasn't gonna try and out-do his bitch ass. "With just two words he made his favorite Lad-Lass Appear," nineteen seconds in, and Jimmy was looking Wee Man square in the eye while making thrusting motions with his hips in his direction, in a mock imitation of what he figured Kentucky's main purpose in summoning him from out of nowhere must be on a regular basis. If this whole thing turned into an actual brawl, he already knew that he was gonna take him and use him as a human club to beat this magic slinging dirtbag. "Bet that’s real useful for You, really gets you Going, Need him bothering your Boo, to get her juices Flowing," he had picked up the pace now, double time, and twenty seconds and change into the track his mind was made up to belt this out as quickly as he possibly could, regardless of the consequences for the rest of the exchange. He had plenty to say, little time to say it, and he knew it. "We all know your auntie-sister-cousin really don’t like Him, But you need him sneakin’ ‘round to keep things the way she likes it, Grim," twenty two seconds and he picked up the pace further, half of the words leaving his mouth barely enunciated, but the crowd would have caught the gist and Kentucky, who was being faced and rapped at directly, would likely catch every word.

"What’s next? Gonna summon some seven foot Amazonian to help you Out? Thought my Lannister thing was over, why you just gonna go and reinforce It? Spitting my own accolades, spinning my own web, more interesting tales I’d Spout, But some Southern slaver using magic to control little people just made this Bit," twenty four seconds, he'd have to do better if he was going to finish in time. His left arm outstretched palm up as though he was holding something, Jimmy then tucked this invisible object to his chest and began rubbing at it with his right hand, presumably an imagined lamp given the context. “Master Kentucky Fried Cracker, I bestow upon thee three Wishes. Whatever thy desire shall be granted Thee. For I am a great and powerful Genie, whose might and grandeur could make you a King,” twenty seven seconds, and he had taken a step to the side with his hands at his hips, before taking a step and turning about face, reprising his second character, clearly meant to be Kentucky. “Why Genie, I wish for the ability to summon little men by spoken command so as to make them my Bitches, To posess the ivory raiment of Colonel Kay Ef Cracker so that I might be the most finely bedecked at afternoon Tea, And for the great feat of commanding hundreds of words a minute with which at my many small bitches I shall Fling, Orders, expand my family’s Borders, None of that matters much to me, but ‘till the wars are Won my auntie-sister-cousin girlie has me by the Pe, --,” Jimmy grabbed at his crotch to emphasize the point, though he didn’t break his concentration nor his barrage of half-enunciated words. “Mad about it so I pick on Nerds,” he made a fist and hit an imagined passerby, nearly actually hitting Mac, though whether or not that was intentional given his lack of situational awareness in his hyper focused state was impossible to say. “Sad the fighting’ shedding lighting on her loyalties fickle as Birds,” he flapped his arms before making a grapping motion with both hands. “Catch her with the guy from the supermarket fish section Again?”

“Batch of fresh new worries got you thinking ‘bout some other guy who could buy her Champaign?” he poured from an imagined bottle into a stemmed glass before moving his hand as though tipping it in Kentucky’s direction. “Difference between you and me is I ain’t worried ‘bout tryin ‘a hook up with my Family, Vociference of personality and character when I throw down don’t do so Clamily,” he pointed a thumb directly to his chest with his right hand, never missing a beat. “All that propels me, drives me, fuels Me, Brawl all day see, it’d be, best to Flee, While you still can ‘fore those sad rhymes of your's elicit Boos, I’ll gladly take a hand from you and our lovely audience in addition to your Shoes," Jimmy pointed first to his right hand with his left before making a slashing motion at it with an imagined axe or blade, and then bowed low to what was left of the audience, at least half of the reason for the low bow being that he could hide his face long enough to take several brittle, gasping attempts at getting oxygen back into his blood stream. He felt like he was going to pass out, and he knew he’d have to do this all over again in a minute, but if he could help it he sure as shit wasn’t gonna let the audience or Kentucky see him squirm. Best case scenario he got his point across to Kenzie, whose boots he could see some ten feet behind him out of the corner of his eye with his head and back bent so low, and he might elicit some applause from the crowd mostly spawned by her egging them on to it. He knew most of them weren’t actually listening to a word either of them were saying or he would have won after this, instead more preoccupied with Wee Man’s sudden appearance at the magical behest of his opponent, but there was still a chance his far superior burnage might elicit some favor from the masses. Who knows, maybe his opponent would take something personally, throw his shoes off and stomp back into his house.



“Oohh, look out y’all, we got a Bad-Ass Over Here,"
With just two words he made his favorite Lad-Lass Appear,
Bet that’s real useful for You, really gets you Going,
Need him bothering your Boo, to get her juices Flowing,
We all know your auntie-sister-cousin really don’t like Him,
But you need him sneakin’ ‘round to keep things the way she likes it, Grim,

What’s next? Gonna summon some seven foot Amazonian to help you Out?
Thought my Lannister thing was over, why you just gonna go and reinforce It?
Spitting my own accolades, spinning my own web, more interesting tales I’d Spout,
But some Southern slaver using magic to control little people just made this Bit,

Master Kentucky Fried Cracker, I bestow upon thee three Wishes.
Whatever thy desire shall be granted Thee.
For I am a great and powerful Genie, whose might and grandeur could make you a King,
Why Genie, I wish for the ability to summon little men by spoken command so as to make them my Bitches,
To posess the ivory raiment of Colonel Kay Ef Cracker so that I might be the most finely bedecked at afternoon Tea,
And for the great feat of commanding hundreds of words a minute with which at my many small bitches I shall Fling,

Orders, expand my family’s Borders, None of that matters much to me, but ‘till the wars are Won my auntie-sister-cousin girlie has me by the Pe, --, Mad about it so I pick on Nerds, Sad the fighting’ shedding lighting on her loyalties fickle as Birds, Catch her with the guy from the supermarket fish section Again? Batch of fresh new worries got you thinking ‘bout some other guy who could buy her Champaign? Difference between you and me is I ain’t worried ‘bout tryin ‘a hook up with my Family, Vociference of personality and character when I throw down don’t do so Clamily, All that propels me, drives me, fuels Me, Brawl all day see, it’d be, best to Flee, While you still can ‘fore those sad rhymes of your's elicit Boos, I’ll gladly take a hand from you and our lovely audience in addition to your Shoes,"

@Liliya

"Alright you hairy sack of nerd, I've had enough of-"

Tom was cut off by a chorus of angry yells and slurs. He whirled around to find a dozen black people charging into the yard.

"There's the slaver!"

"Git that cracka! Git 'em!"

Tom began backing away, shaking his head fervently.

"Naw, listen, ya got it all wrong boys, I'm not racist, that geek's just making shit up! Wait, NO!"

The mob descended upon Tom and beat the crap out of him. Several minutes later he lay sprawled on the ground, shades cracked, suit torn, shoes missing, and blood running down his face. With a shaking hand, he slowly shuffled a cigarette out of a mashed pack and stuck it into the crook of his mouth.
It took several tries to light up. Taking stock of his situation as studied the sky, Tom came to a conclusion.

"Okay, fuck, you win. You can stay. Just... Don't dress up the neighbor's dachshund like a dragon and chase it around or anything."