Since I'm in such a fan of fight scenes (and need more damn practice on them), this post will eventually become a moment with my three Rs.
The scenario is simple: Sorano wins (by some damn luck) four tickets to a swanky restaurant in the core of Camphoreon City. He chooses to save a ticket for Lilith and himself and hands the other two off to Moose and Len. However, remembering that there seems to be some tension between the two . . . he cancels his idea to invite Lili and decides to become an anchor to better the relationship between his sister and best bud. So yadda, yadda, yadda, Adrian and Len are at each others' wits the entire night until both snap and full on brawl. No, this is not a battle by Pokemon. It is all claws and kicks, peeps. So, they ruin the nights of a thousand and one couples, cause hundreds of dollars in damages, and bring the restaurant's reputation to its knees. Do I mention they totally roll across a feast table? They totally roll across a feast table. Eventually, the fight is broken up and the two are a battered mess. Who wins? Well, you're gonna have to wait 'til I type up the damn thing.
Considering I'm a bit down and the dumps, this post is just for note. Nothing to taken seriously from this as it is just practice, this is just me trying to jump-start a dead charm for a place I chose to openly push aside when it came to arpee.
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*Note :: This journal is told from the POV of an outside pair of eyes. In other words, some other lowly and anonymous grunt none seems to know. They are insignificant to the plot and will not exist outside this journal story (unless I choose to do another exterior view of my characters.) Enjoy.
It wasn't really uncommon to see higher-ups in the Grunt bathrooms. They came and went like any other living being with their own reasons. Six times out of ten, the
R superiors couldn't reach their own posh, porcelain, and cotton cushioned butt seats to take a dump. Hell, even I'd settle for the this graffiti ridden mess of a stall over white painted walls if my bladder was ready to explode. That seemed to be the case of the fella in the next stall over. He seemed as though he was letting down a storm . . . bowl water was creating oceans on the tiled floors. He and I had walked in the same time and for once, I thought I was gonna be the unlucky piece of s**t to be drinking toilet water by an Agent who liked to abuse their power. This fella looked like a jerk -- squint eyed and an unruly mess of teal hair. He towered over me like that Pizza tower . . . Pizazz tower . . . whatever. But all he seemed to do was want to take a painful sounding s**t. It gave me a great sigh of relief.
He seemed to take his leave with a relieved sigh of his own, skipping out of the stall without a second thought of washing his grubby, probably s**t smeared hands. Seriously, pity to the guy or gal who happened to be slapped across the face with 'em. What bothered me most was the ******** left his poop water puddles all over the neighboring stall. I admit, I'm a clean freak. I can't help it, untidy areas make me want to rip off my own skin and start using it as a wipe rag. I was forced to take a jaunty trip to the janitorial closet to fetch myself a mop and soak up the mess. It was a long walk as the only open j-closet was in the floor above the basements, a backup closet of sorts, but it was worth it to save another fellow grunt man from losing his lunch over the sight in stall number three.
I held by nose as I threw the door open, but I wasn't met with some scene out of a scat fetish novel. No, the stall was incredibly clean with a plunger leaned up against the side glistening with a fresh film of toilet water. Of course, here, I remained confused. So the guy wasn't taking a crap. He was . . . unclogging the toilet? What for? It seemed as though he didn't do a great job . . . the toilet burbled a little as water tried to seek its way down the pipes. Sigh. Were some of the Agent just complete idiots? Instead of leaving the mess to
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