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Episode
011 |
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Restless Apathy Ledger
Richards Age
– 23 Current
Occupation – College student (senior) Martial
Arts Accolades – Instructor Status in Shaolin Kung Fu and Hung Gar Kung Fu; Advanced
Student in Dim Mak/Chi Kung, in-depth knowledge of over seven other
individual martial arts Age
sworn to the Oath of Chivalry – 15 Designation
– Knight-Errant Weapon
of Choice – Sawed-off Shotgun Roland threw the doors open,
standing in the restaurant’s entrance like a sovereign king. The light from the waiting room shown down
on him like mandorla while he held out his hands wide, his palms upturned as
if he was letting the setting sun itself shine by his graciousness. At the hostess station, the two
girls stopped in mid-sentence, staring at him with an unimpressed mix of
disgust and shock. Roland smiled to the two girls,
his eyes settling on the farther one with red highlights in her dark brown
hair. He opened his mouth about to speak
when Ledger shoved him out of the way.
“Six please,” he said in a quick tone, not even batting an eyelash at
the sounds of a painful crash coming from behind him. “Just a minute,” said the
red-highlighted hostess before conferring with her blonde-haired associate. Ledger turned around to where
Roland had been shoved between the waiting benches. “You okay?” Ledger asked, extending his
hand. “Yeah,” Roland said, accepting the
help up. “Some jackass just shoved me,
though.” “He must have been a charming and
intrepid individual,” Ledger said as he righted Roland. “I’d go with ugly and smelly, but,
you know, whatever.” In the twilight hours, the
local-name restaurant sat in the middle of a suburban shopping center. Like a sentry for the gigantic grocery
store in the center of the large mini-mall, the casual grille stood alone in
its own corner of the parking lot that stretched practically into the
horizon. “You’ve got to learn how to make
an entrance,” Roland insisted as he sat down at the round table, Ledger
sitting across from him. “You’ve got
have some style, some pinash, you gotta have zing, baby!” he exclaimed,
snapping his fingers. “You’ve been drinking Jolt and Red
Bull again, haven’t you?” Ledger asked, looking through the menu as the hostess
placed down glasses of water. In the
casual restaurant, nick-knacks of all types lined the walls while imports
posters for famous movies and props and mock-ups of classic records
accentuated the false nostalgia of the atmosphere. Hit songs from six years ago played just
loudly enough to have to be talked over. “Not at the same time, no,” Roland
insisted as he nodded to the hostess, sipping his water. “The point is, style man. That’s what it’s all about.” Ledger folded up his menu and sat
it down. He crossed his arms and
leaned on the table, giving Roland his undivided attention. “That’s what what is all about?” Roland blinked. “What?” “What,” Ledger repeated. “You said style; that’s what it’s all
about. What?” Roland looked confused. “What is style all about?” Roland blinked again, then turned
away. “I’m going to go see if they’ve
got any good arcade games.” Armand pushed open the doors to
the restaurant, “Hi,” Armand said, approaching the
hostess station where a single blonde-haired girl in the restaurant’s uniform
waited. “We’re here with a large
party,” he said, gesturing to himself and Everett. “Two people should already be here. Either a professional-looking man and
woman; the man should be a bit older and the woman’s a blonde. Or…”
He paused, his words failing him.
He thought for a moment, then looked back at “Or a semi-gangsta-looking black
guy and a jackass,” The hostess suddenly smiled
tight-lipped and pointed towards the far side of the restaurant. “Oh boy,” Armand grumbled, following her
gesture. “It’s going to be one of those
nights,” Ledger looked up from the menu to
see Armand and Everett approaching. He
smiled as they sat down, holding out menus to them. “The special’s chicken something,” he said
with an edge of disdain in an otherwise monotone voice. “Beef,” “Fried beef,” Armand countered in
as deep a voice as he could muster. “Buttered, fried beef,” “Buttered, fried beef, with
fries,” Armand demanded, banging on the table. The glasses of water nearly jumped at the
impact, making the three knights start in surprise. They glared comically at him in unison. Edgar opened the door to the
restaurant, holding it politely for “Or just classically late,” Edgar
said, folding his trench coat over his arm.
“Good evening,” he said dashingly to the hostess. “We’re here with a large party.” “We’ve got four different groups
right now,” the girl said with a southern smile. “Are you with the church?” “Oh no,” The hostess was about say more
when she processed both Edgar’s and “He’s Indian,” “And if we say yes,” Edgar
ventured with mock caution, “will we be starting the evening off on the wrong
foot?” Roland glanced over She froze, then slumped her
shoulders. “You suck,” she said. As she approached the chair between Everett
and Armand, the five male knights all rose, standing as “No,” Edgar stopped halfway into folding
his jacket. He lingered for a moment,
trying to think of a comeback, then consoled himself with grumbling violently
under his breath. “It’s been a while since we’ve all
been together,” “No, but maybe next week,” |
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