Quarantine, Day Twenty - Entry Two

Notebrains:

1. More Colleen snark. Gotta love it. Unless you're Jeff, in which case you're probably going

2. As a kid growing up on N.Y. Mets baseball, I know who Ralph Kiner is. Some of you may not. Therefore, I give you this:

http://en.wikipedia....iki/Ralph_Kiner

And this:

http://en.wikipedia....ki/Phil_Rizzuto

Since I also grew up on N.Y. Yankees baseball.

3. Apparently, the Colleen/Clara scene (It's a flashback, of course) is a JMS thing, and he did it in B5. I have a very vague recollection of that. But more recently, I saw it in an issue of Spider-Man. (It's Peter and MJ having lunch.) I just had to steal it.

4. Also, yes. Coll is a bit of a comic nerd. More than a bit. Sorry. Nerd girl alert.

5. For those of you worried, you can relax a little. Those two crazy kids will make nice soon enough. I had to reassure MG there'd be no "make-up sex," though. (Snort)



There won't be any. It'd be weird.

-----

Quarantine Day Twenty
Entry Two

What do I say? I say I’m an idiot. That’s what I say.

It’s cold, it’s damp, and there are zombies, everywhere. And instead of sitting somewhere warm and dry, maybe cozying up next to a nice fire, and ideally, a really, really, really, ridiculously good-looking vascular surgeon, I’m freezing my skinny butt off, and trying not to get turned into lunchmeat.

Decisions, decisions: sexy babe in a labcoat, or… not getting turned into bologna. Tough call. Damned if I could make -that- decision without Divine Guidance.

I stared down the sighting aperture of my issue, lined the metal pin up with the head of the zombie shuffling slowly in my direction, pulled the trigger… and somehow still managed to miss the shot completely. I did, however, manage to put a hole the size of a .40 cal round into a tattered poster of a Calvin Klein model hanging off the side of a wrecked commuter bus about twenty yards away. I’m sure the zombies were suitably impressed by my unparalleled display of superior marksmanship… not that they’d show it if they were.

“Square your shoulders, more, Colleen. And don’t yank on the trigger. Just give it a little squeeze. Too much force will screw up your aim,” Jeff said, putting a round right between the eyes of his own target. The impact jarred the zombie quite a bit; it teetered on two feet for a brief moment before pitching over backwards and toppling like a knocked-over domino.

Jeff pulled another pistol mag from the pouch belted to his hip, ejected the empty, tucked it into his pack, and slapped in the new one.

“What?” I asked, irritably. The zed in front of me was sloooowly making his way towards me, giving me plenty of time to drop him – provided I could actually hit the damn shot. Unfortunately, it seemed that was becoming only less and less likely as time went on. I took aim again, fired again, and missed again – not as badly this time, but I still somehow managed to nick mainland China several thousand miles away. The target I was shooting at... was about thirty feet away. Funny how that works.

“You missed three out of your last five shots, Colleen,” Jeff replied, casually. “The way you’re shooting now, you probably couldn’t hit water if you fell out of a boat. It’s gotta be your firing stance and your trigger work – both are a little sloppy, which is why a lot of your shots are going wide.”

I sent a glance askew at him, one pregnant with murder, but he was too busy concentrating on downing targets to pay any attention to me. The good news was, I still had my voice, and using that didn’t require any visual contact. “Ah. I see, Sensei; I understand. Now let me tell you something: if I wanted your opinion, I’d have cudgeled it out of you by now. So why don’t you just keep your ‘suggestions’ to yourself, all right?”

I heard him stifle a sigh. “Look. Just trust me on this one, ok?”

There was a brief skirmish amongst the various factions that inhabited my brain. Some were encouraging me to take the man’s advice. Others were protesting that he didn’t know what he was talking about… and still others suggested, ad extremis, I’ll admit, that Jeff and his big mouth were too annoying to be allowed to live, and that premeditated murder was a totally appropriate and viable response.

I entertained the notion of putting a bullet in the back of his head… entertained it for about a second or two, then gave up on it. See, if I killed him, Clara would hear about it. She always found out about things like that… like that one time Jeff and I got completely blitzed out of our minds and took turns trying to pee into a trash can in the park. That… was difficult. Funny, but… still difficult.

Heh. Especially the part where I tried climbing up on the bench, and this old lady, walking her dog, came by just when I was trying to twist my leg to-

Uh… never mind.

Point is, I don’t know how she did it. Maybe she was secretly a spy for the government and had tons of clandestine informants everywhere. Maybe she had psychic powers. Or maybe she could time travel and had seeded copies of herself everywhere and every-when for the inevitable day when Dennis Rodman’s people, the Giant Bug-Men from Pluto, came to Earth to steal all our nachos and make the rivers run red with Chili con Carne. Whatever it was, and however it was accomplished, it was pretty effective at keeping me in mortal terror of her.

In conclusion, I shoot Jeff, and my sister, hell bent on sweet, bloody vengeance, makes the rest of my (very likely) short existence an exercise in excruciating pain – probably something involving a pair of needle-nosed pliers and fingernail removal. Figured I’d take a pass on that. Plus, I’d miss the occasional mani/pedi.

Instead, I did what he suggested. Tightened up my firing stance and tried to finesse the pistol’s trigger a little more. First shot I fired put a nice, solid hole in the forehead of the nearest zombie. And he had to have been at least thirty feet away.

Ok, no. That was a fluke, right? Had to have been a fluke.

I sighted up again and fired, and for reasons I have yet to determine, Ralph Kiner decided to start doing the play-by-play in my head.

High fly-ball, hit deeeeeep to left field… it is going, going… it is gone, goodbye!

Holy cow!

Ok. That was Phil Rizzuto, not Kiner. Um. Yeah. Anyway… moving on.

So… Jeff was right. Fine. Whatever. I went six for six before I had to reload with a fresh magazine. It was probably the longest streak of consecutive hits I’d ever had. Big freakin’ whoop.

Another on his side of the street went down, and things started to become a whole lot quieter than they had been just a minute ago. We could still hear zombies groaning in the distance, but we were at least managing to clear out the immediate area – buying everyone in the mall (including ourselves) a little breathing room for a while. Jeff tossed a look in my direction. “There’s a few more still shambling around over here, but not too many. Should have things wrapped up here in a bit. How’s it going on your end?”

I put away another target; this time it was some dessert chef (probably French – they always were) from one of those swanky, overpriced cafés in midtown. I recognized the logo on his clothes. I’d eaten there before… had lunch with Clara there one time, as a matter of fact… and hated it. Why? I’ll tell you why.

Clara: “I’ll have the salmon salad.”

Waiter: “Very good, madam, and to drink?”

Clara: “Iced tea.”

Waiter: “And you, madam?”

Me: “Can I get a burger, or something? I know it’s not on the menu, but-“

Waiter: “I’m sure the chef can approximate a burger if that is what the lady prefers.”

Me: “The lady prefers.”

Waiter: “And to drink?”

Me: “Coffee.”

Waiter: “I believe madam misunderstood. Would you care for something to drink?”

Me: “Yes, I’ll have a coffee.”

Waiter: “Madam-“

Me: “Do you have coffee?”

Waiter: “Coffee is considered by the café to be an after-lunch beverage. To be served with perhaps a nice chocolate mousse or a crème brulee should madam be so inclined – unless madam would prefer a popsicle, which I’m sure we can find at the local 7-Eleven – but in the happy interim, the café considers a during-lunch or drink to be, well, a drink, a Margarita, a martini, perhaps a cola –“

Me: “I… want… a… cup… of… coffee… right… now.”

Waiter: “Very well, madam knows best what she wants; nonetheless, coffee is not a drink, it’s a beverage…”

Me: “And you’re a piece of sh-“

Clara: “Colleen-“

And that was my sister for you – always playing peacemaker…

Damn it. I missed her. And my brother, too, actually. And Mom. And Dad. And Aunt Maddie. And Uncle Ben… er… not the guy who makes the rice, if you were wondering… and not Peter Parker’s uncle, either… though that might have been cool if… um… never mind…

But anyhow, where was I? Oh, right, the zombie chef staggering dispassionately in my direction… yeah, he had the look down completely – the white outfit, the goofy, billowy hat, and a rolling pin clutched in his decaying hand. A bullet to the neck made quick work of him. One shot, right through the throat, and he went down like a two-hundred-pound sack of flour.

Take that, Frenchie! I bet your Crème Brulee sucks!

“Colleen? Are you all right over- watch it!”

A set of jaws clacked together just shy of my neck, and I had to jump back to avoid the arm-swipe that followed it.

Damn it… get your priorities straight, Colleen… dodge first, mouth off second!

Jeff was giving me another one of those “I’m worried about you” looks. He’d gotten so “concerned,” he wasn’t paying all that much attention to the targets -he- was engaging – and yet he was still managing to keep his mind on at least two separate things without getting himself eaten in the process.

I was a little jealous of that ability.

Anyway, I called back to him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But I’d be better if I didn’t have this annoying loser chirping in my ear. You know how it is with those kinds of people – they just never know when to shut the hell up. Remind you of someone?” I said, my voice dripping with acid, “Someone named you?”

He shrugged, neutrally. “Just let me know if you need backup, ok?”

He went back to work and so did I. Armed with the ammo he’d managed to scrounge for me and the pointers he’d decided to share, I did pretty well for myself. I didn’t get myself killed (always a plus,) and I didn’t need to ask for help, either. And now the immediate area surrounding the mall, and all the way out to two blocks on either side, was clear. I was about ready to pack it in. I’d done my good deed for the day.

-----

Back inside, at the little niche I’d started thinking of as “base camp,” I sorted through my ammo supplies. I hadn’t used that much during the patrol, which was good, since I was sure that, at some point, I’d need every last bullet I had.

“You’ve only got two rounds left in this magazine. You might just want to pull them and stick them in with this one that’s half empty. Good way to get yourself into trouble, you know – reloading with a clip that’s only got a couple of shots left inside.”

I snatched the bit of tempered-plastic away from him, held it upside down, and tapped the bottom of it. Two .40 caliber rounds plopped into my palm and I began gingerly inserting them into one of the other mags. “I’m aware of that, yes. I may not be a member of Mensa, but I didn’t go to school on the little bus, either.”

He shrugged. Again. The unflappably calm shrugs were starting to piss me off. “Wasn’t implying anything like that,” he said. “Just thought I’d mention it in case it slipped your mind for a second… here… let me look at that.”

“Look at what?”

“The gun.”

“Why?”

“Just come on…” He held out his hand. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but… well… I guessed he must have been asking for a reason… and I figured there wasn’t much point to being petulant about it. I placed the weapon into the palm of his hand. In a couple of seconds he’d ejected the mag, made sure the firing chamber was empty, and started disassembling the thing. “Uh huh… yeah… you’ve got some powder residue inside,” he muttered as he worked. “You haven’t been cleaning it out enough. Gotta take care of that. You’re prone to jams and misfires and stuff if you don’t maintain the weapon properly. It’s not all that hard… all you need to do is-“

“I know how to field strip a pistol, thanks. They did teach us that at the academy.” I took the pieces of the gun back and wiped them down, making sure to clean off all the oil and grit that had accumulated on the parts. It was menial labor, but necessary.

“Well, I wasn’t sure how well you remembered,” he commented. “You never went to the range, much, so you wouldn’t have had all that much need to perform routine maintenance.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll manage. I haven’t gone senile just yet.”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“Whatever.”

4. Also, yes. Coll is a bit of a comic nerd. More than a bit. Sorry. Nerd girl alert.

Nothing wrong with a little nerdiness now and then.

5. For those of you worried, you can relax a little. Those two crazy kids will make nice soon enough. I had to reassure MG there'd be no "make-up sex," though. (Snort)

Okay, Mr. SnippyPants.. All I did was ask (and rather tongue-in-cheek, if you recall)..

There won't be any. It'd be weird.

Half your readers just dropped out.

Quarantine Day Twenty
Entry Two

What do I say? I say I’m an idiot. That’s what I say.

A little heel-of-the-hand-to-the-forehead exercise?

It’s cold, it’s damp, and there are zombies, everywhere. And instead of sitting somewhere warm and dry, maybe cozying up next to a nice fire, and ideally, a really, really, really, ridiculously good-looking vascular surgeon, I’m freezing my skinny butt off, and trying not to get turned into lunchmeat.

Decisions, decisions: sexy babe in a labcoat, or… not getting turned into bologna. Tough call. Damned if I could make -that- decision without Divine Guidance.

Hmmm.. I was having lunch while I read this. I should know better..

I stared down the sighting aperture of my issue, lined the metal pin up with the head of the zombie shuffling slowly in my direction, pulled the trigger… and somehow still managed to miss the shot completely. I did, however, manage to put a hole the size of a .40 cal round into a tattered poster of a Calvin Klein model hanging off the side of a wrecked commuter bus about twenty yards away. I’m sure the zombies were suitably impressed by my unparalleled display of superior marksmanship… not that they’d show it if they were.

This is... sad.

“Square your shoulders, more, Colleen. And don’t yank on the trigger. Just give it a little squeeze. Too much force will screw up your aim,” Jeff said, putting a round right between the eyes of his own target. The impact jarred the zombie quite a bit; it teetered on two feet for a brief moment before pitching over backwards and toppling like a knocked-over domino.

Jeff pulled another pistol mag from the pouch belted to his hip, ejected the empty, tucked it into his pack, and slapped in the new one.

“What?” I asked, irritably. The zed in front of me was sloooowly making his way towards me, giving me plenty of time to drop him – provided I could actually hit the damn shot. Unfortunately, it seemed that was becoming only less and less likely as time went on. I took aim again, fired again, and missed again – not as badly this time, but I still somehow managed to nick mainland China several thousand miles away. The target I was shooting at... was about thirty feet away. Funny how that works.

No, this isn't sad, Col... This is pathetic. This should be like shooting fish in a barrel, but easier..

“You missed three out of your last five shots, Colleen,” Jeff replied, casually. “The way you’re shooting now, you probably couldn’t hit water if you fell out of a boat. It’s gotta be your firing stance and your trigger work – both are a little sloppy, which is why a lot of your shots are going wide.”

*snicker* It's the trigger work.. (Err.. Did anyone check to see if she has her eyes open when she squeezes off a shot?)

I sent a glance askew at him, one pregnant with murder, but he was too busy concentrating on downing targets to pay any attention to me. The good news was, I still had my voice, and using that didn’t require any visual contact. “Ah. I see, Sensei; I understand. Now let me tell you something: if I wanted your opinion, I’d have cudgeled it out of you by now. So why don’t you just keep your ‘suggestions’ to yourself, all right?”

Listen to him, Col.. You can't afford not to.

I heard him stifle a sigh. “Look. Just trust me on this one, ok?”

There was a brief skirmish amongst the various factions that inhabited my brain. Some were encouraging me to take the man’s advice. Others were protesting that he didn’t know what he was talking about… and still others suggested, ad extremis, I’ll admit, that Jeff and his big mouth were too annoying to be allowed to live, and that premeditated murder was a totally appropriate and viable response.

He's probably thinking the same thing.. *snicker*

I entertained the notion of putting a bullet in the back of his head… entertained it for about a second or two, then gave up on it. See, if I killed him, Clara would hear about it. She always found out about things like that… like that one time Jeff and I got completely blitzed out of our minds and took turns trying to pee into a trash can in the park. That… was difficult. Funny, but… still difficult.

Heh. Especially the part where I tried climbing up on the bench, and this old lady, walking her dog, came by just when I was trying to twist my leg to-

Uh… never mind.

You know.. I just don't have an appropriate comment for this.. I don't even have an inappropriate comment for it.

Point is, I don’t know how she did it. Maybe she was secretly a spy for the government and had tons of clandestine informants everywhere. Maybe she had psychic powers. Or maybe she could time travel and had seeded copies of herself everywhere and every-when for the inevitable day when Dennis Rodman’s people, the Giant Bug-Men from Pluto, came to Earth to steal all our nachos and make the rivers run red with Chili con Carne. Whatever it was, and however it was accomplished, it was pretty effective at keeping me in mortal terror of her.

Sisters _know_. It's a hidden genetic/psychic/thingy.

In conclusion, I shoot Jeff, and my sister, hell bent on sweet, bloody vengeance, makes the rest of my (very likely) short existence an exercise in excruciating pain – probably something involving a pair of needle-nosed pliers and fingernail removal. Figured I’d take a pass on that. Plus, I’d miss the occasional mani/pedi.

Yes, no killing future family members allowed. Especially not now. You need him, Col, whether you want to admit, or not.

Instead, I did what he suggested. Tightened up my firing stance and tried to finesse the pistol’s trigger a little more. First shot I fired put a nice, solid hole in the forehead of the nearest zombie. And he had to have been at least thirty feet away.

Ahhhhhh... Sanity returns -- momentarily.

Ok, no. That was a fluke, right? Had to have been a fluke.

Probably.. *snicker*

I sighted up again and fired, and for reasons I have yet to determine, Ralph Kiner decided to start doing the play-by-play in my head.

High fly-ball, hit deeeeeep to left field… it is going, going… it is gone, goodbye!

Holy cow!

Ok. That was Phil Rizzuto, not Kiner. Um. Yeah. Anyway… moving on.

Wasn't the 'holy cow' originally Harry Carey (who may be one of the zoms there now).

So… Jeff was right. Fine. Whatever. I went six for six before I had to reload with a fresh magazine. It was probably the longest streak of consecutive hits I’d ever had. Big freakin’ whoop.

Six down and three-hundred-fifty-two thousand to go. You're right on it, girl!

Why? I’ll tell you why.

Clara: “I’ll have the salmon salad.”

Waiter: “Very good, madam, and to drink?”

Clara: “Iced tea.”

Waiter: “And you, madam?”

Me: “Can I get a burger, or something? I know it’s not on the menu, but-“

Waiter: “I’m sure the chef can approximate a burger if that is what the lady prefers.”

Me: “The lady prefers.”

Waiter: “And to drink?”

Me: “Coffee.”

Waiter: “I believe madam misunderstood. Would you care for something to drink?”

Me: “Yes, I’ll have a coffee.”

Waiter: “Madam-“

Me: “Do you have coffee?”

Waiter: “Coffee is considered by the café to be an after-lunch beverage. To be served with perhaps a nice chocolate mousse or a crème brulee should madam be so inclined – unless madam would prefer a popsicle, which I’m sure we can find at the local 7-Eleven – but in the happy interim, the café considers a during-lunch or drink to be, well, a drink, a Margarita, a martini, perhaps a cola –“

Me: “I… want… a… cup… of… coffee… right… now.”

Waiter: “Very well, madam knows best what she wants; nonetheless, coffee is not a drink, it’s a beverage…”

Me: “And you’re a piece of sh-“

Clara: “Colleen-“

And that was my sister for you – always playing peacemaker…

ROFL ROFL

Anyway, I called back to him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But I’d be better if I didn’t have this annoying loser chirping in my ear. You know how it is with those kinds of people – they just never know when to shut the hell up. Remind you of someone?” I said, my voice dripping with acid, “Someone named you?”

He shrugged, neutrally. “Just let me know if you need backup, ok?”

This guy is a saint.. I mean.. a veritable saint..

“Just come on…” He held out his hand. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but… well… I guessed he must have been asking for a reason… and I figured there wasn’t much point to being petulant about it. I placed the weapon into the palm of his hand. In a couple of seconds he’d ejected the mag, made sure the firing chamber was empty, and started disassembling the thing. “Uh huh… yeah… you’ve got some powder residue inside,” he muttered as he worked. “You haven’t been cleaning it out enough. Gotta take care of that. You’re prone to jams and misfires and stuff if you don’t maintain the weapon properly. It’s not all that hard… all you need to do is-“

“I know how to field strip a pistol, thanks. They did teach us that at the academy.” I took the pieces of the gun back and wiped them down, making sure to clean off all the oil and grit that had accumulated on the parts. It was menial labor, but necessary.

“Well, I wasn’t sure how well you remembered,” he commented. “You never went to the range, much, so you wouldn’t have had all that much need to perform routine maintenance.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll manage. I haven’t gone senile just yet.”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“Whatever.”

Ouch.. Col, you're treading on that thin borderline between being merely rude and being out-and-out abusive. Chill, girl, chill...

(Forget I _ever_ mentioned make-up sex between these two. It would be.. impossible. )

Nice job, Alpha..


MG

2. As a kid growing up on N.Y. Mets baseball, I know who Ralph Kiner is. Some of you may not. Therefore, I give you this:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ralph_Kiner

Why do you want me to read about baseball? Are you trying to bore me?

Since I also grew up on N.Y. Yankees baseball.

Aww, you poor thing. You have my condolences.

3. Apparently, the Colleen/Clara scene (It's a flashback, of course) is a JMS thing, and he did it in B5. I have a very vague recollection of that. But more recently, I saw it in an issue of Spider-Man. (It's Peter and MJ having lunch.) I just had to steal it.

Careful now, some of JMS’s ideas are just not worth stealing. Like the projectile-hurling ‘sexy’ weapons specialist in the ‘Legends of the Rangers’. Was he smoking pot when he came up with something so childishly idiotic?

5. For those of you worried, you can relax a little. Those two crazy kids will make nice soon enough. I had to reassure MG there'd be no "make-up sex," though. (Snort)

*wince* Trust MG to think of that.

Decisions, decisions: sexy babe in a labcoat, or… not getting turned into bologna. Tough call. Damned if I could make -that- decision without Divine Guidance.[/i]

Yeah… so I’m tempted to say this to all those stuck in the city with the zombies… LOSERS!

I sent a glance askew at him, one pregnant with murder, but he was too busy concentrating on downing targets to pay any attention to me. The good news was, I still had my voice, and using that didn’t require any visual contact. “Ah. I see, Sensei; I understand. Now let me tell you something: if I wanted your opinion, I’d have cudgeled it out of you by now. So why don’t you just keep your ‘suggestions’ to yourself, all right?”

Umm, Coll? Your skill with that rifle? It sucks and you know it.

I entertained the notion of putting a bullet in the back of his head… entertained it for about a second or two, then gave up on it. See, if I killed him, Clara would hear about it. She always found out about things like that… like that one time Jeff and I got completely blitzed out of our minds and took turns trying to pee into a trash can in the park. That… was difficult. Funny, but… still difficult.

Probably more difficult for you, Coll, unless there is something seriously odd about you.

Instead, I did what he suggested. Tightened up my firing stance and tried to finesse the pistol’s trigger a little more. First shot I fired put a nice, solid hole in the forehead of the nearest zombie. And he had to have been at least thirty feet away.

Ok, no. That was a fluke, right? Had to have been a fluke.

Of course it was! Just don’t listen to Jeff!

I put away another target; this time it was some dessert chef (probably French – they always were) from one of those swanky, overpriced cafés in midtown. I recognized the logo on his clothes. I’d eaten there before… had lunch with Clara there one time, as a matter of fact… and hated it. Why? I’ll tell you why.

That chef sounded like a real bastard. I don’t know why, but I think he deserved to die.

Waiter: “Coffee is considered by the café to be an after-lunch beverage. To be served with perhaps a nice chocolate mousse or a crème brulee should madam be so inclined – unless madam would prefer a popsicle, which I’m sure we can find at the local 7-Eleven – but in the happy interim, the café considers a during-lunch or drink to be, well, a drink, a Margarita, a martini, perhaps a cola –“

I’d tell him to take that crème brulee and soak his little pretentious ass in it.

Damn it. I missed her. And my brother, too, actually. And Mom. And Dad. And Aunt Maddie. And Uncle Ben… er… not the guy who makes the rice, if you were wondering…

I remember that. Strange, I no longer see Uncle Ben’s in our shops, I wonder why?

Take that, Frenchie! I bet your Crème Brulee sucks!

And your croissants have all gone stale now!

Anyway, I called back to him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But I’d be better if I didn’t have this annoying loser chirping in my ear. You know how it is with those kinds of people – they just never know when to shut the hell up. Remind you of someone?” I said, my voice dripping with acid, “Someone named you?”

She really needs to cut it out with this.

“Just come on…” He held out his hand. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but… well… I guessed he must have been asking for a reason… and I figured there wasn’t much point to being petulant about it. I placed the weapon into the palm of his hand. In a couple of seconds he’d ejected the mag, made sure the firing chamber was empty, and started disassembling the thing. “Uh huh… yeah… you’ve got some powder residue inside,” he muttered as he worked. “You haven’t been cleaning it out enough. Gotta take care of that. You’re prone to jams and misfires and stuff if you don’t maintain the weapon properly. It’s not all that hard… all you need to do is-“

Of course, it might not hurt for him to be a bit more insightful and realize that she wants to for once do something right herself, without his wise ass advice.

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll manage. I haven’t gone senile just yet.”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“Whatever.”

Charming, as always.

Nothing wrong with a little nerdiness now and then.

Yeah, you say that now, but just wait until it becomes painfully obvious just how much of a DC-comics fangirl Colleen is.

Okay, Mr. SnippyPants.. All I did was ask (and rather tongue-in-cheek, if you recall)..

I am neither snippy... nor pants.

Half your readers just dropped out.

Damn, so I'm down to just 0.5, then? What am I going to do with half a reader?

A little heel-of-the-hand-to-the-forehead exercise?

As I like to say "It's because of things like these that the word 'facepalm' was invented."

Hmmm.. I was having lunch while I read this. I should know better..

I do seem to get comments like that on occasion. Er... sorry?

This is... sad.

What's even sadder is that if she'd only bothered to work at it, even just a little, she might have gotten, at the very least, competent with a handgun.

No, this isn't sad, Col... This is pathetic. This should be like shooting fish in a barrel, but easier..

Maybe it's a big barrel?

*snicker* It's the trigger work.. (Err.. Did anyone check to see if she has her eyes open when she squeezes off a shot?)

CN: "Um... I have a lazy eye?"

JG: "I think you're just lazy, period."

CN:

Listen to him, Col.. You can't afford not to.

JG: "Hopefully she's realize that at some point... some point soon. She's not stupid, just... really stubborn."

He's probably thinking the same thing.. *snicker*

JG: "Not really. Her brother would come after me. And while he's not exactly an imposing-looking guy, he probably knows some kinda crazy computer whiz tricks and could hack the credit agencies' records and tell them that I'm 5,000,000 dollars in debt."

You know.. I just don't have an appropriate comment for this.. I don't even have an inappropriate comment for it.

Trashpeeing does have that kind of effect on people.

Sisters _know_. It's a hidden genetic/psychic/thingy.

Especially older sisters. Especially older sisters who have reputations for being the most mature/sane out of a family's three children.

Ahhhhhh... Sanity returns -- momentarily.

JG: "It's always a fleeting thing with Colleen."

CN:

Wasn't the 'holy cow' originally Harry Carey (who may be one of the zoms there now).

Don't know, but I'm pretty sure it was Rizzuto who really made it famous.

ROFL ROFL

That was stolen from JMS. I'm afraid I'm nowhere near clever enough to come up with material that brilliant on my own.

This guy is a saint.. I mean.. a veritable saint..

Nah. He's just known her for a long time and knows what kind of garbage to expect outta her.

Forget I _ever_ mentioned make-up sex between these two. It would be.. impossible .

CN: "Not to mention gross."

JG: "Well, it might be tolerable if you took a shower, cleaned up a little..."

CN: (Glares)

JG: "He shoots, he scores!"

Why do you want me to read about baseball? Are you trying to bore me?

/me smacks Theo over the head with a baseball bat.

It can be an interesting sport.

Careful now, some of JMS’s ideas are just not worth stealing. Like the projectile-hurling ‘sexy’ weapons specialist in the ‘Legends of the Rangers’. Was he smoking pot when he came up with something so childishly idiotic?

Well, duh. I'm not gonna steal the bad ones, just the good ones. I'm intelligent enough to know which ones are the good ones and which aren't.

*wince* Trust MG to think of that.

Oh, please. Like you wouldn't be suggesting the same thing if it were Colleen and some other girl arguing... c'mon. Pfffft.

Yeah… so I’m tempted to say this to all those stuck in the city with the zombies… LOSERS!

CN: (Deadpan) "Oh yeah, we're all going to die. This living nightmare where the dead walk and everyone I ever cared about is eaten alive. Man, sucks to be us. We are such losers. Hey, here's a thought: shut the hell up, now."

Umm, Coll? Your skill with that rifle? It sucks and you know it.

CN: "At least I can tell the difference between a rifle and a handgun." (Pats her service pistol)

Probably more difficult for you, Coll, unless there is something seriously odd about you.

CN: "Well, duh, of course it was hard. But I was drunk. You do know that when you're drunk, things like that seem like a good idea."

That chef sounded like a real bastard. I don’t know why, but I think he deserved to die.

The funny thing is, he might actually be less of a bastard as a zombie than he was alive.

I’d tell him to take that crème brulee and soak his little pretentious ass in it.

I'd probably just stick him in a giant oven, turn up the gas, and leave him there for a few hours.

I remember that. Strange, I no longer see Uncle Ben’s in our shops, I wonder why?

/me shrugs.

It's still around. I don't actually eat Uncle Ben's, though. I buy my rice in the big, 25 pound sacks.

And your croissants have all gone stale now!

CN: "So, nyah!"

Of course, it might not hurt for him to be a bit more insightful and realize that she wants to for once do something right herself, without his wise ass advice.

The only problem is, he has every reason to think that Coll can't do something right herself without first being taught the proper way to do it. And while she'd likely learn on her own, that takes more time than instructing her. She's just a really poor student when she doesn't want to make the effort to be a good one. It's one of her biggest flaws. She's genuinely intelligent. Quite a bit. She just never worked at anything. Jeff knows she's got what it takes, which is why he pushes her.

*wince* Trust MG to think of that.

Heyyyy..... I resemble that remark!!

And, Alpha's right, Theo. Had the suggestion involved CN and that gorgeous female vascular surgeon, your wincing would have been of a different variety..

*wince* Trust MG to think of that.

Heyyyy..... I resemble that remark!!

And, Alpha's right, Theo. Had the suggestion involved CN and that gorgeous female vascular surgeon, your wincing would have been of a different variety..

Of course, because that pairing is simply far more attractive on purely objective aesthetic levels!

And, Alpha's right, Theo. Had the suggestion involved CN and that gorgeous female vascular surgeon, your wincing would have been of a different variety..

No kidding! Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who notices these things. Makes me feel like I'm taking crazy pills or something. I mean, yeesh.

Seriously, it's like... hey, let's have Colleen and Kari hook up, and oh, let's have Inara and Thanasis hook up. You know, even though it's like hell on earth, obviously, getting laid is like totally more important that anything else.

Am I the only one who wants to smack him with a lead pipe?

Of course, because that pairing is simply far more attractive on purely objective aesthetic levels!

Well, as a guy, I will admit that there's just plenty that's hot about two attractive women doing hooking up. Especially when one of them's Kari and the other's Colleen.

But still... talk about a one-track mind.

And, Alpha's right, Theo. Had the suggestion involved CN and that gorgeous female vascular surgeon, your wincing would have been of a different variety..

No kidding! Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who notices these things. Makes me feel like I'm taking crazy pills or something. I mean, yeesh.

Seriously, it's like... hey, let's have Colleen and Kari hook up, and oh, let's have Inara and Thanasis hook up. You know, even though it's like hell on earth, obviously, getting laid is like totally more important that anything else.

Am I the only one who wants to smack him with a lead pipe?

Well, it *is* important -- but not as important as being able to do a zom head shot at a measley 30 feet. Plus, they're all so busy surviving that it's damned stressful on the reader, too. Sex is just about the only form of r&r left to the poor folks trapped inside Malton.

As for the lead pipe, I'd check and see if elves have thicker skulls than humans, first. As a last resort, you can always just pull his ear. That's gotta hurt like hell with those ears..

(Hand me those crazy pills -- I need leveling out.. )

Well, it *is* important -- but not as important as being able to do a zom head shot at a measley 30 feet.

Especially what with ammo being quite scarce in Malton. Even with the regular air drops, supplies of all kinds would still be difficult to come by.

Sex is just about the only form of r&r left to the poor folks trapped inside Malton.

Well, that, and board games. No, seriously, next chapter. Board games. Honest.

But yeah, Colleen realizes that, I think. But ID could use a refresher course. Even so, staying alive and finding some place safe to get busy is also important. Even more so.

As for the lead pipe, I'd check and see if elves have thicker skulls than humans, first. As a last resort, you can always just pull his ear. That's gotta hurt like hell with those ears..

Given how prone they are to prancing and such, I think their skulls would cave quite nicely.

(Hand me those crazy pills -- I need leveling out..)

/me hands over some painkillers, some amphetamines, and several handfuls of Tylenol.

Seriously. It feels like just about everyone's nuts but me.

Well, that, and board games. No, seriously, next chapter. Board games. Honest.

Well, I could see a rousing game of cards, I suppose, although if it were me, I would be looking for some sort of battery-operated mini-TV or radio. No reason a girl has to miss her soaps, now is there?

When you say 'boardgame,' I automatically think 'Candyland.' *snicker*

But yeah, Colleen realizes that, I think. But ID could use a refresher course. Even so, staying alive and finding some place safe to get busy is also important. Even more so.

There's a huge difference there between the two girls, and I don't mean gender preference. ID is actually attracted to Tommy. And, they are in this predicament together at closer-than-close proximity. Colleen has her primary interest outside her immediate environment, and there's no pressure to forcemold/imprint her to that person as there is with ID/TT.

Seriously. It feels like just about everyone's nuts but me.

Well, if you're looking for validation, I wouldn't do the math if I were you. Odds say.... Well, you fill the blanks.

Well, I could see a rousing game of cards, I suppose, although if it were me, I would be looking for some sort of battery-operated mini-TV or radio. No reason a girl has to miss her soaps, now is there?

When you say 'boardgame,' I automatically think 'Candyland.' *snicker*

Funny, when VH was writing that last chapter of LiM, he was looking for a "boardgame" metaphor. His first inclination was "Playing Candyland" for some reason. I suggested "Snakes and Ladders," myself. I mean, it makes a -lot- of sense given that context.

Colleen has her primary interest outside her immediate environment, and there's no pressure to forcemold/imprint her to that person as there is with ID/TT.

Well, this is true. Colleen, unfortunately, isn't sharing close-quarters with Kari, as much as she'd like to be. But I think it's more than that. I'd argue that Inara, being so against the idea is actually more susceptible to the temptation than someone like Colleen. (Shrug)

Well, if you're looking for validation, I wouldn't do the math if I were you.

Me, neither. I'm bad at higher math.

1. More Colleen snark. Gotta love it. Unless you're Jeff, in which case you're probably going

Inara: "Not the only one."

2. As a kid growing up on N.Y. Mets baseball, I know who Ralph Kiner is. Some of you may not. Therefore, I give you this:

http://en.wikipedia....iki/Ralph_Kiner

And this:

http://en.wikipedia....ki/Phil_Rizzuto

Since I also grew up on N.Y. Yankees baseball.

You know, Ralph Kiner was pretty good. Rizzuto... I didn't much like.

5. For those of you worried, you can relax a little. Those two crazy kids will make nice soon enough. I had to reassure MG there'd be no "make-up sex," though. (Snort)

*snerk* I imagine Clara might be more than a little pissed about that one.

Clara: "You slept with my sister!"

Jeff: "Well, there was a lot of stress.. and..."

Clara: "You slept with my sister! My lesbian sister!"

Jeff: "Weeeeeelll... technically she can't be lesbian now, can she?"

What do I say? I say I’m an idiot. That’s what I say.

Inara: "Can I get an amen?"

Tommy: "Do I have a choice?"

Inara: "No."

Tommy: "Very well. Amen."

It’s cold, it’s damp, and there are zombies, everywhere. And instead of sitting somewhere warm and dry, maybe cozying up next to a nice fire, and ideally, a really, really, really, ridiculously good-looking vascular surgeon, I’m freezing my skinny butt off, and trying not to get turned into lunchmeat.

Inara: "Ahh.. the perks of the job. Shitty hours, terrible pay, constant danger... wait... there was a reason I signed up, wasn't there?"

Decisions, decisions: sexy babe in a labcoat, or… not getting turned into bologna. Tough call. Damned if I could make -that- decision without Divine Guidance.

Tommy: "You know... I think I'm going to out here on a limb and vote for C - all of the above."

Inara: *chuckles*

Tommy: "Oh.. and a helicopter the hell out of this mess."

Inara: "I think the Army might shoot it down."

Tommy: "Damn... then I go back to C."

Inara: "While a fireball would be warm, I think you've chosen wisely."

I stared down the sighting aperture of my issue, lined the metal pin up with the head of the zombie shuffling slowly in my direction, pulled the trigger… and somehow still managed to miss the shot completely. I did, however, manage to put a hole the size of a .40 cal round into a tattered poster of a Calvin Klein model hanging off the side of a wrecked commuter bus about twenty yards away. I’m sure the zombies were suitably impressed by my unparalleled display of superior marksmanship… not that they’d show it if they were.

Inara: "I could crack wise... but considering your lack of practice... that's not bad. Plus, I hated that ad. I mean, advertising jeans.. and the guy isn't wearing jeans. Yes, he's cute.. but still. Blantant much?"

“Square your shoulders, more, Colleen. And don’t yank on the trigger. Just give it a little squeeze. Too much force will screw up your aim,” Jeff said, putting a round right between the eyes of his own target. The impact jarred the zombie quite a bit; it teetered on two feet for a brief moment before pitching over backwards and toppling like a knocked-over domino.

Inara: "Nice shooting Corporal."

Tommy: "I'm still lucky to hit the damn target."

Inara: "You're getting better... and the shotgun is a forgiving weapon."

Tommy: "Heh.. you mean it makes hamburger at close range."

Inara: "That too."

“What?” I asked, irritably. The zed in front of me was sloooowly making his way towards me, giving me plenty of time to drop him – provided I could actually hit the damn shot. Unfortunately, it seemed that was becoming only less and less likely as time went on. I took aim again, fired again, and missed again – not as badly this time, but I still somehow managed to nick mainland China several thousand miles away. The target I was shooting at... was about thirty feet away. Funny how that works.

Inara: "Frustration will only foul your aim worse. Clear your mind, focus your emotions, your fear, your excitement down... into a single flame, a single point. And then use that flame to light up your target." *pauses* "I know it sounds a little loopy, but it works."

“You missed three out of your last five shots, Colleen,” Jeff replied, casually. “The way you’re shooting now, you probably couldn’t hit water if you fell out of a boat. It’s gotta be your firing stance and your trigger work – both are a little sloppy, which is why a lot of your shots are going wide.”

Tommy: "Nice."

Inara: "Jeff... not helping here."

I sent a glance askew at him, one pregnant with murder, but he was too busy concentrating on downing targets to pay any attention to me. The good news was, I still had my voice, and using that didn’t require any visual contact. “Ah. I see, Sensei; I understand. Now let me tell you something: if I wanted your opinion, I’d have cudgeled it out of you by now. So why don’t you just keep your ‘suggestions’ to yourself, all right?”

Inara: "And she calls me violent and aggressive. I'm the barbarian. She's the one who wants to brain her best friend."

There was a brief skirmish amongst the various factions that inhabited my brain. Some were encouraging me to take the man’s advice. Others were protesting that he didn’t know what he was talking about… and still others suggested, ad extremis, I’ll admit, that Jeff and his big mouth were too annoying to be allowed to live, and that premeditated murder was a totally appropriate and viable response.

The voices... they tell me to do things!

I entertained the notion of putting a bullet in the back of his head… entertained it for about a second or two, then gave up on it. See, if I killed him, Clara would hear about it. She always found out about things like that… like that one time Jeff and I got completely blitzed out of our minds and took turns trying to pee into a trash can in the park. That… was difficult. Funny, but… still difficult.

Heh. Especially the part where I tried climbing up on the bench, and this old lady, walking her dog, came by just when I was trying to twist my leg to-

Uh… never mind.

Inara: "Ahh... alcohol, cause of so many great stories."

Tommy: "We love you, alcohol."

Point is, I don’t know how she did it. Maybe she was secretly a spy for the government and had tons of clandestine informants everywhere. Maybe she had psychic powers. Or maybe she could time travel and had seeded copies of herself everywhere and every-when for the inevitable day when Dennis Rodman’s people, the Giant Bug-Men from Pluto, came to Earth to steal all our nachos and make the rivers run red with Chili con Carne. Whatever it was, and however it was accomplished, it was pretty effective at keeping me in mortal terror of her.

Inara: "Okay. I have nothing I can say about that."

Tommy: "Although I could seriously go for some chili right about now."

Instead, I did what he suggested. Tightened up my firing stance and tried to finesse the pistol’s trigger a little more. First shot I fired put a nice, solid hole in the forehead of the nearest zombie. And he had to have been at least thirty feet away.

Inara: "Alright. A little finesse and we're in business."

Ok, no. That was a fluke, right? Had to have been a fluke.

I sighted up again and fired, and for reasons I have yet to determine, Ralph Kiner decided to start doing the play-by-play in my head.

High fly-ball, hit deeeeeep to left field… it is going, going… it is gone, goodbye!

Holy cow!

Ok. That was Phil Rizzuto, not Kiner. Um. Yeah. Anyway… moving on.

Inara: "New York sports fan. Ugh."

So… Jeff was right. Fine. Whatever. I went six for six before I had to reload with a fresh magazine. It was probably the longest streak of consecutive hits I’d ever had. Big freakin’ whoop.

Inara: "It also means six zombies that won't be bothering anyone anytime soon. So, pretty big whoop."

I put away another target; this time it was some dessert chef (probably French – they always were) from one of those swanky, overpriced cafés in midtown. I recognized the logo on his clothes. I’d eaten there before… had lunch with Clara there one time, as a matter of fact… and hated it. Why? I’ll tell you why.

Inara: "At least it wasn't a clown."

Tommy: "Goddamn clowns."

Waiter: “Coffee is considered by the café to be an after-lunch beverage. To be served with perhaps a nice chocolate mousse or a crème brulee should madam be so inclined – unless madam would prefer a popsicle, which I’m sure we can find at the local 7-Eleven – but in the happy interim, the café considers a during-lunch or drink to be, well, a drink, a Margarita, a martini, perhaps a cola –“

Me: “I… want… a… cup… of… coffee… right… now.”

Waiter: “Very well, madam knows best what she wants; nonetheless, coffee is not a[/i] drink, it’s a beverage…”

Me: “And you’re a piece of sh-“

Clara: “Colleen-“

When you sent me the link.. it just cracked me up. Good use of it.

And that was my sister for you – always playing peacemaker…

Inara: "With you in the household, must have been a necessity."

Damn it. I missed her. And my brother, too, actually. And Mom. And Dad. And Aunt Maddie. And Uncle Ben… er… not the guy who makes the rice, if you were wondering… and not Peter Parker’s uncle, either… though that might have been cool if… um… never mind…

Inara: "If you were related to Spiderman? I suppose that wouldn't be all that bad."

But anyhow, where was I? Oh, right, the zombie chef staggering dispassionately in my direction… yeah, he had the look down completely – the white outfit, the goofy, billowy hat, and a rolling pin clutched in his decaying hand. A bullet to the neck made quick work of him. One shot, right through the throat, and he went down like a two-hundred-pound sack of flour.

Take that, Frenchie! I bet your Crème Brulee sucks!

Inara: "And that's for all your gripping about Lance Armstrong, you croissant eating punks!"

A set of jaws clacked together just shy of my neck, and I had to jump back to avoid the arm-swipe that followed it.

Tommy: "Now that's close."

Damn it… get your priorities straight, Colleen… dodge first, mouth off second!

Tommy: "Definitely, because one of those arm swipes could rip your jaw out. And then no more snark."

Inara: "Amongst other problems."

Jeff was giving me another one of those “I’m worried about you” looks. He’d gotten so “concerned,” he wasn’t paying all that much attention to the targets -he- was engaging – and yet he was still managing to keep his mind on at least two separate things without getting himself eaten in the process.

I was a little jealous of that ability.

Inara: "Well, the good news is, it just takes some time and training to develop it. The bad news is you might not survive to do so."

Anyway, I called back to him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But I’d be better if I didn’t have this annoying loser chirping in my ear. You know how it is with those kinds of people – they just never know when to shut the hell up. Remind you of someone?” I said, my voice dripping with acid, “Someone named you?”

*chuckle*

He went back to work and so did I. Armed with the ammo he’d managed to scrounge for me and the pointers he’d decided to share, I did pretty well for myself. I didn’t get myself killed (always a plus,) and I didn’t need to ask for help, either. And now the immediate area surrounding the mall, and all the way out to two blocks on either side, was clear. I was about ready to pack it in. I’d done my good deed for the day.

Inara: "Good work Colleen. I mean that."

Back inside, at the little niche I’d started thinking of as “base camp,” I sorted through my ammo supplies. I hadn’t used that much during the patrol, which was good, since I was sure that, at some point, I’d need every last bullet I had.

Inara: "The way things are going.. we're going to need every bullet we have... and a few hundred more. That's the problem."

“You’ve only got two rounds left in this magazine. You might just want to pull them and stick them in with this one that’s half empty. Good way to get yourself into trouble, you know – reloading with a clip that’s only got a couple of shots left inside.”

Inara: "Nothing worse than coming up empty when you think you've got a few more shots left."

I snatched the bit of tempered-plastic away from him, held it upside down, and tapped the bottom of it. Two .40 caliber rounds plopped into my palm and I began gingerly inserting them into one of the other mags. “I’m aware of that, yes. I may not be a member of Mensa, but I didn’t go to school on the little bus, either.”

Technical Note: Clips don't quite work that way. The springs feed the rounds, so the top of the clips are shaped to restrict the round so it doesn't pop out until the gun is ready for it.

“Just come on…” He held out his hand. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but… well… I guessed he must have been asking for a reason… and I figured there wasn’t much point to being petulant about it. I placed the weapon into the palm of his hand. In a couple of seconds he’d ejected the mag, made sure the firing chamber was empty, and started disassembling the thing. “Uh huh… yeah… you’ve got some powder residue inside,” he muttered as he worked. “You haven’t been cleaning it out enough. Gotta take care of that. You’re prone to jams and misfires and stuff if you don’t maintain the weapon properly. It’s not all that hard… all you need to do is-“

“I know how to field strip a pistol, thanks. They did teach us that at the academy.” I took the pieces of the gun back and wiped them down, making sure to clean off all the oil and grit that had accumulated on the parts. It was menial labor, but necessary.

Inara: "Extremely necessary, especially in combat situations like the one we're in. A weapon misfire can take time to clear, time you might not have."

“Whatever.”

Definitely still not patched up... but they're making progress.

Good chapter.

Other Notes:

I had in fact thought of Candyland first, instead of Chess... of course it lacked the interesting secondary metaphor.. but that's just funny.

As to Inara's susceptibility... there may be some legs to that argument... but you'll have to wait and see.

Inara: "Not the only one."

JG: (Sighs) "You have to understand. I love her to death. She's been one of my closest friends for years. It's just... sometimes she can be so... obnoxious..." (Shakes head)

You know, Ralph Kiner was pretty good. Rizzuto... I didn't much like.

Well, that's understandable, seeing as how he was a Yankees commentator, i.e. a commentator for the most evil team ever to defile the sport of baseball.

Silly Red Sox fans.

*snerk* I imagine Clara might be more than a little pissed about that one.

Clara: "You slept with my sister!"

Jeff: "Well, there was a lot of stress.. and..."

Clara: "You slept with my sister! My lesbian sister!"

Jeff: "Weeeeeelll... technically she can't be lesbian now, can she?"

CN2: "To be honest, right now, I don't know whether to be extremely pissed off, or violently ill? I think a combination of the two would be the most appropriate, but I'm not sure I can -do- angry vomiting."

Inara: "Can I get an amen?"

Tommy: "Do I have a choice?"

Inara: "No."

Tommy: "Very well. Amen."

JG: "Amen, sister. Amen."

Inara: "Ahh.. the perks of the job. Shitty hours, terrible pay, constant danger... wait... there was a reason I signed up, wasn't there?"

CN: (Shrugs) "They weren't hiring at the gas station just down the street from your cave?"

Tommy: "You know... I think I'm going to out here on a limb and vote for C - all of the above."

Inara: *chuckles*

Tommy: "Oh.. and a helicopter the hell out of this mess."

Inara: "I think the Army might shoot it down."

Tommy: "Damn... then I go back to C."

JG: "Well, Plan C is kinda the ideal, man. Unfortunately, we're pretty damn far away from 'ideal circumstances.'"

Inara: "I could crack wise... but considering your lack of practice... that's not bad. Plus, I hated that ad. I mean, advertising jeans.. and the guy isn't wearing jeans. Yes, he's cute.. but still. Blantant much?"

CN: (Chuckles) "Agreed. Usually, when you're trying to sell people a product, you show them the product -in- the ad. I mean, it's like having two hot women lying on the hood of a sports car. Yes, the hot women are there to help sell the car. It's blatant, it's totally in your face - and sometimes, even kinda hot - but at least they show you the car, too. Personally, I think Mr. C.K. just enjoys seeing half-naked boy models."

Tommy: "Heh.. you mean it makes hamburger at close range."

Inara: "That too."

JG: "Well, they say it's better to be lucky than good. It's also better to use something that makes big messes and you don't have to aim with, than to be a good shot."

Inara: "Frustration will only foul your aim worse. Clear your mind, focus your emotions, your fear, your excitement down... into a single flame, a single point. And then use that flame to light up your target." *pauses* "I know it sounds a little loopy, but it works."

CN: "That's very... Zen... of you. But we both know I don't do Zen very well." (Sighs)

Inara: "And she calls me violent and aggressive. I'm the barbarian. She's the one who wants to brain her best friend."

CN: "Yeah, but the difference is I only want to do that kind of stuff some of the time. For you, it's a recurring theme."

Tommy: "Although I could seriously go for some chili right about now."

CN: "Come to think of it, so could I... huh. Well, I'd need some lean sirloin for one, some beans... some cayenne pepper, three different kinds of chili powder... onions... some tabasco sauce..." (Taps her chin) "Hmmm..."

When you sent me the link.. it just cracked me up. Good use of it.

Clara does seem like she could be an MJ... and Colleen's sense of humor does rival Peter's.

Inara: "With you in the household, must have been a necessity."

CN: "Actually, my brother Liam was the jerk. He was the one causing all the trouble."

CN2: " 'leen, you were a total brat as a kid. It was always your fault. We just always got blamed for your antics."

CN: "That... that's not true."

LN: "Yeah, it was. Remember the soapbox racer I built that one year we were staying at Grandma and Grandpa's?"

CN: "Did... did you guys really hate me that much?"

CN2: "Well, we don't hate you -now-."

CN: "But what about back then?"

LN: (Shrugs) "Yeah, pretty much."

Inara: "If you were related to Spiderman? I suppose that wouldn't be all that bad."

CN: "Nope. Not at all. Mary-Jane Watson. Mmmm mmmmm MMMM! Gotta get me some of that."

Inara: "And that's for all your gripping about Lance Armstrong, you croissant eating punks!"

JG: "I actually like croissants... not as much as I like a good donut, or a blueberry muffin, but it's definitely up there on my list of 'good breakfast foods'."

Inara: "Well, the good news is, it just takes some time and training to develop it. The bad news is you might not survive to do so."

CN: "And wouldn't that make -you- happy?"

Inara: "Good work Colleen. I mean that."

CN: "Yeah, yeah. Well... I couldn't just... let him go out there alone, you know." (Kicks at the ground)

Inara: "Extremely necessary, especially in combat situations like the one we're in. A weapon misfire can take time to clear, time you might not have."

JG: "Tell me about it. Ever see a box-fed M-249 going full auto? God, I don't even want to -think- about what could happen if that thing wasn't properly maintained."

Definitely still not patched up... but they're making progress.

Yep.

I had in fact thought of Candyland first, instead of Chess... of course it lacked the interesting secondary metaphor.. but that's just funny.

Well, that's what -we're- here for. I suggest chess, then you come up with the bishop metaphor. And Cassidy becomes even more vulgar than she already is.

As to Inara's susceptibility... there may be some legs to that argument... but you'll have to wait and see.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep us in suspense, why don't you?