fandomtownies | The Park, around lunch time

Current Mood: quixotic

The Park, around lunch time

Artie strode purposefully into the park, a gray plastic trashcan on his head. He spun full body around every now and then, as though to check that Baldrick and his trebuchet were alright.

It was time for fun!

[ooc: open for all your park needs! Just watch out for flying turnips?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Baldrick brought the trebuchet to a wide open area of the park and set it down before making a neat pyramid out turnips nearby.

"I have a cunning plan..."

"Indeed?" Artie raised his eyebrows. Not that you could tell, 'cause, you know, trashcan on his head. "Let's hear it!"

Baldrick leaned forward conspiratorially. Conspiring with the trashcan man. Yes.

"We fire turnips at the ducks. Then we roast the duck and the turnip. If we're lucky, the turnip will be in the duck." He smacked his lips. "Nothing better."

Artie thought for a long moment. Or possibly just stood still for a long moment. there was a dull *thunk* on both sides of the trashcan, indicating he had struck his traditional pose within it. "Won't that hurt the ducks?"

"Oh no. Not at all. My great-grandfather Baldrick always told me that nothing hurts once your dead," Baldrick said in complete earnestness.

Due to the trashcan, there's absolutely no way of telling if Artie reacts in any way to the word "dead".

"Right! Launch away, Stinky McStinkerson!"

"McStinkerson is a cousin on my mother's side," Baldrick corrected as he turned the trebuchet in the direction of the duck pond.

He watched the turnip fly in a beautifully turnipy arc and land with a splash in the pond.

"Too high. Do you want to try?"

Artie might have nodded. The trashcan wobbled, certainly. He picked up a turnip, loaded it onto the trebuchet, and launched.

It soared into the sky and vanished from sight. Artie yanked up the trashcan and peered into the wide blue yonder.

"Fore!" he called, perhaps a touch belatedly. He winced, then waved. "Hello, Mr. Former President! . . . Yes, that was my turnip! . . . Thank you, sir! I'll do that! . . . And have a very pipe day yourself!"

He lowered the trashcan again. "Too high. Your turn,"

Singing something under his breath that sounds something like, "They seek 'im 'ere, they seek him there, is 'e in 'eaven, or is 'e in 'ell..."

His next launch was far too high, but the puff of soot that came out of some poor ~~NPC~~ soul's chimney was interesting at least.

"Maybe we should try lower next time?"

"Mayhap!" Artie loaded another turnip, this time aiming lower.

But with no less speed.

The turnip, when fired, rebouded off one tree, ricocheted off another, and another, and another, and another. . . .

All the while, Artie turned his trashcanned body in turn, as though carefully watching the progress of the turnip.

Finally, it flew back and struck the trashcan with a tremendous *THWOP!* and Artie tumbled backwards to the ground.

"Oh no! Mr. Strongest Man, are you alright?" Baldrick may have gotten his face uncomfortably (for those with functional noses) far up the trashcan trying to see if Artie was okay.

Artie began to laugh cheerfully. "Your puny weapons are useless against me!" he called, presumably to the turnips. He sat up, trashcan and all. "Safety first!"

Baldrick went back to his trebuchet and adjusted the loft up just a little. He really wanted turnip-stuffed duck for dinner - just like Grandma Baldrick used to make.

The turnip landed in the water again.

The next thing he saw was the turnip exiting the water at high speed. Directly toward him.

Or more accurately, his forehead. His trashcanless forehead.

"Oh no..." Good last words before catching a turnip with one's forehead and meeting the chilly grass with one's unconscious body.

Unfortunately, due to his betrashcanned state, Artie was unable to intervene between the turnip and Baldrick. He fell to his knees beside his fallen friend.

"NooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooo!" he cried ~~and gave Anakin money~~. He shook his fist at the lake, then at the turnip, then, somewhat halfheartedly, at the trebuchet.

"Speak to me, boy! Speak to me!"

"Second codpiece," Baldrick mumbled and reached up to touch the blossoming lump on his forehead. He smiled vaguely and looked at Artie. "Did I get the duck?"

Artie, still betrashcanned, seemed to look around. "Nope!"

Baldrick rubbed his head and sat up, swaying gently. "There are more turnips, I suppose."

Good thing he'd had some of that lovely chocolate, or he'd feel terribly depressed to have been attacked with his own turnip.

Live by the turnip; die by the turnip.

"Plenty more, brave soldier, plenty more." Artie clapped Baldrick enthusiastically on the back, and with a triumphant "oop" popped back up to his feet, offering his friend a hand up.

Baldrick took Artie's hand and rose, slightly unsteadily. What the hell? A few more shots couldn't hurt - much.

"I think it was a little high on that last one."

"I think the ducks are wilier than we thought!"

Artie lined up a shot. How he did this with a trashcan on his head, we'll never know.

He is a superhero, after all. . . .

He launched.

The turnip skipped several times across the surface of the lake, then sank.

And like the last one, flew up and out of the lake again, back at them.

Artie threw off the trashcan and caught the turnip in his teeth. He crunched into it and chewed.

"Tasty," he said. And gestured for Baldrick to give it another try.

"Of course it's tasty, it's a turnip." Whatever was in the lake had no taste at all, throwing away perfectly good turnips.

He lowered the trajectory on the trebuchet a hair and aimed at those wily ducks. His mouth was practically watering at the thought.

Sadly for Baldrick and happily for the ducks, either they were verrry wily, or verrry lucky, as the turnip hit the paving of the path that ran alongside the duck pond and flew into a jillion little turnipy bits, raining root vegetable goodness down on the confused and angrily quacking waterfowl.

Baldrick began conceiving another cunning plan for napalm turnips.

Artie was pretty much just posing. And possibly trying to come up with a list of adjectives that start with "W" so he could continue describing the wiley, wascally waterfowl.

Baldrick had once helped write a dictionary. However, he couldn't think of anything that started with W.

"When will we wend our ways whither you will?" Nope, no Ws.

He gave the trebuchet another tiny adjustment and watched the ducks with a wary eye.

"watch out!" he called. To whom? The ducks? Artie? Or perhaps that ~~NPC~~ man on a bicycle? We may never know.

But the man on the bicycle was wise to speed up and avoid being hit by a turnip missile, which instead skipped across the pond to end up on the shore on the other side where ducks pecked desultorily at it.

"Perhaps it would be better with beets," Artie murmurred. He seemed to be getting distracted. Well, they had been out here, using this trebuchet for minutes already. "Tell me, Turnip Man, do you know how to play Go Fish?"

Beets better than turnips? Baldrick looked scandalized, but was promptly mollified by Go Fish.

"No. Do you get to eat anything?" He gathered up the remaining turnips and hoisted the trebuchet into his arms. "Because I'm really hungry, even if what I really wanted was turnip-duck."

"Your employer friend did offer me lunch . . . perhaps a rousing game over pastries?"

"That sounds wonderful, Mr. Strongest Man."

Baldrick and Superartie BFF.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Park, around lunch time

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject