Behind the Dorms, Tuesday Afternoon

[raspberryturk]

"Good afternoon, reservists," Arthur said, his voice loud enough to sound across the field. "Today, we've got a bit of a surprise for you. As some of you might still recall, Reno used to be one of the leaders of this reserve. He has chosen to stay with us after the weekend to see you through a meeting once again. For those of you who haven't met him, I suggest you open your ears and listen. Reno?"

"Yo!" Look, it was not a greeting from Reno unless there was an exuberant 'yo' involved, here. "I see none of you chumps managed to kill one another or get your asses completely kicked or anything equally stupid in my absence, so good on you." He shot Arthur a crooked grin before turning his attention back to the group, his stun baton resting lightly on his shoulder, one hand in his pocket. "I'm thinkin' you guys've probably been through all kinds of fun and excitin' shit involvin' weapons you ain't familiar with, but I hear you ain't got to play with my personal favorite yet, the baton. Nightsticks, for lack of a better word, 'cause I ain't stupid enough to hand you rookies a bunch'a live friggin' electrical weapons like mine, here."

See, Reno totally practised forethought, occasionally.

It was very impressive. Sort of. "We covered staffs last week," Arthur added, "But obviously, the baton works on a shorter range. I'm sure you'll be able to show us how to work it, though, Reno." Yeah. Forethought. Letting Reno lead the reserves.

"There's plenty you gotta remember when playin' with your rod," Reno mused, a deliberate little smirk toying over his lips. "First, like Arthur said, it's short-range. You're goin' up against someone with better reach, like staffs or swords, then you're gonna have to be faster, or damn good at takin' hits, yo." He gave the baton a swing, then, moving forward with a speed... that wasn't quite human. He hadn't done this around here in a while. He felt like showing off. "There's your drawback, slowpokes. The upside is, this puppy's a one-handed weapon, which frees up your other hand for anything you might need it for, from grabbin' your opponent by the throat to flippin' them the bird if they're pissin' you off." Shut up. That was totally important. "Bein' for closer range, you might wanna rely more on other things at your disposal, too. What your baton can't reach, your feet sure as hell should, yo. So while they're watchin' the stick in your hand, bust their jaw with a good kick. You ain't workin' with a bladed weapon, here. Speed's your best friend, because the faster you swing, the harder the hit. Blunt-force trauma, kiddies. It does wonders, zoto."

Reno was a terrible influence.

A terrible influence who had brought enough lead pipes batons for everybody here to play with. Please, don't kill one another.

[Open!]

Third floor common room [Tuesday night]

[weldedtomyspine]

For once Jaime wasn't spending his time in the common room cooking. Nope. Tonight he was sprawled out on the couch with a ziplock bag full of ice resting on his cheek. He'd spent most of Monday watching the bruise blossom from slight discoloration into a genuine shiner. So now he was just lying around watching improv comedy shows and trying to look pitiful.

It wasn't like he was above trying to get free food or care out of an injury that wasn't really that big a deal. After all, the Scarab would have completely healed the thing by now if he hadn't pointed out that that would have drawn a lot of attention. And that it didn't really hurt anyway.

So there Jaime lay: it was a nice night for sketch comedy and sympathy.