A SECRET REPORT FROM WITH THE (Sith) GUILD, part II
The silence is broken only by an occasional snore, as the Coil lays comatose in a growing puddle of his own drool, his precious Tournament Champion certificate clutched in one outstretched hand. Suddenly, the door is flung open, hitting the wall with a resounding bang. The Coil leaps to his feet, a confused and sleepy look on his face, a few taco crumbs welded to his left cheek by drying saliva.
Through the door stride the three Sith Lords, Trollvela and Leto flanking the imposing figure of Sith Lord McIvan (who for some inexplicable reason is sporting platform shoes that add an inch to his already considerable height). "Apprentice Coil, what are you doing in my chair?" booms McIvans voice.
"Sith Lord McIvan...ummm...I...ummmm...thought you guys were...were...well...gone..." stammers the Coil. "I though you had been...had been..."
"Had been what?" asks McIvan, one eyebrow arching.
The Coil's voice drops to a whisper. "Had been deletoed," he says.
At this, the Sith Lords burst into laughter. "Thought we were gone, did you," snickers Sith Lord Leto. "I bet you were thinking that with us gone, you could run around claiming to be a Sith Lord yourself, didn't you. Ha! Imagine, The Coil as Sith Lord...the mere thought is preposterous."
The Coil's eyes begin to fill with tears of shame. He wills himself not to glance at the certificate still clutched in his left hand as his dreams of ruling as the last of the Sith slip away.
"Stupid Coil," says Trollvela, "we weren't deletoed, we simply moved our headquarters down the road a bit. You should see the new place, it's really cool - it has a neat dartboard and every thing. Anyway, enough chit chat - we're off to do important Sithy things. See that you get all the furniture and stuff moved to the new place."
"But guys," whines the Coil, "you promised to teach me how to play CM as good as you. You said you'd show me all your secrets."
"No time now, little apprentice...maybe later, after you're done sanding the floor and painting the fence at the new place. Also, don't forget to wax our cars. And don't forget to bring the Winner's Certificate when you come - and be careful with it, we don't want any wrinkles or anything on it before we inscribe it with the winner's name."
The Coil's eyes slide briefly to the Certificate, still crumpled in his hand, stained with drool and taco sauce, his own name scrawled across it in black crayon. "Ummm...no problem, guys," he says, as he crumples it up and surreptitiously chucks it into the fireplace (of course there's a fireplace...I'm sure we mentioned it before...you must have just forgotten about it - go back to Part I and check).
The Coil picks up Sith Lord McIvan's chair, preparing to carry its considerable weight to the new headquarters. His steps are plodding, his dismay at his return to Sith Apprentice status plainly evident on his face, his every movement radiating dejection. The Sith Lords stride toward the door, off on important business. As the leave, Sith Lord Leto casually turns and says "Oh, by the way, Coil - best thing about the new place - it has clickies..." And then the Sith Lords are gone, the door shutting behind them.
The Coil slings the chair on his back effortlessly. Suddenly there is a spring in his step, and he can't help breaking into a smile. In seconds, his whole demeanor has changed, going from utter despair to unbridled hope. "Oh boy," he thinks, "CLICKIES!"
One of the Grilles, when it finally did go down (this after absorbing a hail of AP) got taken out by a .50 cal...what the heck did we even bring the main guns for. It's amazing we Sith win any games at all...
