Caught. . .

Who: Barf Chucksome
Where: Blue Dwarf hallway
When: After the knock out
-------
There are just too many moments, in Barf Chucksome's life, where he says in his
mind, "I really hate fans." The reason for this is because too many times there
are
things that are thrown against the fan of his life. Not that he's complaining,
but his life
would be simpler without these small instances. After hearing the words,
"So...you
have a habbit for starting bar fights straight out of the wild west?" Barf knew
it was the
security gaurd. Barf is a bit confused by this because he failed history many
times, but
he knew this to be of human history. Before Barf could respond, he noticed
something
different about the freak he knocked out cold: his features were different, and
he
looked like the guy he punched at the bar. Now that Barf thought about it, the
fiend
looked like exactly like that when he walked into the bar. No one would notice
it without
a sharp eye. Eggplants are always a pain.
After noticing this, he responded, in the best possible way, to the security
gaurd that
looked ready to make a move: "I don't think I've ever seen French start bar
fights like
the one I started back there."
She looked at him funny. Barf knew what he said had nothing to do with this
wild west
she was refering to, but he still wasn't sure if she was looking at him funny
because of
the response or because he had changed appearances the moment she blinked.
"You're not going to get the slip on me that easily," she said. Oh boy, it
always has to
be like this: first, he is the guy that starts the ruckuss, then he's the one
who is trying
to run away.
"Listen," Barf began. "I'm not trying to run away. I was standing here like
the last time.
Besides, I had to keep this freak from-"
The security gaurd then took out the zapper, that's what Barf called them
anyway.
Barf raised his hands like any law biding citizen. "Step back from the injured
man, sir,"
she said.
"Barf."
"I'd rather not, thank you."
"No, the name's Barf."
Good going, Barf thought sarcastically, the security gaurd will trust him even
more now
that he knows his name. . . yeah right. She was deffinitely not going to give
her name,
that was for sure. "There's no need for weapons," Barf said uneasily. All was
riding on
the fact that this fiend was still knocked cold. Barf knew he didn't hit the
bomb at all in
the time he was punching and kicking. No, that would imply that his luck was
better
than usual. Plus, Barf never gambled.
"Why did you injure him?" she was talking to him as if he were angry drunk.
Barf then
clarified this notion by saying, "It was a Mountain Dew."
"What?"
"I ordered a Mountain Dew at the bar, if you must know."
"That's a soda."
"I'm aware of this."
Now she was looking at him as if he were an enigma. Just as they were
socializing so
well, something fell out of the fiend's coat. It was a microwave. Oh boy.
Barf knew
what it was, but he was hoping she wouldn't see it until he could defunkify the
situation.
It was going to be harder to explain that this was a bomb.