Charlie is suddenly paying close attention to Kitty, but speaking to Bruce. "Would you like to introduce us...?"
Bruce turns to Charlie as says, "I only know 'e-a 'cause she told me them bastards we-a af-ta me! If we 'ave a blue, this is no place fo-a lady!" Bruce feels the chair. "Well, this chai-a is goin' to be between me an' the knive-blokes!"
All the jabbering in the corner seems to have captured François's attention. His bright blue eyes seem to dim as he tries to recollect something ... and then flair as he leans forwards, points at Bruce and says, "Bruce, these people, they know you! What is going on?" Francois throws his arms up in a gesture of incomprehension, "Nothing makes sense to me anymore."
Upon hearing Francois' comment, Bruce whips around. "Whadya mean they know me? How could they know me? I neve-a seen the bastards befo-a in my life. If they know me, why didn't they shake me hand, rathe-a than chasin' me about the ai-aport like devil crocs!"
Tossing Kitty a devilish grin, Charlie picks up a chair and gets ready for trouble...
Kitty rolls her eyes to the comment and whispers, "Gee, guys, dont ya know anything about holding your attack for the right point... Holding up that chair just tells them that your ready for a fight... Don't cha want to avoid one?" Casually grabbing her coffee cup, she looks for a seat far away from Bruce and Charlie.
"Well, miss," says Charlie, "it seems we've been dicking around for about three weeks, wondering if anything is going to'appen. As I see it, we could wait another lifetime for the lapsed muslim to take the initiative... Oh! Er... Kennedy. Charlie Kennedy." He drops the chair to proffer a hand.
Kitty quickly looks over at the Muslims, making sure they don't attack. Shaking Kennedy's hand with a firm grip, she answers "Kayla... So... What really brings you to this crazy place, Charlie?"
Charlie grins. "'ow-doo, Kehla! And a pleasure it is as well! Bein' a writer, I'm here to do a bit of research and perhaps be sliced open by mad arabs... Or perhaps simply pay my tab and call it an evening! And yourself, miss?"
Chuckling, Kitty comments: "I think it probably be best to pay your tab and call it an evening elsewhere," glancing back at the arabs, "anywhere but here. Me..Oh..Lets just say that I'm avoiding conflict with someone and needed a little excitement.
"And ye just may be gettin' that, miss..." answers Charlie, again, hefting a chair.
The bartender is behind the bar. The staff seems to be doing an absolutely bang-up job of ignoring the entire imminent riot.
As one, the twelve evil-looking turbaned dudes draw ornate, curved daggers
from the folds of their clothing. As one they brandish them on high.
"KIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!" they scream in unison and charge towards
Bruce.
As the knife-wielding maniacs stampede towards Bruce, Leo flings his salt shaker with one hand and his peanut bowl with the other. The salt has no visible effect on the onrushing horde, but the peanut bowl does strike a glancing blow, opening a cut in the forehead of Achmed the Turban Boy. Charlie raises his chair to attack, Bruce lowers his to defend, and Francois makes a mad lunge for a nearby table, snatches a bottle, and begins guzzling furiously.
As the mob closes Charlie, with timing born of bar fights across the globe, brings his chair down on the head of Mohammed, the leading Turban boy. The turban apparently provides no protection whatsoever, and there is a horrifying *CRUNCH* as both the chair and several bones shatter. Mohammed drops to the floor without a sound and is trampled by his companions in their rush. Spiney Norman and Hope plow into Charlie before he can fully recover, attempting to knock him out of the way so they can get past him to Bruce. Charlie tries to fend them off with the remains of the chair and manages (with much cursing) to hold the two at bay for the moment.
Leo vaults the table and lunges at the onrushing Achmed, enfolding him in long arms and legs much as a spider wraps up a fly in its web. Both Achmed and Leo tumble to the floor, Leo striking out with head, knees, and elbows as Achmed struggles to regain his feet. Stig and Faith both trip over the two wrestling on the floor, buffeting and bruising Leo slightly as they attempt to bypass the wriggling circus artist. Achmed struggles to hang onto his knife as Leo repeatedly smashes the hand holding it into the floor.
Francois turns to face the onrushing frenzied mass and the recently guzzled booze spews forth as a ball of fire, enveloping the head of Hassan and igniting his beard and turban. Screaming in anguish Hassan becomes a human torch, but in attempting to avoid him Bill gates runs directly into Francois, who rebounds into Love, who rebounds into the table - all three winding up in a tangled, struggling, mass of limbs and furniture which crashes to the floor with a loud, splintering sound. Numerous gouges, kicks, and punches, many of them misaimed or simply the result of the struggle, knock Francois about as he attempts to disentangle himself and he also gets several painful slivers from the remains of the table.
While most of the attackers are tangled up with various party members, two manage to go around the struggling knots and engage Bruce, who gamely attempts to fend them off using his chair. The Turban Kid seems a bit dazed and confused by the rapidity of events, but Charity moves with deadly purpose. Still, neither is able to break past the chair that Bruce waves in their faces to get to the Australian beyond.
The bartender, unmoved by the appearance of knife-wielding maniacs in
his bar, is galvanized into action by the destruction of some of his chairs.
Shaking his head he pulls a cordless phone from beneath the bar and begins
to dial.
Kitty, seeing the barkeep finally taking action, turns and picks up an empty bottle of ouzo from a nearby table (clearly occupied by Al Amarjan natives, who have neither fled, nor seem particularly perturbed by current events, except to wave Kitty's hand away from the full bottle and towards the empty one on their table). Spinning with catlike grace she hurls the heavy glass bottle with unerring accuracy directly into the back of Bill Gates' head. The bottle shatters on impact, and Bill pitches forward to lie in a moaning lump on the floor.
Behind the fray, the eldest of the Turbanites raises his arms and begins chanting in the same weird language that the others have been using up to this point. While this does not appear to have any immediate effect, he continues unperturbed.
With a resounding cry of "Pough Machree!" Charlie lands a sledgehammer blow to the chest of Spiny Norman with the remains of his chair. Both Charlie's chair and several of Spiny Norman's ribs break from the blow, and the unfortunate Turbanite hits the floor next to Mohammed! Hope, undaunted, again attempts to edge past Charlie to get at his intended target, but once again finds himself unable to work his way around the flailing arms, legs, and bits of furniture.
Leo continues wrestling with Achmed in a battle notable for its weird appearance. The lanky circus performer literally swarms over his opponent, keeping him off guard with eye-pokes, elbows to ribs, strategic tickles, and a surprise attack using a squirting flower. Although little actual damage is done, it is increasingly clear to Achmed that his opponent is much weirder than he is. Stig and Faith continue their efforts to get the entangled Leo (and Achmed) out of their way, and succeed in bouncing him off the floor a couple of times and landing a solid kick in the back. In addition, Faith manages to break past Leo and head towards Bruce! Leo's struggles have delayed him, however, and he will not reach the plucky Australian for a few precious seconds.
Backpeddling wildly, Francois uses his now-empty bottle in an attempt to keep Love at bay. Love is only too happy to oblige, and dashes past Francois towards Bruce as well!
Seeing the line of his erstwhile defenders beginning to leak Turbanites
in his direction, Bruce becomes more determined than ever to keep a big
hunk of upholstery between himself and the gleaming daggers. Facing
off against Charity, the Turban Kid, and Love, with Faith not far behind,
Bruce still manages to hold his attackers at bay - mostly. Through
skill or luck the Turban Kid manages to slip under Bruce's chair, putting
a nice deep slash in the Australian's thigh before rolling away.
A cold sweat breaks out across Bruce's forehead, as he realizes that one
more Turbanite will likely prove one too many.
The Elder Turbanite continues to chant and wave his arms. There is still no apparant effect, but he seems convinced that he is doing something at least moderately useful, and no hint of doubt crosses his face. Even when Leo hurls a cut-glass tumbler at his head, eliciting cries of outrage from the waitpersons, and a low moan from the bartender (who seems to be waiting for someone to answer the phone), the Elder Turbanite merely moves his head slightly in order to avoid the flying missile, which intead flies across the room to shatter the beer bottle of a neo-fascist weinerhead drinking with his national socialist buddies in a far corner of the room.
"Fuck!" says the neofascist weinerhead (we'll call him Hans - even though his real name is Seymore Ziltch [don't tell him I mentioned that by the way]) as glass, beer, and suds spray in all directions.
Charlie, having discarded the matchsticks and kindling that used to be a fairly nice chair, grins evilly and closes in on Hope, who is suffering from the beginnings of a crisis of faith caused primarily by the rapidity with which Mohammed and Spiney Norman were reduced from warriors of god to inarticulate heaps on the floor. Fortunately for Hope's immortal soul, his theological musings on the nature of good and evil, and the relationship of the community of the righteous with their Lord God are interrupted as Charlie's fist smacks him a good one in the face. Hope is rocked back by the blow, but keeps his feet (though his mouth starts leaking blood, and his nose will never be quite the same again). Properly chastized and admonished that life-and-death struggles are not the proper locale for theological debate on metaphysical questions, Hope staggers forward, finally convinced that Charlie needs to become aquainted with the business end of his ceremonial dagger. Though Charlie tries his best to fend off his attacker with a flurry of blows, Hope simply wades in and takes his lumps in order to give Charlie a deep slash across the midsection which comes close to spilling his intestines on the restaraunt floor! Badly wounded, Charlie staggers backwards in an attempt to keep away from the itterly sharp blade of his fanatical opponent.
Francois, still waving his broken bottle in a menacing manner, pauses to note that there is nobody to wave it menacingly at, now that Love has departed in the direction of Bruce.
Stig and Faith take unmerciful advantage of Leo's momentary preocupation with the Turbanite Elder to pummel him, well, um, unmercifully! Concentrating on his throw, Leo leaves himself open to counterattacks, and the two fanatics are quick to take advantage. A blow to the head and another to the kidneys leave Leo sprawled semi-conscious on the floor, and the Turbanites draw their daggers and head in the direction of the Australian.
Bruce, still facing off against the Turban Kid, Charity, and Love, continues his lion-tamer act as the crazed Turbanite trio, smelling blood (not too hard since ther's lots of it streaming down Bruce's leg at the moment) close for the kill. His wounds seem to spur the Aussie tour guide into even more rapid motion, and he is able to survive the fervid onslaught whilst taking only a single, minor cut to one hand. Loss of blood and the shock of his previous injury begin to have their effect on him, however, and it is clear to the others in the restaraunt (many of whom are now actively engaged in betting on the eventual outcome) that he is starting to run out of steam.
Kitty, coming up behind Faith, lands a quick chop to the neck that staggers, but does not quite drop the crazed Turbanite.
The Elder Turbanite continues to chant. As previously this appears to have no real effect, but he does it anyway (perhaps he's dim?). The chanting does not cease, even when a well-aimed vase hurled by Leo explodes in his face, reducing it to an ugly welter of beard, blood, and turban. Though staggered for a moment by the blow, the Elder Turbanite regains his balance quickly and continues his chant unabated (though in a slightly more muddled form through a couple of broken teeth).
Charlie, determining that as ever the best defense is a good offense, uses one hand to hold in his guts while sledgehammering Hope with the other, sending the already reeling Turbanite down into peaceful slumber beside his compatriots.
Francois, holding his broken bottle, can only stare in anguish as numerous Turbanites, murder in their eyes, converge upon his potential savior. So close! So close!
Faith, reacting with shock to the treacherous and heretical blow from behind, turns and swipes at Kitty with his dagger. For all her speed and grace, Kitty barely avoids the blow, and suffers some sliced up clothing in the process.
Bruce continues to attempt to fend off the Turban Kid and Charity, now joined by Stig. In his weakened condition he is no match for the three Turbanites, and is at last overwhelmed, falling in a heap with the three atop him, their knives rising and falling in hideous, blood-spraying rhythm!
"Fucking mongrels!" screams Seymore [er, Hans] from across the
room. He and his buddies leap to their feet, and grab up their table,
scattering bottles of german lager in all directions. Getting a good
grip, the neofascist weinerheads prepare to use the furniture as a huge
battering ram, aimed at the back of the Elder Turbanite.
Kitty effortlessly grabs her opponent's knife hand and applies brutal pressure, causing the unfortunate Faith to drop her ceremonial dagger to the floor. Two quick blows to the throat and abdomen drop Faith unconscious and wheezing to the floor.
"That was my best shirt, you witch!" Kitty snarls at the motionless form.
In what can only be termed a surprising turn of events, the Elder turbanite, still chanting fanatically despite his battered face... explodes! One instant he's standing there looking like Ayatollah Khomeini and chanting for all he's worth, and the next instant there's a loud "BANG" that sounds like a stick of dynamite going off and bits of him are smacking into the ceiling, walls, patrons, and nearby combattants like gobs of red guacamole. Only Seymore and his weinerhead buddies are somewhat protected by the table that they happen to be hefting at the moment.
(*%$#@ snakeyes!)
Charlie, still holding his bleeding abdomen, hobbles in the direction of Bruce, but in his wounded condition he simply can't move fast enough to arrive in time. It appears that his new drinking buddy is done for.
"HEY HANS", Francois shouts at the neofascist weinerheads behind their table " THAT ARAB..." he pauses, noting that all that appears to be left of the Elder Turbanite is a grease spot on the floor and an uneven paint job around the rest of the bar, "...er, THOSE ARABS," he amends, pointing at the group enthusiatically engaging in 'Cuisinart the Australian', "CALLED YOU A LILY-LIVERED SON OF A WHORE WHO HE WOULDN'T SEE FIT TO FUCK HIS PIGS!" As he speaks, Francois continues to brandish his broken bottle in a menacing manner.
Seymore's mouth works for a few seconds, clearly running the insult back and forth a couple of times to be sure he understands it. Eventually the words "Arab", "Fuck" and "Pig" some together in some meaninful manner inside the beer-sodden skull.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!" screams Seymore, leading his kampfgruppe in a full-blown charge which smashes into the Turbanites, scattering them like ninepins before trampling Bruce's huddled, bloody form, engaging in a "group slip" in a pool of the Australian's blood, and rocketing uncontrolled across the remainder of the room to smash into a national socialist heap against the far wall.
Stig and Charity stagger to their feet, shaking their heads, while the turban Kid (who apparently took a table to the forehead) just crawls around on his hands and knees, moaning. Refocusing their blurry eyes on the barely breathing form of Bruce, the undaunted Turbanites once again stagger forward.
"KIIIIIIIIIIIII...*erk!*" the battle cry is interrupted in a most horrible fashion, as from nowhere two bolts of cyan energy streak across the room to strike the assailants in their respective chests, blowing their internal organs out their backs! Stig and Charity crash to the floor without a word, and silence falls over the bar. As all eyes follow the trails of the energy bolts backwards, several members of the party are surprised to see none other than Nigel Timmons, the man previously encountered in Sam's room, standing in the doorway of the bar, a nimbus of cyan energy slowly fading from around his head and outstretched arm.
The momentary silence is broken by the sounds of national socialist
fervor from the corner. "FUCKING TOWEL-HEADS!" screams Seymore,
attempting to untangle himself from his buddies and the remains of the
table.
To Be Continued...