The Old Republic, License to Kill. Learning Permit, License to Thrill. Pt. II

(Continued from last week’s post: The Old Republic, License to Kill. Learning Permit, License to Thrill.)

Rather than the air horn acting as a signal to stop, it acted more like a starter gun at a track race. The car lurched forward and the front end rose in the air from the sudden acceleration. The cone burrowed into the underside of the car like a porcupine trying to escape the spears of a San Bushmen. After a good 20 yard dash the car finally came to a sudden stop, but not due to anything the driver did. Thanks to the fast acting efforts of the passenger, motivated by survival instincts, who pulled the emergency break. The cone, trapped and dying, billowed smoke as if bleeding. Then, as a revenge to the car and the driver who killed her, the cone caught fire.

Rodian eyes are big but the largest on record belonged to the one standing before Obok at that very moment. As if the music was a living being, and was capable of noticing the tension, it shut its mouth. The Twilek dancers’ gyrating generators slowed, then stopped and their lekkus lowered to their sides. Obok gave the Rodian a chance to speak, just to hear the stupidity. “Can I get you a d…d…drink?” fumbled out of the beak that Rodians call mouths.

My passenger and I finally stopped laughing just as the cone caught fire and the two girls in the car performed a real life fire drill. The counselor was cool under a cones fire and made sure the two drivers were fine before rushing indoors. By this time everyone was out of their cars and about a month early, we were all getting practice at our first high school pep-rally bonfire. Standing in a scattered, well distant circle, we watched the bonfire and the crying girl behind its creation.

Obok only dressed for a drink on very rare occasions, today wasn’t one of them. His “clubbing” outfit said only one thing, killer. Everyone in the basement already new the name of Obok’s attire and were already on the floor and behind bar-cover. Two glorified Gamorrean bouncers, embolden by their recent, Twilek infused, increase in salary, flanked the Rodian. Obok drew first, shot first and killed first.

The counselor was on his way out of the school, extinguisher in hand. Watching him make his way towards the fire, like a shop owner trying to save his burning store, gave me another excuse to cackle. This time my laughter was echoed by another. A girl from class, who I had also shared glances with prior to this mutual experience, was laughing with me.

“Makes this entire class worth showing up for?” I quipped as our eyes met, both gleaming due to the enhanced lighting from the cones death.

“Sure does,” she replied with an inviting smile.

I pressed the issue, “How about we put our new license to use and do something together this weekend?”

As the fire was put out and the smoke rolled around our heads she smiled and replied, “You bet.”

As Obok’s personal shield activated, a blaster bolt shot out of his highly modded S-110 blaster gripped in his right hand. As his blaster fired, so did his flamethrower attached to his off hand. The Gamorrean to the Rodian’s right was hit just above his armor and dropped to the ground like Bantha poop, before his blaster could even clear the holster. The Gamorrean to the left of the death mark had dropped his vibro-axe as he squealed and burned, his skin blistered and darkened and he too dropped to the ground just like his axe. The Rodian turned to go for a blaster in the couch behind him but slowed by his liquid exuberance, he only got turned around before Obok’s electrodart hit him square in the back, paralyzing him. Obok walked up slowly and calmly to the gyrating green-skin and turned over the Rodian as the electrodart’s potency died out. “You don’t take a bribe for a mark’s freedom, it’s not very professional,” was the last words the Rodian heard before his permanent retirement.

Obok, took off his helmet. Sweat dripped from his purple skin. He reached to wipe his brow but one of the Twilek dancers that he interrupted earlier was quick to pat the sweat away with a lace scarf. “From what I figure you owe me credits for at least a couple of dances,” she whispered with a smirk.

Obok smiled and said,”I’ll buy you dinner, maybe we can share a dance.”

As the bartender put out the burning bacon behind Obok’s shoulder and the smoke swirled in the air the Twilek replied, “You bet.”

Many a Gamorrean have been turned to bacon by this flame thrower.

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