Young Writers Society

Razorblade randomly tosses a spork in Magik's direction out of sheer boredom, and a little bit of welcome.

Magik catches the spork and begins to tap a beat on the table with it.

Razorblade tosses another spork, just to equalise it.

"You a drummer, Magik? Or just like playing with sporks?"

Magik grinns. "Just like playing with sporks and tapping random beats. Do it all the time with pencils in school, much to all the teachers annoyance."

She took another sip of her float and began tapping a different beat.

"Aye, the kid who sits next to me in History does that all. The. Bloody. Time," Razorblade says, exaggerating the last four words with an exasperated look on her face. She moves from the bar next to Tassen to sit facing Magik. "But I can't hear you doing it, so carry on."

Mattster kicks open the door with a pair of pistols in hand.
"Howdy."

Nutty coughs.
"Uh, Matt. This is a tavern, not a saloon."

"Umm..." Mattster stutters. "Whoops."

Mattster attempts to smile at all the glares coming from the tavern. He tosses the pistols out the door and shuffles to the bar.

"Erm... I'll have a plum, floating in champagne, served in a man's hat."

"Sorry," replies Nate, "We don't serve obscure Simpsons references here."

Mattster sighs. It's going to be one of those evenings.

Nutty inspected the sporks. She decided none of them were as good as her unholy-holy spork.
Yawning, Nutty turned to Matt.
"Where've you been?"
Matt shrugged. "Around."
"Look, if you want to make a scene in a tavern, it's all about the furniture."
"The furniture?"
"Yeah... and how you throw it, of course."

Jasmine is getting a little scared of all the pistols and flying furniture, so she decides to sit under the table for cover. This gets very boring so she crawls across the floor with her hands over her head, scrambleing to her feet at the bar. "Is it always this crazy in here?"

Quippie walks into the tavern. Most would be rather startled by the prospect of pistols and flying furniture, but this scene excites- overexcites- her.
*Battle cry*
She begins to see how much fun it can be to throw large, heavy objects, breaking peoples' sporks. ON ACCIDENT OF COURSE!!!! hehe... *nervous laugh*

Razorblade gives everyone a new spork and sits in the corner with her drink to watch the action.

"This could be interesting," she says, grinning behind her glass.

With a brand-spankin-new spork in hand, Quippie is overwhelmed with joy. She decides to take this moment to pull out a camera and take pictures.
"My friends are NEVER gonna believe this!" She grins at the spork. Suddenly, remembering she is bad at taking one-handed photos, she asks Razorblade to take a picture of her and her new best friend Sporkie.

SPORKS!!!! *drums until razor gets mad, and stops*

"Man, Tassen, you give me less credit than the voice in the back of my head does," Razorblade says with an air of lightness, as she snaps the photo for Quippie.

"You should draw a face on the convex side. I did that almost every day in seventh and eighth grade, during lunch. 'Twas fun."

Quippie is intrigued by razorblade's idea. "I shall do it!" she declares. She then begins to doodle away with a Sharpie at the convex side of the spork untill...
"I'M FINISHED!!" she screams. The whole tavern pauses and turns to stare. After a second, they return back to their normal craziness, throwing chairs and whatnot.
"He's... got... a m-m-mustache..." Quippie says, feeling quite ignored and lonely. She begins to sob, making the tall, buff stranger sitting next to her have a very salty drink of lemonade... "uh... oh..."

Magik sits calmly in her booth in the corner, not even watching the mayhem around her. She rests her head on her arms which are folded on the table and starts daydreaming about random things. Including how much she already hates school...how she is ever going to get out of writers block...and other things of the like.