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You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.
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((B105 Start))

It had started as a relatively sleepy afternoon. Jeremy Franco had woken up. He had shuffled around a little and unzipped his duffel bag. He had blinked. He had rummaged through the thing lazily, poking around for the familiar shapes and textures of food. He had yawned. He had started to think, in a cursory manner, about the gravity of the situation. He had felt something long and wooden in his bag, like a pole. He had started to take the thing out to see what it was. He had had a few more idle thoughts on his likely-impending death, and whether he'd be willing to take a life to defend his own. He had thrown those thoughts as far to the side of his mind as he could manage, because holy shit sword-cane.


What followed was around seven minutes of swordfighting with imaginary opponents with his trusty fucking sword-cane, holy shit. This was actually preceded by around thirty seconds of confused attempts to operate the twist on the thing and get the sword fully out of its unassuming cane exterior, but Jeremy chose to expunge that part from his mental retelling of the situation. He slashed, he stabbed, he whirled around. He blocked attacks from imaginary opponents (probably fucking ninjas or some shit like that). He held the cane part in his left hand and used it to sweep the ninjas' legs out from under them. He drew the sword over and over again, with increasing ease and style (holy shit, he was getting good at this already).

He glanced around furtively and saw nobody, not quite putting two and two together about what these tall, camera-like structures were. He put on a little grin, confident that no one had seen his display. Though it would have been awesome if they had. He should fucking charge people for it.

As good as his lot in life was, however, Jeremy did feel a single regret stinging at him. He was wearing a snazzy suit, he had a sword-cane (holy shit!), and he even had his totally sick shades. But he'd forgotten to pack a fedora. It was probably the biggest mistake of his life to date, and he wasn't about to let himself off easy for it. He started to make a mental list of priorities.

1) Obtain a fedora

That was it, for now.

Jeremy started to hike in a random direction- presumably in search of a fedora- and soon enough came upon a fellow student. Long hair, nice ass, pink skirt. A hot chick! Yessssssss. My first ally is going to be a hot chick! Jeremy did his best to strike a gentlemanly pose. Standing up straight, one hand resting on the cane he was gently leaning on, one hand held up by his face so he could tip his imaginary fedora to Hot Chick.

1) Obtain a fedora
2) Ally with hot chicks

Jeremy greeted his new ally as a proper gentleman would. "Heeeeeeeeey!"
Edited by Jonny, Aug 21 2010, 06:35 PM.
Jeremy Franco is alive. You can write a better ending, goddammit.

Charlie DuClare is dead. And nothing was easy anymore except to smile.
Julian Avery is dead. Courage was the man with a gun in his hand.
JJ Sturn is dead. Fuck it, all good things gotta come to an end.
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