So, how many of you are doing this Sharknado thing? This section solely exists to let Kenny and Christine have another scene together. This scene exists for no other reason than that. Table of contents here.
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There is safety in numbers. This is true in almost everything. From fraternity parties to scary movies: The more people in the immediate area, the less likely you are to be gruesomely killed after tripping over your own two feet. Christine tells me horror stories about frat parties.
Anyway, I instinctively sought out familiar faces. I had wanted to make one last pitch to Jon before the special guests arrived, but that didn’t happen. The bar tender told me he didn’t know where Jon went. “He talked to those two guys in pink, then left.”
Finding Kenny and Sam wasn’t that difficult. They were with Susan and Christine, and since they were wearing pink, I figured they had to be the ones.
“Did you talk to an angry drunk?”
“He wasn’t a towering inferno of rage.”
“What Kenny is saying is that angry is an overstatement,” Sam cut in.
“Peeved? Peeved is a good word. Go with peeved,” Christine suggested.
“He’s one of my bosses — not the boss you know, but the other boss — well, you might know him, but you don’t know him,” I said. “The point is, which way did he go?”
“He left after buying us drinks.”
“We’re cheap dates,” Kenny said.
“Speaking of drunks and the getting there-of, I was thinking Lucy, we should get a drink that matches our dress and pretend to be wicked sophisticated,” Christine said. “Susan thinks it is silly.”
“Drinks aren’t accessories.” This was a solid point that I agreed with. But I also knew you don’t argue with Christine when she gets an idea in her head.
“Anything can be an accessory,” Kenny said. “In medieval times, swords were accessories. They were a status symbol. Shrunken heads — also an accessory in some cultures.”
“Medieval times were horrible; their fashion sense is immediately called into question,” Christine said. “Unless I get to wear a sword. Then, long live the queen.”
“I don’t think women were allowed to wear swords,” I said. “They were kind of jerks then.”
“Fine. She can pretend to be a man. Like John of Arc,” Kenny said.
“Joan of Arc,” Sam said. “She didn’t pretend to be a man. That’s why she’s famous.”
“That and killing the English,” Christine said. “Killing the English is the fastest way to get into history books. Look at George Washington. And Gandhi.”
“You never took history at all, did you?”
“I watch a lot of the Daily Show. That’s like history, right?” Kenny asked.
“It’s better than history,” Christine said. “Let’s go find pink drinks and pretend to be snooty.”
“I don’t want to be snooty,” Kenny said. “But, as long as we’re just pretending, that sounds good. Oh, you know who also killed a bunch of English people? Napoleon.”
“The Red Baron; he killed a bunch of English people too, didn’t he?”
The two of them made their way back to the bar, discussing other people who got famous for killing the English. I took a seat between Susan and Sam, who was shaking his head. I had completely forgotten what I was supposed to be doing, until one of the men working the event came by and mentioned that my special guests had arrived. Then I remembered what I was doing: Revenge. Christine would be so proud of me.