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Athel and Privet Fight
Athel huffed in anger and ran in, her braided hair shaking loose as she stabbed at his smug face. Rather than dodge, he raised his blade and blocked her cut. Despite putting all her strength into it, he stopped it cold. She felt like she had just connected with a brick wall. She had forgotten how strong he was. He shoved her blade to the side, wrenching it nearly out of her hand, and she was forced to step with him or lose the weapon. She crashed into the table, knocking dishes about and spilling food. He slashed across her back, and her long train of roses fell away. She grabbed a platter and flung it at him, scattering potatoes everywhere, but he ducked below it and let it sail past. There was a horrible crash as the platter collided with the boom mike, knocking the operator back into the consume rack. The platter ricocheted into the production assistant, who was throw forward in a scattering mess of flung paperwork, before finally whanging into the director, who fell back out of his chair and into the catering table. “Oh, sorry,” Athel winced. “Wow, you really bungled that one, didn’t you?” Privet quipped, surveying the damage. The boom mike operator was helped to his feet, a long purple bruise across his face. “Do you think he’s okay?” Athel hoped. “I wouldn’t bet on it.” “Blaast it, Athel,” the director hissed as he struggled to his feet, splattered pastries stuck to his body. “You’re supposed to throw it into the catch! You almost hit the camera!” Athel pointed at Privet. “It’s his fault!” “MY fault?” “Yeah, you distracted me.” “No I didn’t” “Yes, you did.” “I just turned your blade, you broke choreography.” “No, I swung it like THIS like I was supposed to.” Athel clumsily swung her blade, nearly smacking Privet in the face. “Geeze, be careful with that thing, will ya’?” “I am careful. I am a professional.” Athel slipped in a puddle of gravy and came crashing down with a squeak. She grabbed the tablecloth to steady herself, but ended up tugging the whole thing free, dumping the contents of the banquet atop her in a pile of sauces and meats. “Holy cow,” Privet said, backing away from the mess. The production assistant looked at the director harshly. “All right,” he relented, flicking his hands off. “I’ll rehire her stunt double.” “I can do it!” came Athel’s muffled voice from beneath the spilled food. |
