milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Serenity's got about another 32 hours before they hit Ezra.

The waiting before a job is usually the worst part, and today Mal is feeling it more so than others. He's checking in with the bar when he receives an eyepatch and a watergun the likes of which he hasn't seen since that ridiculous Assassin game in April.

There's a smirk when he shoves the eyepatch into his pocket, hopping behind the bar and scrawling out a sign before asking Bar for a 3' by 5' cloth.

Mal walks out the door to the lake, damn near whistling.

[ooc: I'm on gchat for any coordinating that might want to happen. Uh. It's not a huge boat, but it'll do. I'll put up an organizing post somewhere if this gets people involved.

ETA: This thread is for any arrivals if you are participating in shenanigans.

ETA AGAIN: OOC COMMUNICATIONS.

And it continues: The Battle Thread. Onlookers welcome.

And food for the spectators. And the winner, obviously.]

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"Yes," Ianto says and gets to his feet. "What have you got?"

"Lobster, crab, and Quahogs. They're wrapped in seaweed and then encased in a salt crust."

He's very proud.

Ianto smiles at him. "That sounds so good it'd be almost a shame to eat them."

Mike looks over the rims of his Donald Duck sunglasses.

"But if we didn't eat them, then they've died in vain."

"I said almost," Ianto says and ambles over to the sputtering mound of shellfish.

Mike rolls to his feet and heads to where the plates and flatware are being stored.

"Good man. I've got extra lemons and limes over here, for all your garnishing needs. Oh and plates. But uh...I'm going to need a promise from you before you get one."

"Okay," Ianto says slowly.

Mike stands up, one arm behind his back.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes," Ianto says. "You have a secret about shellfish?"

"No...I have a secret about these."

He holds up a plate. For all accounts and purposes it's a normal every day heavy-duty paper plate, save for the fact that written in black dead center in the plate is the word Poison.

Ianto looks at the plate.

He looks at Mike.

He waits for an explanation.

"Ever play assassin?"

"No. I find I have little need for that sort of thing, given my day job."

"I prefer it to my old day job. The novelty of people getting to live after I've eliminated them sort of never wears off.

Anyway, there's a way you can play where you can eliminate people using more than just water. Like, if you surround a building with red crepe paper you've burned the building down. Or, if you say put the word poison under or in food..."

"So this entire beach party is an elaborate scheme for you to win a game of assassin?"

"Maaaaaaaybe."

"Mike," Ianto says, "you are twisted and devious. I love that in a person."

"What can I say: Ninja."

"Shouldn't that involve more black pajamas and fewer Hawaiian shirts, though?"

Mike wrinkles his nose.

"The only black pajamas I own are silk, and the only person who dies when I wear them is my lady."

"Ohhh...obviously my impressions of ninjas have been misinformed."

"We do that on purpose, the misinformation that is. Keeps us mysterious."

Mike might just wiggle his fingers here for emphasis.

"You know, we try to do that," Ianto observers, "since we're supposed to be this secret organization and all, but then my boss goes swanning about his his big coat and it all gets shot to hell. It's almost a wonder our SUV doesn't say 'Torchwood1' on the license plate."

"I wanted to get our license plate to say DUDE1, but my brothers outvoted me."

Philistines!

"I bet it's taken.

"So, about these shellfish? How does one, um--?"

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