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Vasaris, the Fuzzy Dragon
vasaris
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March 2014
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Vasaris, the Fuzzy Dragon [userpic]
The Silence of the Clams

One of the things that you have to understand about my old school, aside from turning out budding pyromaniacs who also happen to build things, is that in some ways it's place run by very sensible people and generally speaking in a very sensible way.

Well...

If you don't count that you couldn't graduate if you didn't know how to swim.

Or the (new live!) new dead new dead tree, which replaced the new dead tree, which, of course replaced the dead tree in the courtyard.

Or a variety of piddly things that all bureaucracies, large and small suffer from.

No, on they whole, the administration did fairly intelligent (or pseudo-intelligent) things.

Like forbidding noise during finals week.

Seriously.

During the year there were two known sections of time. Quiet hours and regular hours. Most of the time, quiet hours extended from ten or so at night to around eight in the morning.

Except during finals week.

During finals week, quiet hours were extended for twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes per day.

The remaining fifteen minutes were known as (drumroll please)... noisy minutes.

During noisy minutes we were expected to go outside and scream, play obnoxiously loud music, rage, and burn things... at least until someone set off fireworks and set someone's house on fire. On the whole, noisy minutes are fun (and cathartic, particularly when you get to burn North Dormer's in effigy, but that's a whole-nother story... involving rebar).



What could possibly be a better time to set off the cannon you've made out of scrap piping and a hubcap? Noisy minutes was obviously the perfect time for setting off the cannon, so the plans were made, pop bottles emptied and those jello-deserts that no-one ever eats confiscated from the dining hall in the company of limp, faintly rusty salad.

People went to class... did their homework... and made even more jello. With and without pineapple bits.

And finally, finals week arrived to an unusual atmosphere of jubilation.

Dry ice was dutifully stolen from the chemistry lab, the thief brazenly talking his way out of being caught in a corridor he shouldn't have been in.

A thousand gallons of cheap soda had been consumed to provide the three-liter-bottles (yes, they DO exist) that would provide the propulsion for the cannon.

By this time, nearly a metric tonne of jello (and lettuce) had been snuck out of the dining hall and various people were puzzling about how they were going to fit it all into a cannon that was not fitted with an extradimensional pocket.

Everything was ready.

Just before the first noisy minutes of the week were about to start, the cannon was wheeled out of it's hiding place (nearly five feet of steel pipe is not light). The three-liter bottle (chosen for the event due to it's beauty, symmetry, and utter perfection) was loaded with dry ice and water just so it could be blow apart. The jello, which everyone was sick of seeing in the dorm refrigerator was jubilantly dumped down the mouth of the cannon.

Noisy minutes started.

Screams erupted all around. Someone at West Dorm had, once again, placed "Suck My Dick" on infinite repeat and pointed their speakers at the all-women's college across the street. Flames erupted, despite the ban on them, and the population of my dorm headed into the courtyard to await the grande finale... the cannon.

Noisy minutes went on. And on.

And we waited. And waited. And waited.

Noisy minutes ended.

We were still waiting. Many of us were staring at the second floor balcony, where the cannon was located.

This was not good.

You can't deactivate a dry-ice bomb unless you want to lose a hand.

So we waited. And waited. And waited.

And out of the darkness walked one of the most horrific things in the universe.

Was it Satan? No, unfortunately Lucifer was busy that night and could not attend the inaugural blast.

Was it Cthulhu? No, Cthulhu-chan was attending a virgin sacrifice and couldn't be, uh, interrupted.

No, it was something much more terrifying than that.

Tall, dark and handsome, he walked out of the mist, his dark blue uniform sharply pressed and his silver buttons gleaming.

It was... Occifer Smiley. One of the ubiquitous rent-a-cops that provided security.

You know. The ones that are never around when you actually need them?

And many of would have gone down upon their knees and begged the cannon to go off turned their eyes to their companions and sent up silent prayers that whatever was delaying the explosion in the cannon's guts would continue to delay it.

Occifer Smiley looked around. Despite the fact that the occifer's smiley are generally not that bright --

(Student1: We need an ambulance with a poison-control kit.
O-Smiley: Are you sure of that? Let me send someone to check.
Student2: I am an EMT and I fucking want an ambulance RIGHT NOW!
O-Smiley: Er. Okay. But I'm sending someone anyway.
Yeah. Who arrived just as the ill student was taken away. Dead is not a good color on most students, so it's a good thing we insisted.)

-- even Occifer Smiley was capable of realizing that nearly the entire population of the dorm was in the courtyard.

O-Smiley: You do know that noisy minutes is over, right?
Student: Do you hear me making much noise? I'm just talking to my friend here.
O-Smiley: Uh-huh. Right.

So, Occifer Smiley decides to make sure that we aren't making too much noise and decides to watch us from under the balcony.

Standing directly beneath the cannon.

Yay!

Numerous deities received prayers in the next few minutes.

Please don't let the cannon go off. Please don't let the cannon go off. Please don't let the cannon go off.

He watched. We waited. We made elaborately casual conversation.

He left, retreating into the darkness from whence he came.

We sighed in relief.

BOOM!

The cannon went off.

And the entire world smelled like lime Jell-o.

A few bits of lettuce carcass were found on Twelfth street. Behind the next building over.

But Occifer Smiley didn't come back.

Not that we minded.

Current Mood: amusedreminiscent
Comments

Beautiful

*dies*

That was the best death I ever had.

Seriously.

*fangirls you shamelessly, although slightly drunkenly*

Ooooh. Tipsy fangirling! Yay!

First an amazing story about rebar of all things; now, noisy minutes and a jello & lettuce spewing cannon...

*bows down*
*is grateful to finally have time to read these good reads :D*

*snerks*

Thank you. *hugs*