The Guns of Brixton
Troy put the didgeridoo to his lips and began to blow. The tones came out with an unexpected power, a beauty entrancing. He weaved the instrument through the air and the music followed developing, growing, becoming physical. The colors of the room swam and time seemed to slow.
The invaders drew truncheons from within their hoods. The ones holding Maggie Pipp yanked her back by the hair. Others moved forward on Abby, who dropped to the ground.
Troy stood weaving a spell all around the room. While it developed, slowing growing, blossoming, spreading; Dart stepped out of the office brandishing a hockey stick as a kendo shinai. With a shrill cry he leapt at the intruders.
As four of the strangers neared Abby, prostrate on the floor, she spun and with a leg sweep took down two assailants. In one graceful movement she was up with their truncheons in each hand. She became beautiful mayhem. Her movements were graceful, fluid, expert and precise. She looked like she was dancing through the men, striking and bringing them down.
In their defense, it is quite distracting to get your butt handed to you by a beautiful naked woman using what looks like gymnastic ballet moves.
Dart too was having quite a bit of success. His long, thin limbs in black tie made him look like a cross between one of Sinbad's fighting skeletons and Jack Skellington, but the reach and skill were masterfully effective. The intruders fell left and right. Though many of them returned to their feet, they didn't remain there long.
Even Maggie was fighting back. She brought her foot up behind her to plant her heal in the groin of one of her restrainers. She stamped down on the instep of the other, though in her bare feet the effect was painful but not debilitating.
The music Troy was knitting through the room was starting to envelope them all palpably. There was a feeling of the magic through them, touching their souls.
Suddenly, just as Abby's foot arched to land on a face, the face was gone. The owner of the face had vanished.
Across the room, as Dart was swinging down to waylay one of the interlopers still holding Maggie, that man too vanished, blinked away.
Maggie, finding a hand free, swung a fist at the other detainer. Again, the blow was too light to make any real impact, but as it struck home he disappeared.
The music built up, layering upon itself. It seemed that notes, chords, the tune itself was lingering and lacing itself around the gatecrashers. Suddenly, in a great crescendo, with music filling the room, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, the climax was reached and every hooded ruffian ceased to be there.
The whirling Amazonian devastation came to a halt near Troy, who, as he took the tubular instrument from his mouth, pulled Abby to him and kissed her long and deep. She came away smiling.
"Who were they?" Dart asked.
"What did they want?" Maggie asked.
"Hammer of the Gods, Guns of Brixton," Troy slurred slightly.
There was a crashing sound from the office. They rushed into the room, led by Troy. There they found a case shattered and a hooded intruder standing with a meter long bell mallet in his hands. He threw his head back and sang a single note, pure and clear. Then he vanished.
"That was the Hammer of the Gods?"
"Hammers, mallets, same thing, translation error," Troy shrugged. "Let's have that coffee and brush our teeth. I have to make a few phone calls. Then I'll go after him."
"Coffee? Don't we need to go now?" Abby asked.
"Listen, I need coffee right now. Also, I am brushing my teeth and getting dressed. I have no intention of gallivanting around Arthur Dent-esque."
Troy put the didgeridoo to his lips and began to blow. The tones came out with an unexpected power, a beauty entrancing. He weaved the instrument through the air and the music followed developing, growing, becoming physical. The colors of the room swam and time seemed to slow.
The invaders drew truncheons from within their hoods. The ones holding Maggie Pipp yanked her back by the hair. Others moved forward on Abby, who dropped to the ground.
Troy stood weaving a spell all around the room. While it developed, slowing growing, blossoming, spreading; Dart stepped out of the office brandishing a hockey stick as a kendo shinai. With a shrill cry he leapt at the intruders.
As four of the strangers neared Abby, prostrate on the floor, she spun and with a leg sweep took down two assailants. In one graceful movement she was up with their truncheons in each hand. She became beautiful mayhem. Her movements were graceful, fluid, expert and precise. She looked like she was dancing through the men, striking and bringing them down.
In their defense, it is quite distracting to get your butt handed to you by a beautiful naked woman using what looks like gymnastic ballet moves.
Dart too was having quite a bit of success. His long, thin limbs in black tie made him look like a cross between one of Sinbad's fighting skeletons and Jack Skellington, but the reach and skill were masterfully effective. The intruders fell left and right. Though many of them returned to their feet, they didn't remain there long.
Even Maggie was fighting back. She brought her foot up behind her to plant her heal in the groin of one of her restrainers. She stamped down on the instep of the other, though in her bare feet the effect was painful but not debilitating.
The music Troy was knitting through the room was starting to envelope them all palpably. There was a feeling of the magic through them, touching their souls.
Suddenly, just as Abby's foot arched to land on a face, the face was gone. The owner of the face had vanished.
Across the room, as Dart was swinging down to waylay one of the interlopers still holding Maggie, that man too vanished, blinked away.
Maggie, finding a hand free, swung a fist at the other detainer. Again, the blow was too light to make any real impact, but as it struck home he disappeared.
The music built up, layering upon itself. It seemed that notes, chords, the tune itself was lingering and lacing itself around the gatecrashers. Suddenly, in a great crescendo, with music filling the room, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, the climax was reached and every hooded ruffian ceased to be there.
The whirling Amazonian devastation came to a halt near Troy, who, as he took the tubular instrument from his mouth, pulled Abby to him and kissed her long and deep. She came away smiling.
"Who were they?" Dart asked.
"What did they want?" Maggie asked.
"Hammer of the Gods, Guns of Brixton," Troy slurred slightly.
There was a crashing sound from the office. They rushed into the room, led by Troy. There they found a case shattered and a hooded intruder standing with a meter long bell mallet in his hands. He threw his head back and sang a single note, pure and clear. Then he vanished.
"That was the Hammer of the Gods?"
"Hammers, mallets, same thing, translation error," Troy shrugged. "Let's have that coffee and brush our teeth. I have to make a few phone calls. Then I'll go after him."
"Coffee? Don't we need to go now?" Abby asked.
"Listen, I need coffee right now. Also, I am brushing my teeth and getting dressed. I have no intention of gallivanting around Arthur Dent-esque."
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