Post by Memvis Tolstoy on Jan 1, 2010 20:51:44 GMT -5
Memvis turned a corner and ducked behind a dusty stack of boxes. Immediately, Memvis clasped a hand to his mouth and let out a fit of silent coughs. A small plume of dust hovered in the air around him. Meanwhile, he felt the three quickly approaching auras turning the same corner and stopping when they noticed his disappearance. Two of the auras were just ever so different shades of baby blue, and the third was a very creamy pink. All of the aura shared on thing however; the telltale signs of fury. The fellow with the pink aura whispered hushed commands to the others and they ran off in several differing directions, looking for no one other than Memvis himself.
The redhead admitted that this whole situation was his fault. It had all began when Memvis had engaged the men in a game of darts. There had been no contest of course. Memvis had managed to land three consecutive bullseyes; the fourth throw being just outside the center when he'd gotten distracted. At first his opponents had thought it to be beginner's luck, but after losing games in the same fashion three more times, their tempers began to get frayed. Finally, Memvis suggested tips to them on how to improve their throws. The men took this as an insult to their playing abilities, and so the chase began. The young inventor supposed that his tips may have been in some way offensive. After all, he didn't always notice when he was being condescending.
Memvis paused and thought about it. with some coaxing, the memory of what he'd said resurfaced. He cringed.
"Look, you're technique is really sloppy. I used to aim like that when I was about seven or eight and I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Here, let me show you the right way to throw a dart."
The boy let out a breath.
"I need to watch my tongue."
The redhead admitted that this whole situation was his fault. It had all began when Memvis had engaged the men in a game of darts. There had been no contest of course. Memvis had managed to land three consecutive bullseyes; the fourth throw being just outside the center when he'd gotten distracted. At first his opponents had thought it to be beginner's luck, but after losing games in the same fashion three more times, their tempers began to get frayed. Finally, Memvis suggested tips to them on how to improve their throws. The men took this as an insult to their playing abilities, and so the chase began. The young inventor supposed that his tips may have been in some way offensive. After all, he didn't always notice when he was being condescending.
Memvis paused and thought about it. with some coaxing, the memory of what he'd said resurfaced. He cringed.
"Look, you're technique is really sloppy. I used to aim like that when I was about seven or eight and I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Here, let me show you the right way to throw a dart."
The boy let out a breath.
"I need to watch my tongue."