Sir Reginald Did Remember Not To Have Sex, Though

[benchilada]

       Sir Reginald and atomic_robo like each other very much, they will both tell you, but they do have a bit of a friendly rivalry going on. It's like playing pranks on your best friend, only with more explosions. And fire. Oh, and occasional dead things. I mean, the last time they met led to some...complications. But still...

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            There are cardinal rules to exploring houses where you know that horrible and sinister acts of cult worshipping and ritual sacrifice have gone on. At 419 W. Greencroft, Sir Reginald had violated a bare minimum of six: never go in alone; never go in the basement; never open the box with the runes on it; when the door opens by itself, pick a different room; and last but not least, never whistle the tune from The Exorcist.

            In fact, he had just violated all of them in a row when the door to the basement exploded inwards.

            “Hello, Robo,” Sir Reginald smirked without looking up.

            “Hello, Sir Reginald,” Robo completely failed to smirk.

            “I assume you’re here for the same thing I am?”

            “The Grimoire of Zbegniev Rosca—“

            “—a Firsthande Account of His Moste Horrible Secrets. That would be the one.”

            “Finder’s keepers, old chap.”

            “Did you just say ‘Finders keepers?’” asked Robo, adjusting his vocal unit for maximum sarcasm. “Are you twelve?”

            “Did I say ‘Losers weepers?’ No. ‘Finders keepers’ is a perfectly acceptable expression, thank you very much,” said Sir Reginald.

            “Well, let me come down there and we can discuss this like two rational entities,” offered Robo, as he took his first step onto the stairs.

            “NO!” cried Sir Reginald a moment too late, as the stairs collapsed beneath Robo’s massive frame, bringing him to a clamorous halt on the dirt floor.

            “Impossible,” said Robo. The fact that his face was in a pile of wood yet he could still speak disconcerted Sir Reginald. “I did a structural scan of those stairs before I moved my foot. They were more than capable of carrying my weight.”

            “The laws of physics don’t exactly apply here. I discovered that upstairs when I attempted to light a Davidoff and it exploded,” he said, pulling the charred remains of a cigar from his pocket.

            “Ah. I had been concerned by your complete lack of smoking when I saw you,” said Robo as he stood up, examining his body for unsightly gouges.

            “Well, I also felt that smoking around a four hundred and fifty year old book would be ill-advised.”

            “Indeed. Thank you for keeping it safe for me,” said Robo, extending an open hand.

            “Oh, that’s rich. You think you can just fall right in here and take this from me? I’ve worked a long time and spent a lot of money to be here tonight.”

            “You have more money than I have kilowatts, Reginald, and I doubt it took you very long to track down this little item.”

            “That may be,” said Sir Reginald, withdrawing a gnarled stick from his jacket and pointing it at Robo’s torso, “but you can’t have it.”

The two stood there quietly for a minute, Reginald keeping his hand perfectly steady, Robo’s eyes making a number of different whirring noises. Finally, the metal man broke the silence.

            “You’re bluffing. I’ve just used every scanner I have available and that’s not magical. That’s just a stick.”

            “Well, I would hardly expect your electronics to be able to detect the raw power that this wand possesses.”

            “Wand? It’s rather…knobby…for a wand, Reginald.”

            “That won’t stop it from blasting a serviceable-but-still-inconvenient hole in you, Robo.”

            “It’s a stick, Reginald. I stand by my calculations.”

            “Then come and get the book, if you’re hard enough.”

            Robo wasted very little time in striding across the room and snatching the book from Sir Reginald, who was gesticulating wildly and making menacing faces.

            “Balls,” said Reginald.

            “What did you expect?” asked Robo, as he turned to leave.

            “Nothing. It’s just a fucking stick.”

            As the robot reached his arms up to pull himself out of the basement, Reginald ran across and began scrabbling his hands across Robo’s back.

            “What are you doing Reginald?”

            “I’m trying to grab onto you so you can pull us both out.”

            “Oh, fine. Just hold tight, and quit moving your hands around so much.”

            “Certainly,” said Reginald, stopping his pawing and wrapping his arms around Robo’s neck.

            When they were safely outside, Robo turned to Sir Reginald.

            “I hope you know that this wasn’t personal, Reginald. It’s just that an associate of mine needs this tome for a life-or-death situation, and I suspect you were just going to read half of it and then throw it on a shelf somewhere. That seems a bit of a waste to me.”

            “Fair enough. Still, next time I’ll have a real wand with me.”

            “Of course you will. See you at the club on Thursday?”

            “I’ll be there.”

            As Robo turned and walked down the street, Sir Reginald heroically stifled his giggles. After all, it’s not often you see an atomic robot with the words I HUMP WASHING MACHINES scrawled on its back with a stubbed-out cigar.

            “Apparently I am twelve…” he mused as he walked back to his car.

benjamin sTone
Who will kick your ass if you don't go check out atomic_robo's work