[i]Vanilla Ice Legolas Dumpster Baby[/i]? It all clicked in Jimmy’s mind with this comment, he knew [i]exactly[/i] what kind of contest this was going to be. He didn’t particularly want cops here either, had enough trouble as is with the ones back home, and if he got held up in Kentucky for any real length of time he wouldn’t be able to hold onto his already shaky job as a Squaddie at Best Buys. He didn’t like telling old people over the phone that they needed to turn their devices on if the screen was black, asking aggravated people if they had plugged in their appliances, and of the ones who got real pissed off at the question at least sixty percent by his count had in fact forgotten to plug the damn things in, once he had some old lady with an ancient flip phone ask why the outside clock always said the wrong time, damn thing still had the plastic example display plastered on it. Didn’t change the fact that it was the best paying gig he had right now, and if the cash stopped flowing in it wouldn’t be long before not being able to afford his monthly trips down to Kentucky to try and get some would be the least of his worries. Sure he could go back to working at Spencers at the mall, but he’d kind of mucked that one up when he told his manager that fish wasn’t supposed to be microwaved in the store. They didn’t have a microwave in the store, but that wasn’t what the whole thing had been about anyway. It ran contrary to his personal beliefs to actively keep someone from getting lucky, but this fool had crossed the line in hitting Mac, and although he would rather have just duked it out with the guy and knocked his teeth in just in time to let him get on with his business with his girlfriend while he went back to entertaining his lady friends it would elicit unwanted attention on the legal front, Gods knew the last thing he needed today was for the neighbors to call the cops and report a street fight. 

“I’ll tell yew what yew Uncle Cracker lookin’ bastard,” he made his way to the edge of the guy’s yard noting that Mac had been way off of the accepted playing field by being over here in the first place. Strange given that Mac was such a rules obsessed f@#$er, he could have been kicked out of the event for being over here causing trouble with the natives and to him being kicked out for breaking the rules would have seemed worse than getting hit by a car in the parking lot of the legal battlefield, but his reasons for being over on this hick’s lawn weren’t especially relevant. He could see Kenzie out of the corner of his eye poking her head up back toward the park and looking around, no doubt concerned that he and Mac had both left the place unannounced. Her eyes fixed on his mop of silver-white hair and he lifted a hand and pointed upwards, making a swirling motion with his wrist a few times before returning his focus to Mr. KFC. If it was supposed to mean anything to either Kenzie or the stranger it didn’t, and though in his mind it clearly meant bring the car around she just started walking over towards them anyway. He’d have to improvise. He always carried a couple Beats Pills for just these occasions anyway and, reaching into his pocket for an exaggerated length of time to try and elicit a response from Kentucky here, if he wasn’t physically stopped from doing so would attempt to bring out his phone and, tapping a few times at touch screen prompts, music would start pouring out from one of the Pills carried in leather mesh outside pockets on his jerkin. He’d pull the Pill out if not physically stopped from doing so, and toss it and his phone to Mac who, being a clumsy fucker, would try to catch both, actually catch neither, and have to stoop down to pick both up off the street. Jimmy didn’t care, both were cracked and beat to shit anyway, came with the territory of carrying and wearing them while getting beat on by people with sparring weapons. 

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mm8S1lwzrGA[/youtube][/center]

“Thee wan' us ter go? Theer gon'a 'ave ter give us a little show then, make us feel like we got aaahr time's worf aaaht ov yew 'ittin' Mac E boyuh over 'ere. How abaaaht I show yew 'ow it's done?” he bared his silvered teeth, cracking his neck. Whirr, twenty nine seconds in and the beat had picked up, Jimmy couldn’t have known the time on the track but he knew that this was his moment to display what he expected out of this challenge should Kentucky here choose to accept it. “White bread here think he's real good with words,” now thirty two seconds in Jimmy kicked his hips back before taking a double step towards the stranger, and still easily five feet from Tom he poked a finger out symbolically towards his chest, “think he's real tough likes to beat up on nerds,” he threw his hands up to his eyes, forming mock glasses over them with his fingers touching the tip of his thumb, before letting his left hand fall back to his side crossing his neck with the index finger of his right hand, now thirty six seconds into the track. “Now I’m a make this clear so be sure and not forget,” forty seconds in, and he turned to face his invisible audience, making a gregarious waving gesture with his right arm before turning back to his opponent. “this one's no fool and on you his mind is dead-set,” forty three seconds in, and Jimmy had pointed with his right index finger to his own head, and then towards Tom’s, poking it out towards him a second time to emphasize the words dead-set. “Pick my [b]teeth[/b] when I'm [b]through[/b] just like I do with your chicken,” forty seven seconds in, and Jimmy had half shouted ‘teeth’ and ‘through’ in exaggerated emphasis, his right hand holding an imagined tooth pick after the emphasis and poking at his bared fake grill with it. “Colonel's dry ass words, bunk ass spit 'bout to be stricken,” fifty one seconds in, and Jimmy had violently maneuvered his right hand from his face to the side of his right hip in something like a karate chop. 

“By rhymes mines be the [b]Illlest[/b],” fifty three seconds in and he had made the decision to pick up the pace with these next few rhymes knowing full well that his time would be out soon. Grasping his belt with both hands Jimmy swayed his hips full circle moving clockwise from twelve, thrusting his hips forward when they came to rest back at twelve. “Cracker up in here's be 'da [b]Liiimpest[/b],” fifty five, and he had stuck his right hand back out toward Tom, his right index finger hanging limply as he cocked his head to his right shoulder while contorting his facial features into an exaggerated frown. “Retreat I [b]Suuggest[/b], Fool ah-ain't be [b]Diistressed[/b],” fifty seven seconds in and his head was back at attention over his shoulder, having turned his body to the side and taking two steps backwards in mock retreat. “By yo funk ass [b]Prrotest[/b], youse a five buck fill up at-best," fifty nine seconds and time, Jimmy twirled in a circle, hands coming in front of himself in mock holding of a KFC bucket, right hand picking at a fake drumstick and carrying it to his face. “Freestyle rap, randomized beats, frt'y seconds awer less, no stealin' established con'en' an' shit. Thee win I get deese f@#$ers ter go. I win I get yaaahr shoes. Deal, innit?” Of course he wasn’t going to lose to Colonel Sanders in a rap battle. But if he did he had no actual power to get the LARPers to go anywhere, and would concede defeat and tell this guy he was going back to the park to tell everyone to go home before instead telling them a side quest was on to slay an infamous band of orcs who had set up in a dungeon just over at Kentucky’s house there, with the owner’s permission of course, just give him a few minutes to get shit ready for them. That should make for an excellent sight when his girlie showed up, thirty odd mostly fat young adults with foam swords checking under every rock for orcs and occasionally hitting one another while he gathered his group up and got the f@#$ out of this state. 

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“White bread here think he's real good with words, think he's real tough likes to beat up on nerds, 
Now I’m a make this clear so be sure and not forget, this one's no fool and on you his mind is dead-set. 
Pick my [b]teeth[/b] when I'm [b]through[/b] just like I do with your chicken, Colonel's dry ass words, bunk ass spit 'bout to be stricken, 
By rhymes mines be the [b]Illlest[/b], Cracker up in here's be 'da [b]Liiimpest[/b], 
Retreat I [b]Suuggest[/b], Fool ah-ain't be [b]Diistressed[/b], 
By yo funk ass [b]Prrotest[/b], youse a five buck fill up at-best,"