Stanford Pines shielded his eyes shifting his feet on the gravel below with a slight crackle.
It was a hot day, sweltering and full of humidity. It was made worse by the sun, which had only begun to set.
His opponent truly knew what he was doing, setting the exchange to take place here. It put him at a massive disadvantage, heat making him uncomfortable, sun blinding him.
He sees a familiar figure step out, silhouetted against the sun. The surrounding people were familiar with these exchanges, turning their heads and intentionally ignoring what was happening.
"Well here we are again Sixer." The man across from him says. "I think we both know it'll be a lot easier if you just hand over those papers."
Stanford adjusts his glasses, unwavering.
"As if I would make things easy for you." He says, "What makes you think I even have them?"
"Well of course you have them, you know that I always have something you aren't willing to risk. Or who, I guess is the right word this time." He holds up a key that glinted in the warm sunlight.
Ford's eyebrows shoot up.
Who? He's never resorted to taking people before, who on earth could he have...
No. Surely not.
"You're bluffing." Stanford says firmly, "I would have known if he were here."
But he could tell from the confident grin, that he wasn't lying at all.
Ford sighs.
"Fine."
The other man beams, as Ford walks up to the halfway point to lay down the folder, as per the usual demands.
"Oh come on now, see? Why can't it always be this easy?"
"I suppose," Ford says, reaching carefully behind the folder, "it just wouldn't be as much fun!"
He quickly pulls out a grappling hook, firing it off, and it ricochets off of the brick wall of one building and into the open window of another. It pulls taught, the cable knocking the surprised man over and the key out of his hand.
Ford wastes no time, dashing forward and snatching up the key, taking off. He knew just where to go.
The man pushes himself up with a grin.
"You make a fair point."
Stanford wheezes, already tiring out. If he was going to keep doing this he would really have to start working out more. Of course that's what he said the last few times.
He looks back, spotting his opponent hot on his trail, not that he'd expected anything else. He needed a plan, or a better plan anyway. He'd severely underestimated the situation, thinking everything important had been accounted for.
And now he only had a simple grappling hook to work with.
He quickly looks up to the wall he ran next to, searching for an open window. If he could get to the right floor, it may be the head start he would need.
Ford spots his opportunity, and shoots up just barely getting away. He pulls himself up and into a window on the fourth floor, scrambling inside and then pauses to catch his breath.
He would make a point to not make these sorts of mistakes again. He underestimated the situation, and gained the advantage through luck entirely.
Well that and quick thinking, which had gained him this lead--
He gasps when he opens his eyes.
The community lab? No, no, he was one floor too high! He was still one floor closer, but he didn't have the advantage of physical prowess. That was his brothers advantage, not his.
If he could just get there first.
He practically flies down the flight of stairs, leaping over a few at a time, stumbling slightly when he reaches the bottom. A few corner turns later and he can see his destination.
Room 38A.
He skids to a stop, reaching for the door handle when suddenly he's tackled and pinned to the ground.
"Just a little too slow, Ford. Hand over that folder."
"Or what?" He says, "We can't stay like this forever."
"Well I disagree."
A small purple spray bottle comes down in Stanford's line of sight and his eyes widen.
"You wouldn't dare." He hisses.
"Would t I? I think we both know I've done worse."
Ford sweats a little. He was right, he had done far far worse than that, and on more than one occasion.
He sighs in defeat. "Fine. You can have your papers."
"I will release one arm. Hand me the papers and no funny business."
Ford huffs, wiggling around to reach for the papers. His hand squeezes past his grappling hook, accidentally setting it off. It shoots out, immediately striking the other person directly in the head.
"AH! STANFORD!"
Stanford quickly whips around.
"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry, Stanley are you alright?!"
"You just-- you shot me in the face!"
"I'm so sorry, it was enti-- well I feel like shot is the wrong word, its a grappling gun not a, no no you're right-- it was entirely unintentional I swear!"
"Augh!" Stanley kept his hands over his face. He was bleeding for sure.
"Hey," a muffled voice calls out from the room, "since you two have broken character, think either of you two fancy getting me out of here now?"
Stanford unlocks the closet door to their dorm, where Fiddleford was sat inside.
"You know, Stanley," he says, getting out, "It don't help that you put snacks in there. It really don't."
"Fiddleford!" Stanford says, surprised, "How did you get here? The spring break only started today didn't it?"
"Yes, but some people had started taking off early." He says, tapping his fingers together, "Including some professors..."
Stanford just shakes his head and tuts. "I keep telling you Fiddleford, you need to apply here. Backupsmore is simply a joke."
"I suppose you'll be paying tuition?"
"Yeah look, reunion later, face now." Stanley interrupts, coming in and flopping onto the bottom bunk of their bed.
The blood was leaking out if his hands by now, and Ford cringes feeling even more guilty.
Stanford hurries over, as Fiddleford looks aghast at the mess, and even more so when Stanley removes his hands. Stanley's nose was not only broken, but split where the grappling hook had struck.
"What happened??"
"Ford shot me in the face!"
"What, I-- well maybe now you're not going to insist on going through this whole spiel every time there's a paper you don't want to do. To be fair you were threatening me with my own paralyzing spray." Ford says, grappling a first aid kit out if his desk drawer.
"I think that is entirely something you need to expect when you invent a paralyzing spray." Fiddleford interjects.
"And we wouldn't have to go through this whole thing if you wouldn't insist on me doing my own papers." Stan says, "Speaking of, where's that folder?"
"Right here." Ford says, smacking Stan upside the head with it. "I know for a fact you write your own papers in case you lose. Why don't you just turn those in instead if going through all this mess?"
"Ford, you and I both know I didn't get in because if my brains like you did--"
"Well if you want to be technical."
"--I've got to keep up my image." Stanley says. Stanford crosses his arms and frowns.
"You are perfectly capable of doing it on your own, you just don't want to."
"Yes, because there are many many things that are about a dozen times more fun. Where as you get some sort of sick joy from writing long and boring papers, so this should be a win win."
"Will you just stop talking so I can fix your nose?" Stanford says with a frown.
"Only if you give me the folder."
"I'm not giving you the folder, turn in your own work." Stanford demands.
"But Ford," Stan says, putting on his most betrayed look, "you shot me in the face with a grappling hook. We both know I put minimum effort into that essay. How am I suppose to focus on redoing it now?"
Stanford just stares at him flatly, clearly unmoved.
"Oh! There I go! I'm blacking out!" Stan throws himself backwards onto the bed, "I've lost too much blood."
He grabs Ford by the shirt sleeve, tugging on it.
"I see a bright light, Ford."
"I'm willing to bet that's because you're staring up at the light on the ceiling."
"Tell Ma I love her!"
"Alright alright!" Ford smacks Stanley a couple more times with the folder before tossing it on him. "There. But next time you're doing your own papers."
"Stanley?"
"A little dizzy actually, I'm a little dizzy."
"Oh!" Ford grabs up the first aid kit, popping it open and rummaging around in it a bit.
"So," he says, pulling out a disinfecting wipe, "doing this nonsense again when your next paper is due in a month?"
"Absolutely."