Title: My Daddy Says… Field Trips Aid Education

Author: Taz

Rating: G

Summary: It's just a little trip to the museum… what could possibly go wrong?

Author's Notes: Well, that last chapter sucked more than a vampire at a blood bank (heh heh). Let me know if it's getting better or worse guys, all your reviews are appreciated…

"Okay, class," Miss Johnson called, looking around the classroom. "Form two rows and follow me out to the school bus."

The class did as instructed without a murmur of protest, all excited at the thought of seeing all the cool displays they had been promised inhabited the museum. Colm, finding himself next to Jakob, grinned across at his friend as they filed out into the school yard and boarded the big, luxurious coach that the exclusive school provided for it's students.

Miss Johnson looked back at her young charges and smiled in relief, they all seemed calm, especially young Colm, he could be a bit of a handful but just look at him now. So sweet and demure looking as he reached into his bag and pulled out a STAKE?! Oh no! This wouldn't do at all!

Thankfully, she noted that, as she walked towards him he didn't seem to be acting particularly threateningly with it, he answered a question from Jakob and shrugged before making to stuff it back into his backpack.

"Colm O'Connor! Give me that piece of wood this instant!"

"Geese, I wasn't gonna hurt anyone with it! I didn't even know I had it in my bag! Connor must have put it there…"

"I don't care if the queen of England put it there," his teacher snapped fiercely, holding out her hand to take the grudgingly proffered stake.

Content that he could no longer kill his fellow students, she shot a parting retort before making her way back up to the front of the bus. "One more incident Colm, and you're sitting up front with me."

Colm, looking suitably horrified, hunkered down his seat and stayed there, refusing to get involved in the singing of 'ninety-nine bottles of soda on the wall' (of which Miss Johnson was thankful as it usually tried to defer into his own rousing rendition of ninety-nine-bottles-of-blood-on-the-wall which he swore, ridiculously of course, that his Uncle had taught him). Within a short while and much to the driver's relief, they pulled up at the front steps of the museum and unloaded his expensive cargo with their teacher.

"Right children, let's go straight in and sort out our worksheets, then we'll take a look at the exhibits."

The class groaned collectively at the mention of 'worksheets' but scurried up the steps, excited and chattering. As they made their way around the museum, Miss Johnson nearly sent poor Colm and Jakob to sleep with her boring repertoires on Viking and Roman life, as these were the two periods in history the class were studying. What did the sons of two slayers care for the way Roman women washed their clothes? They thought these people were supposed to be the best fighters in the world! They had swords and shields and really cool helmets…

However, it seemed that Miss Johnson had saved the best until last. As they rounded a bend they came upon a reconstructed waxwork scene of Romans fighting it out with Celts… a completely fascinating exhibit for all the kids. After a few minutes of their silent awe she suddenly became uneasy. They were quiet and that could mean only one thing; Colm wasn't around. Glancing uneasily at the group of kids she wasn't even remotely surprised to discover that he was nowhere in sight.

Before she even had a chance to open her mouth and almighty crash could be heard from the display. All the class squealed and spun to look with interest. Two of the Romans were moving! Albeit, very short Romans, they were definitely fully-fledged centurions with plumed helmets, shields and swords. The only thing, aside from their diminutive height, that set them aside from their waxy counterparts was the fact that, beneath the ornate breastplates, they were dressed in the distinctive black blazer and trousers of St Davidson's Prep school.

"Be scared of me you crumb bums!" Colm bellowed, hacking randomly at one Celt's leg.

"Yeah, we're big scary Romans," Jakob snarled, thrusting his sword towards the belly of an almost surprised-looking Roman general.

They proceeded to mock spar, both with each other and the waxwork Celts until, wriggling and shouting, they were dragged away from the display by a bemused curator and extremely angry first grade teacher. To cheers of laughter from the class they were hauled away to the school bus where the driver became their extremely reluctant supervisor for the next twenty minutes until the class had been to the gift shop.

"We're gonna be in trouble now," Jakob lamented.

"Maybe your mommy'll let you go to another school," Colm suggest brightly, Jakob had only recently started matriculating at St. Davidson's and hated it with a passion.

"Maybe," he agreed glumly. "But you're mom's gonna kill you…"

"No, she won't," Colm shook his head, somewhat uncertainly. "Uh… I don't think…"

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will."

"Won't."

"Shut up Jakob, you sound like Jessy."

Jakob opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it and snapped it shut. Finally, he thought of something to say.

"You think we'll get grounded?"

"Yep."

"Oh man… I was supposed to be going to the game this weekend."

"Watch it on TV," Colm shrugged.

"Won't have any TV if I'm grounded dumbass."

"Who's playing?"

"The Dolphins."

"They're lame."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"Not."

"Well, my daddy says… ARGH!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Now I sound like Jessy!"