Semper Pie
"You think you can catch me? That's not how this works. The only question is how much fun you can make it for me when you try."
– Carmen Sandiego
Norris eyed the standoff taking place in his restaurant before walking away. "Excuse me folks, but I suddenly feel the urge to put away the breakable things."
Flynn Rider was quite the morning person. Especially after a good meal and a fine drink, along with a teaspoon or two of mortal peril.
Still, he usually disliked fighting. Not in a pacifist sense, mind you, he sometimes enjoyed the rush of a good scrap, but more in a practical sense. He was a thief, after all. Stealth was his element just as water was the element for a fish or the sky for a bird. Flynn took much pride not only for never being caught but also because he was famous only because he allowed himself to be seen. He wanted his name to be known. For him, getting in and out of a highly secure area, silent as a whisper, and leaving a calling card as the only trace of his presence was as crucial as getting the job done, to prove that there was nowhere Flynn Rider could not go and nothing he could not do. And it wasn't that he couldn't hold his own in a fight either. Many thugs and security guards that had (mistakenly) thought they could overwhelm him with sheer strength or numbers could attest to that. But getting into fights that could easily be avoided was, on top of being incredibly risky, just a waste of time. So, it was more that Flynn disliked unnecessary fighting than fighting in general.
When Norris' network got word that the Captain was coming, Flynn knew that the dice had already been cast. With Corona already alerted to his presence, security would quickly be increased for the foreseeable future. But that had never stopped him before. Where others saw obstacles, Flynn saw opportunities. They thought they could capture a man of his level so early in the game? That wasn't how this worked! Instead, Corona had overplayed its hand and sent him a gift-wrapped exclusive preview of their security measures before they were even put into place. The chance to learn exactly how they operated when responding to a serious opponent, and then make plans on how to best exploit them later on. And if they were somehow more trouble than they were worth, he would just leave Corona.
And so, Flynn stayed in place and patiently waited for the Captain and his men to reach him. So that he would learn everything about the people who managed to find him so quickly.
A single-minded man who sees only his goal is never able to truly live his life. You must also carry an awareness of the world around you, of both opportunities and danger. The obstacles in your path define the path. What stands in the way becomes the way. Your senses are the key; sight is not your only tool to perceive the world. The ground beneath your boots, the smell on the breeze coming your way, and even the manner of the wind picking up the tails of your coat. Rely on all of your senses equally and the world will reveal itself to you.
When the guards barged in rather loudly, Flynn's hawk instincts breathed in and he rapidly soaked up everything, assessing minute details about their equipment, formation, their stance. The length and reach of their polearms. The type of metal in their armor. The spacing between every member of their formation, how the center-left man's scabbard was loose for the sake of comfort instead of function. Then he threw jokes and insults to provoke them into losing their composure and giving even more away, all while keeping the crowd thinking this was all a staged performance. Classic misdirection.
Everything told a story, various observations coming together to form a blueprint of what made Corona's finest tick.
He took note of their attire. Most guards he had encountered were usually either heavily armored from head to toe or just dressed in simple cloth uniforms with thick leather. The guardsmen of Corona were a small mix of both, a blend of ceremony and practicality. No armored spaulders, vambraces, gauntlets, or greaves to shield their limbs. Instead, the sleeves were cut to allow exaggerated movements of the arms, and the simple black trousers likewise permitted freedom of movement. Aside from their helmets, their only form of armor was an inch-thick metal breastplate for a chest guard. A modest uniform made for swift skills and liberal motion while shielding only the most vital areas.
At least, that was the apparent purpose, but from his other sharp observations, Flynn had to wonder how many of them were even aware of the design's intention. After all, everything about their weapons and actual stance told him a different story. What he gathered did not impress or worry him. Every spear and sword they carried were in perfectly pristine condition, and he could tell even more from the absconded sword now in his grip. It didn't matter how well you polished and took care of your equipment; their weapons were just too clean and unmarked to have seen much use. Corona was a relatively peaceful place with little crime or conflict to forge experienced fighters. Most of the guardsmen weren't even actual knights. They were the type more used to ceremony, practice drills, and waving to the crowd with a polite smile. It was unlikely they had much seen fighting outside of their training, much less any true challenge. The confidence came more from the authority of their uniforms than any real skill. They instead relied on numbers, youth, and an idealistic sense of duty to the kingdom to compensate for their inexperience. They were disciplined but hardly seasoned or competent.
Seriously, even the dark-haired serving girl that visited earlier – what had Norris called her, Cassandra? – had a more impressive gait than these men!
The Captain was the only real threat. His armor was just as clean, but unlike his men, the Captain's own stance was solid and refined. While the other guards carried spears and simple short swords, he held a high-quality cutlass that was of superior make and design to every weapon in the room, including Flynn's 'borrowed' weapon. The cutlass blade was also perfectly sharpened and well-polished, but the worn leather of the handle and his gloves suggested frequent and dedicated use. This was a man who committed himself rigorously to the practice of the sword. And as much as he hated to admit it, Flynn had to silently commend the Captain on having actually found him. He was a legend amongst thieves, and legends were not easy to find. Just like Nasaltown, most kingdoms never even knew he was there until he already had the prize. And yet somehow, he hadn't even been in Corona for twelve hours before the Captain managed to track him down despite the inexperience of his men. Flynn could easily name several dozen people of authority who wished they could do the same.
Still, he had learned everything he needed within the first few minutes and was prepared to give them the slip without even lifting a weapon. But then the Captain went too far and brazenly commanded him to accept his 'proper place.' So, just as he had done with the Duke, he would stick around long enough to play. And he was going play rough.
Those who trust their eyes over their intelligence often regret it. Fight smart above all else, for tenacity is the measure of a man's endurance against overwhelming odds. Skill and experience are essential, but how you make use of them is vital. Take what you have observed and adapt it to your advantage. Use it to anticipate, and then surprise him. Always think ahead, and never allow your opponent to dictate the rhythm. Act, don't react. Never forget that guile and trickery can be the key to victory more than raw strength and speed. You must make your own luck.
This was where his assessments came into play. Seven guards, including the Captain; four spears, three swords. Some people would be intimidated and even outmatched in the face of seven-to-one, but not Flynn. He had faced greater numbers before composed of much tougher opponents. These men, on the other hand, were shaking in their boots, literally in some of their cases. After Flynn's recent display, more than half of them were trying to keep their weapons from shaking in their grip. That told him many things itself. They were good enough for common run-of-the-mill criminals but were both underprepared and inexperienced with opponents of superior skill. Several of them were already sweating and trying to calm their breathing. Heck, if one had a tendency to faint at the sight of blood, he wouldn't be surprised.
And the Captain who was now gaping at the two men Flynn had rendered unconscious? The thief had a few ideas to try, but for now, he had already confirmed that the man's technique was offset by his temper. The thief knew many fights could be turned by the ability to trick your opponent into growing overconfident, angry, or stepping the wrong way. Make him come unglued, and he'll be an accident waiting to happen.
And Flynn was nothing if not an architect of the most brilliant accidents.
The thief glanced at his sword, then he suddenly blinked, started. "Whoa, whoops! I, uh… I took this without asking, didn't I? Ah man, I just made your job more complicated." Flynn's face scrunched up as he flipped the handle and held it out rather sheepishly, loosely dangling it between two fingers. "Erm… You want it back? If I'm supposed to be arrested, you'll probably be needing that."
The already baffled guards looked at one another. First he knocked two of their numbers unconscious and now he was actually surrendering? They were thrown for a loop so many times in the last few minutes it was hard to think straight.
"I've had my fun, I don't want any more trouble," Flynn hurriedly raised his other hand placating, eyes wide with apprehension and every inch the compliant man. "You want it back, fine. But I'd rather not toss a sharp object and accidentally hurt someone. Maybe I could slide it over?"
He locked eyes with the only two other guardsmen with swords of their own. "I'm just gonna, you know, move over to this aisle…" He gestured empathetically with his free hand. There was still an assortment of restaurant tables between them and the thief. As Flynn moved three steps to his left with calm but subtle direction, like how a shadow must always reflect its owner, the two guards found themselves wordlessly mirroring his movements with three steps to the right.
Away from the squad's formation. With a table now between them and the rest of the group.
"I'm going to slide it over to your feet, okay? Easy does it…" He gently slid the blade across the smooth wooden floor. One of the guards bent down to pick it up.
Showtime.
Without missing a beat, Flynn suddenly flung a hand-sized bag of flour from the counter at the second guard's face, blinding him. Before anyone could react, he darted straight for the first man still bent down, smoothly leaping across another table to slam his flying foot into the surprised guard's chest. He swiped the sword out of the man's grip before he fell down, swiftly spun around to deliver a hard blow to the blinded man's face before turning again to kick the first guard's head against an ironwood table leg.
Both men were out cold. And the crowd went wild.
"Why does everyone always believe the worst of me?" Flynn gave a sigh of longsuffering, pitched, and dramatized in such a way as to specifically draw a response from the Captain. "Seriously, I try to make new friends, even though it always ends up the same way. I go 'Hey law enforcement, what's up?' But nope! Man, diplomacy sucks!"
The Captain snapped out of his shock and glared fiercely at the thief, already making his best impression of a cherry tomato. "You dare? You dare harm the Royal Guard?!"
"Oh, I'm daring alright. Pretty good looking too, don't you think?"
"Be silent!"
"So, we're finally done talking?" Flynn sighed in immense relief. "About time, Cap'n! I thought you'd never shut up."
"ARGH!" The man finally snapped and charged at him like a bat out of hell.
Yep, totally triggered.
~o~O~o~
How dare he! He would silence this vile cretin here and now! He would throw him into the dungeons and smash the key!
Even as Captain Stilton charged like a madman, he still had enough sense to hold true to his swordsmanship. He studied the thief; Rider could clearly be fast if his takedown of four of his men was any indicator, and the cretin obviously thought he knew the sword. Well, the Captain had learned from his father who learned from his father, the family who had successfully defended Corona for generations. He had trained most of the Royal Guard himself for the sacred charge of protecting the kingdom and its people. He advanced with a classic stance, the thief's more open and overtly sloppy.
This would be easy.
Thrust, feint, parry, slash—only there was nothing but air, the thief spinning around to his blind spot and leaving the Captain scrambling to put up a defense. What? How had that happened? The Captain blinked, studying the man again, but his stance was so bad… it had to be a misdirect, and he had fallen for it. He adjusted his grip, pursing his lips, determined not to fall for it again.
"Where'd you learn?" Flynn chuckled. "Some crackpot who thought he was D'Artagnan?"
The Captain grunted and tried again, rushing forth with great speed and power. Once again, Flynn wordlessly spun out of his way and watched him stumble through empty air. The Captain regained his footing and came at him again. And the thief dodged again. The Captain recovered more quickly this time and turned back around with a well-rehearsed flurry of slashes. But Flynn still easily ducked, dodged, and sidestepped every blow as if he were dancing.
Flynn wasn't even using his sword, just his favorite style of dodging. He called it 'Nope. Nope. Nope.'
After the first ten seconds, the thief ducked under the Captain's sword again and slipped around, pressing himself back-to-back against the royal officer. The man grunted, stumbled forward a step as Rider's weight hit his back, then spun to one side in search of him, then the other. Flynn kept with him though, a grin lighting his features and rolling his eyes to the audience.
The Captain suppressed a snarl, whirling this time, and stumbling as Rider's legs caught between his own, checking the impulse to catch himself on his hand and tucking into a credible, if clumsy roll.
The Captain grit his teeth and advanced on Rider again. Hold still, you little-!
And yet, somehow, he could not keep up with this man, the thief had the uncanny ability to never be where he predicted, always moving to his blindside. The Captain could barely keep up, unable to understand the pattern in Rider's movements, if there even was one, and with offense so thoroughly shut down, he had to stay defensive instead. The type of moves, however, was decidedly nonstandard. How the man could pull it off was beyond him. The thief's stance was not terrible but deceptive; his form was excellent. Better than even the Captain's own teacher?
No! No, his childish tricks and disrespectful attitude had simply… lulled him into lowering his guard! It had to be!
"Let's see if your footwork is any good."
That was all the warning the Captain had before the sloppy stance shifted to boldly aggressive. The royal officer was giving ground almost immediately, and he couldn't backpedal fast enough. He tripped over something, he didn't know what, and the flat of Rider's blade struck his collar. Cursing, he rolled to the side and spun to get back on his feet – only to be hit again, this time in the knee. The bloody thief didn't even let an opponent stand! That wasn't fair! He was cheating! The Captain got up again, his right knee now very sore. He held his sword again, however, and retook his stance. He was not going to lose to some cheating thief! A lowlife criminal! He'd never hated a man more.
"Stilton, was it?" Flynn tilted his head. "Isn't that a smelly kind of cheese?"
The Captain snarled, furious that his easy arrest was denied to him. "Seize him!" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. "Now!"
The other men had held back, both confident in their Captain's prowess and wisely not getting in the way when he was on the warpath again. Now they snapped out of their stupor and started to spread out, one man staying where he had been up until now, two others putting themselves at Flynn's left, and the other two men taking positions at his right. He was effectively surrounded. The most basic of strategies; when you outnumber an enemy, you take full advantage of it to overpower them.
However, you should never charge blindly with this formation. You should always wait for your opponent to make the first move. Combining both strategies, the most tactical plan is to lure the enemy into attacking a section of your surrounding forces. Then you close in with the rest while he's already occupied. In a six-on-one battle, that translated into putting enough distance between you and your five companions and let your sole adversary focus on one of them and then close the noose.
The guards did no such thing. Instead, they proved just as inexperienced as Flynn had determined and charged right at him. And they weren't even moving in coordinated sync! As Flynn would learn in the years to come, the Royal Guard of Corona was disciplined and obedient but were severely lacking in effective training, experience, and tactical sense. Or even much common sense.
"How exactly do you think this ends well for you?" Flynn smiled. "Very well, then here's how we settle this: a dance-off! You and me!" He quickly tossed a silver coin towards the Honeycomb musicians. "Two Tortuga Hornpipes, if you would gentlemen!" The musicians looked at him, at the coin, then each other. They shrugged and started playing a merry jig.
(Two Hornpipes – Extended Version)
The greenhorn of the group, no older than eighteen, moved ahead of the others with a confident war cry, wildly swinging his spear above his head before making a hard thrust. The young man was stopped still when Flynn's sword caught the halberd's hook in a lock. The greenhorn blinked with shock, glancing at the thief in alarm, who smirked in response. Flynn yanked the spear forward, smacked the man's unprotected face to the side – "Ouchy!" – then drove his boot into his shin – "Ouchy!" – before whacking him in the face once more to send him sprawling on the floor. "Ouchy…"
The entire takedown took only two seconds.
The other three rushed forward with their spears in a flanking maneuver. Flynn moved to deal with the closest two before the third one could engage. He parried a swing from one side and deflected a slash from behind, immediately followed up with a riposte that knocked down one man's spear before swinging the sword pommel right back up into the man's face and sending him into a table. Flynn had barely knocked him away before ducking a swing from the second man's spear. Without hesitation, he grabbed said spear and used the man's momentum to swing him around, face-first into a nearby support column.
That one took three seconds. Onto the next one!
The third guardsman had slowed, uncertain of how to slip into the whirlwind of blows that took down his two companions and now tried to catch his foe by surprise. Instead, Flynn turned and grabbed the spear in his free grip. The thief then pulled a quick sleight of hand and, with a flick of the wrist, flipped the man to the floor. Another two seconds.
The final guardsman was somewhat more competent with the spear, making him the best of the group, but it still made no difference. He slashed directly at the man's legs only for Flynn to neatly hop over it, parry the next few overhead slashes and strike back at several vulnerable spots the guard had left open. Flynn then deftly swung up at the man's face, catching the edge of his helmet and sent it spinning straight up into the air. The guard made the mistake of looking up, alarmed to see his head protection rotating several feet above him. Flynn used the opportunity and slipped a foot behind the man's ankle and pushed, knocking the guard down. He fell on the floor with a heavy clatter.
Flynn caught the helmet and looked it over. "How do you people even think in these things?"
The guard started to get up, intent on making the thief–
GONG!
Flynn tossed the guard's helmet over his shoulder, which came down squarely on top of the man's head. His whole body flinched at the impact. Then his head lolled about as his eyes crossed and then his head fell back as he went unconscious, a prominent goose egg growing on his dome.
In total, the entire group had taken less than fifteen seconds.
And when one of them managed to spring back up in the hopes of catching the thief off guard, he made the sad mistake of assuming Flynn Rider wasn't cool enough to pull off the 'No-Look-Block.' After stopping him cold, the thief leaped up and grabbed a support column to make a full roundhouse spinning kick to the man's helmet.
Both the Captain and the entire Honeycomb gaped at the display. Who was this guy? Someone who, judging by the look on his face, knew all too well how great he was.
"You guys aren't allergic to getting your butt kicked, are you? Wait, I just remembered I don't care!"
Then the thief actually backflipped away, landed, and executed a handspring that brought him to a table that worked perfectly as a seat for him to plop down on, one leg swung up and crossed over the other while casually resting his sword over his shoulder. He smiled at his own performance. Even that minuscule display was full of cheerful taunt. The man tilted his head curiously, the motion and how he was sitting all relaxed making it seem like he was waiting for the officer to join him for tea.
"Next!"
The Captain felt a cold sweat slide down his neck. He couldn't believe it, but this man was on an entirely different level from the typical criminal.
No! Remember your training, soldier. Head up. Shoulders back. Right foot forward. Slow your breathing.
Captain Stilton took his stance again and rapidly approached with purposeful strides, fists clenched tight, sword ready, shoulders squared, and boots thudding audibly. Despite trying to appear as intimidating as he possibly could, it didn't seem to faze Rider in the least, the man waiting patiently even when Captain Stilton was mere feet away. He knew he wasn't fooled. Flynn viewed his approach with quiet mirth, a silent head tilt asking if he was really serious. The Captain answered with a swift upper slash.
All that it resulted in was another thrashing. Rider spun on top of the table, sword and foot knocking aside his slash and getting him to step back. The Captain recovered quickly and leaped atop an adjacent table of his own, the two of them facing each other off as the duel resumed with swift fervor.
The spectators cheered at the rapid dance of clashing blades.
Flynn didn't seem to even bother fighting back. The whole time it became the Captain who was fighting with everything he had while Flynn was merely smiling throughout the entire duel as he seemed to parry and counter all the Captain's attacks with ease. With the way he was holding one arm behind his back and giving the occasional hop in his step, he looked more like he was dancing a merry little jig for the music and amused audience. This only infuriated the Captain more and more to the point where he practically yelled in anger with every attack and swing of his sword. He was being made to look like a foolish amateur in front of everyone! And by a common thief of all people!
No, there was nothing common about this man at all. His stomach clenched all over again. Captain Stilton had never fought a foe like this. This man, this thief… he had been the one dictating the rhythm of the fight since the beginning. Everything about this was wrong, this should have been simple like fish in a barrel. Instead, Rider was making a mockery out of the Royal Guard, out of him! How was this even happening? Thieves like him stole because they were too lazy and ignorant to work hard for an honest living. Their paltry efforts and worthless standards were supposed to crumble against the indomitable foundation of the law. How could someone like him ever commit himself to train, let alone to such elite and dare he say it, enviable levels?
And he wasn't just skilled, he was blasted smart! He had divided their formation, used the environment to his advantage, and had played them with cunning expertise. Rider proved to be faster than any of them, countering each of their attacks with ease and delivering unorthodox yet effective takedowns. And as they now clashed blades with one another, Rider met every one of his thrusts with a blend of skill and flair, showing off his talents with flamboyant style without sacrificing footing or hurting his stance. Staying perfectly centered, perfectly balanced, deflecting without effort, riposting with flickering strikes and stabs swifter than a snake.
If that wasn't enough, the Captain could sense that Rider wasn't throwing everything he had into their duel like a man fighting for his life. Instead, the thief was actually enjoying himself! More so, it was growing just as clear that the scoundrel wasn't trying to kill him, having neglected to exploit no less than seven fatal openings.
Even Captain Stilton knew it. He wasn't a fool. He had trained himself to the bone, knowing that any mistake might mean death or being crippled for life, especially since any honorless and craven thug wouldn't hesitate to hurt a good man. A duelist like himself could only deny his own failings so many times before realizing that his life had been spared too often to call this a battle to the death. And he was tiring, as bad as it was to admit. He had never been pressed like this, never exerted himself this much so quickly before. Not enough to worry, but if nothing changed, he would be defeated through sheer exhaustion.
Rider, on the other hand, wasn't even breathing hard. Where was this man getting such boundless energy? Not once did that entertained look leave his face. Stilton was the Captain of the Royal Guard, a loyal servant of the law and the right hand of the king! And this man saw him as nothing more than a game! As if it was all just—!
Rider abruptly tackled him off the table.
~o~O~o~
Flynn moved and flowed like the wind, for air is never still and can never be shackled. As he had dodged and countered every blow, he could easily read the surprise and frustration in the Captain's face.
Yeah, I'm not just a pretty face, buster!
The moment the Captain had first taken a combat stance, Flynn looked him over for any flaws or openings. A tremble in his wrist, a weak grip, an errant lean in his body, or a foot out of place. He found none. The Captain had one of the most honed stances he had ever seen from a member of law enforcement. Both his body and his weapon were perfectly still; focused and unwavering. He looked perfectly at home in that armor, as if his uniform defined him. Just one glance told him the man's reputation as the best of Corona's protectors was not merely a title. He earned that spot through true dedication and effort.
But that wasn't the only thing Flynn had studied. To seek every advantage, understanding your opponent's fighting skill was essential but understanding the man behind it was far more valuable.
After evading so many guards and soldiers over the years, he had long since learned how to read them, to tell what type of man they were to best evade, outsmart, and even exploit them. Even before the Captain first opened his mouth, Flynn could tell this one was a die-hard stickler for rules just from how straight his back was. The way he slowly strutted himself across the floor, trying to present himself in properly intimidating law-enforcement professionalism.
But Flynn only thought he looked typically absurd. While he naturally didn't care for guards or law enforcement as a rule, he still found further disdain for those who firmly believed that the proper decorum and the shiny uniform of their station were more important than the willingness to get down in the muck and sweat of contending with the criminal underworld. The kind who held that flashing their emblem and the might of their authority was all that was needed for any situation, that any change or deviation from their 'traditional' approach was 'contemptible' and 'insulting.' The people who deemed that anyone who did not follow this 'lawful good' belief of 'civilized society' could not possibly be anything other than the vilest and ungrateful of scum.
Just like most nobles I've robbed.
When Flynn had briefly clashed with Duke of Nasaltown's bodyguards several months ago, he knew they were the type to do anything asked by their charge, no matter how dirty, ruthless or illegal, as well as use any tricks or means in a fight. The Captain of Corona was probably a far more decent man than those two were, but had a narrow-mind shaped by tradition, rules, and principle in any approach, little creativity, possibly even refusing to adapt. If anything, he would be even easier to deal with than the Duke's bodyguards.
And once their blades first clashed, Flynn immediately saw that, like so many others, his character was reflected in his swordsmanship. His initial assessment of the Captain turned out to be spot on. I knew it, I just knew it!
The Captain's swordsmanship was more like a training manual than an actual practitioner; the man hadn't realized his form was actually too good, that fancy ceremony meant nothing outside a formal duel. Especially against an opponent with serious skill and experience. And experienced outranked everything.
He had no weakness in the maintenance of his form, except that the form itself was the weakness. The Captain always advanced while standing straight up instead of keeping his center of gravity low, just to name one thing. His idea of technique was certainly honed and well-practiced, but his stance was exploitable, and his fighting style was predictable. Even worse, it was repetitive. In fact, it was borderline detrimental. Seriously, the man was in his early-to-mid forties! If he had been practicing in this manner so rigorously for all his life, then he had spent decades engraving an impractical and generally ineffective style of combat into his muscle memory and development.
The Captain was definitely a man who made himself into a reflection of the law; unyielding, unimaginative, and often inflexible, refusing to ever change or bend.
If this moron is in charge of training, then no wonder his men lack common sense.
Flynn quickly realized that the Captain was, in fact, the most perfect target that he had ever come across for his own style. Skill and experience blended with the unorthodox. Creativity; the ability to mix up moves to be unpredictable, to disrupt focus, flip the game table, seize the advantage, and make his own rules.
And the first rule was: Flynn Rider wins.
And so out of nowhere, Flynn had leaped forward and tackled a surprised Captain off the table into a roll across the floor. "Once he hits the ground, spin your partner round and round!"
The pair rolled over with one another a few times before breaking away.
"Get off of me!" The Captain quickly spun back into a combat-ready position with his sword… gone?
"Lose something, Captain?" Flynn asked with an unrepentant smile, holding up the man's own weapon. Without missing a beat, the thief smoothly flung the sword high up into the ceiling, the tip of the blade wedged stuck in the wooden rafter and sending splinters flying.
"HEY!" Norris cried.
"Sorry!"
"My—but that—you—!" The Captain sputtered as he looked up at his prized weapon jammed in the ceiling. "Grrrgh!
The Captain's first wild swing was neatly avoided. The sidestep turned into a side-shuffle as Flynn almost tap-danced his way along, smoothly avoiding each of the Captain's increasingly wild swings in turn. "That was a cheap trick, Rider!"
"And here's another one!" Flynn suddenly dropped and swung a leg sweep that sent the Captain face-first to the floor again.
"Wheelbarrow!" He cried, giggling as he grabbed the Captain's legs high up, forcing him into a handstand, and proceeded to push him around the room on his hands.
"Wha-WAAH! UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT!" The Captain squawked at his undignified state as his hands frantically tried to keep pace.
The entire restaurant was roaring with laughter at the display. A moment later, the thief flipped the man up and knocked him against a nearby table.
"Chase me all you want Cap'n, you'll just wind up holding your own tail!"
The officer was quick to stand again, snarling, and charged Flynn again to make the man pay. Except his rush was abruptly halted when his left foot didn't quite come along for the ride. Stumbling in surprise, he looked down to find that his ankle was shackled to the table! The scoundrel had somehow tied him to the table with his own manacles!
"Told ya."
Of all the…!
The entire Honeycomb was now in complete hysterics. Customers were pounding their tables, some even fell out of their seats. There were even a few cheers and clapping hands of applause. Giselle and most of the staff were clutching their sides and crying tears. Norris was leaning on the countertop, face buried in his arms as he shook with laughter. Even the other guards were struggling to keep a straight face.
"YOU LITTLE…! GRAAGGHHH!" Staggering on one foot, the Captain tried lunging with outstretched hands at Rider, who casually remained just of reach. The ironwood table barely budged. His hands flew all over himself, checking his pockets. "Where's the bloody key?!"
"And that will teach you not to threaten me during breakfast!" Flynn held up the key for all to see before tossing it out of sight. "This place has amazing food and I wanted to enjoy a nice and peaceful meal, but you just wanted to be rude! You know what? You can stay in the corner. You've earned it. I'm gonna come back with a dunce cap for you, and you're gonna wear it!"
"You will pay dearly for this insolence!"
"Insolence?" Flynn actually laughed. "Remember who you're talking to, I don't even know what that means!"
The Captain looked apocalyptic. He then reached into his uniform, pulled out a silver whistle, and blew hard, the tiny instrument letting out a shrill cry that belied its diminutive size.
Immediately after that, the front entrance burst open again as five new guardsmen charged in. "Reinforcements have arrived!"
Why the Captain hadn't called for said reinforcements sooner was anyone's guess.
Flynn looked over his shoulders at the new arrivals. "Hey, the back-up's here! Alright, you guys sing 'doo-wah,' and I'll sing lead!"
The newcomers blinked, having not been exposed to his flippant antics yet. That was when they looked around the Honeycomb, seeing their comrades still recovering and nursing their bruises, and wait a minute was that their Captain who—?
"Don't just stand there, stop him!" Stilton bellowed.
Straightening at the order of their superior, the lead guardsman in the center locked onto Flynn and snarled. He drew steel with a flourish, the long sword in one hand and a parrying dagger in the other.
"HYYAAARGH!" came the war cry. He spun his sword, displaying substantially more skill than his previous cohorts with an intricate series of whirlwind movements, precise and elegant, spinning his sword and stepping forward as he lashed the air in front of him. "RIARGH!" the man roared again, challenging his quarry to come forth.
Flynn stared at him uncomprehendingly.
A beat.
"…Riaghaghagah!" he answered, swinging his arms in the air in a silly imitation before his sword glittered in a single slash, slicing the rope on a nearby post.
The new guard's gaze followed the rope and looked up.
Just in time for the massive chandelier to land perfectly on the entire group, crashing to the floor, and knocking all five men unconscious.
"And that folks is how you bring the house down!" Flynn crowed. "The art of improvised weapons never ceases to surprise!"
The audience laughed and applauded. Norris made a mental note to tie his chandeliers on the second floor. Flynn did several quick bows to the audience with his palms together. "Pray hands, pray hands!"
"Oh, come on!" The Captain wailed. "Someone catch him already!"
Flynn laughed. "Someone can try!"
While the other guards had managed to recover by this point, no one had noticed that Norris had his staff discreetly relieve the men of their weapons when Flynn first knocked them to the floor. Though the Captain's men were now unarmed and clueless about wherever their weapons could have gone, two of them worked up the determination to try to make another move on the thief.
"Think fast!" Shouted the youngest guard as he leaped at Flynn like a pouncing cat, hands outstretched to snare him.
Flynn, however, beat him to it. He ducked the guard completely and intercepted him mid-flight with a heavy rising push to the man's chest, sending him into a spin. The young guard flipped over in the air and then landed flat on his back atop one of the tables, snapping it in half to fall hard on the floor. The guard let out a groaning sound of defeat as he lay there, too stunned and sore to move.
"He… thought too fast…" the guard wheezed.
Another guard rushed in and threw a wild haymaker, only for Flynn to duck and allow the punch to hit the Captain's face instead. "Dogh! OW!"
"Whoa, you alright, Cap'n? You look dumbstruck."
He rolled to dodge and then swung his leg into the man's ankle, tripping him up. He waved his arms wildly for balance, falling right on top of his other comrade. It was like Flynn was attacking them with their own men!
"Okay, do you guys practice swinging and missing? Because you can turn it into an art form!"
Honestly, it was just embarrassing at this point; these men were trained in only one way to handle people like him, rushing him the same style and with no plan over and over as if expecting something to magically go different. Plus, getting easily knocked around while having cheerful jokes thrown your way was amazingly demoralizing. It was one of Flynn's favorite talents. And the crowd was loving it, still under the impression this was all a staged performance. After all, what better way to distract people from what you're up to than by entertaining them?
At that moment, one of the guards propped his weight on one of the tables to stand again. By complete accident, his fist landed on a spoon, which happened to be buried in a clump of paczki jam. The resulting catapult effect flung a lump of the red jelly straight into the handsome thief's face.
Plop.
The entire room went silent. It was the first time that Flynn Rider had taken a hit, and a projectile of food had been the cause. The atmosphere suddenly took on a different kind of anticipation, as if someone had just crossed an unspoken line.
Flynn wiped the jam off his cheek and took a deep breath. "You do realize this means war, right?"
And then, he did only what comes naturally to one who has just been assaulted with food: He promptly returned fire with a dish of baked pineapple and ice cream.
Splat.
The offending guard staggered backward from the blow but recovered quickly as his face set into a new determination as he picked up a bowl of pudding and threw it in Flynn's direction. Only, it missed the thief by a wide margin and hit one of his colleagues, who fell back in surprise and knocked into another guardsman, who consequently smashed his elbow into a plate of food.
"You—!" One of them grabbed a handful of mashed potatoes and flung them into the first guard's face in retaliation.
"OF ALL THE TROUBLE-MAKING—!" The Captain roared.
Bad idea. A pastry came flying right toward his— SPLAT.
"HA! In your face!" Flynn laughed. "I love the smell of nougat in the morning, and table manners are not to be trusted!"
The Captain seethed, about to make a sharp retort. But, just then, a handful of… something else… hit the side of his head. With narrowed eyes, he looked up to see two of his men with pseudo-innocent looks on their faces. At that moment, something inside him just finally gave in. As for what happened next, he wondered for many months afterward where the whim to throw a handful of vanilla yogurt at Flynn had come from. Completely caught off-guard by the unexpected culinary attack from the Captain of all people, the thief failed to dodge the hit to his shoulder in time.
Rider froze with his mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. It took a moment to gather himself before shooting the man a look of approval.
The Captain couldn't believe it. He hit him. He had actually hit him! Finally!
Inebriated by the newfound success, Captain Stilton threw another plate of food at him. Flynn dodged this time, and his retaliation hit the Captain in the side of the face; in turn, his elbow slammed down onto a large spoon that was filled with soup. Like the opening blow earlier, the spoon had the same catapult effect— splashing a load of soup into the face of one of his men.
That was when Rider found an entire armory of ammunition. "Hello! Pie cart. Gimme."
"By the gods! Pastry alert, fan out!"
"Victory will be sweet! Victory will be delicious! Muuwhaahahaha!" He laughed triumphantly. "Hey, you there! How come you have a clean face?"
Maybe this has gone too far?
…
…. Nah.
Does it need to be said that a full-fledged food-fight broke out?
~o~O~o~
(11 Pie-in-the-face Polka - The Great Race)
Even as they continued to laugh and cheer with delight, spectators couldn't even fathom how it came to this.
This: tables that had once been perfectly aligned in the Honeycomb's center floor and topped with food having been toppled, scattering their contents throughout what had become a battleground. Enemy combatants fired constant heavy artillery and brutal siege to one another through weaponized dessert.
Food was flung through the air in all directions with almost no concern as to who might be in the path of its parabolic motion. But perhaps that was the true intent of it. (Fortunately, there seemed to be an unspoken rule to keep their culinary battle within the boundaries of their warzone to avoid civilian casualties.) Cutlery, broken plates, and all kinds of innocent tableware were strewn across the tables while pools of spilled drinks and gravy turned the once-pristine marble floors into a death-trap where one could slip at any given moment.
Even the noblest warriors feared they may be forced to retreat and make way for the rise of the new ruler who claimed dominion over this swathe of territory within Corona's grounds.
He was standing high upon his monument that signaled his impending conquest: a number of tables that had been repurposed for the construction of his makeshift fort that had him standing triumphantly above his battlefield. With hands on his hips, chest jutting out, his victorious laughter carried as far as the walls would allow it.
How Flynn managed to rearrange the heavy ironwood tables when the one chaining the Captain still refused to budge was a mystery.
All anyone knew was that as ridiculous as it might seem, it was also rather exhilarating.
It was probably exhilarating precisely because it was so ridiculous. Most of the Honeycomb's spectators hadn't felt this rush of giddy enthusiasm in years. What an incredible staged performance! Norris Flint had truly outdone himself this year!
Speaking of which, Norris was holding his face in silent horror like a particular Van Gogh painting at the sight of his beloved culinary creations being used for a food fight.
As for the rest of the guards, after the outlandish events that had happened already (seeing their otherwise indomitable Captain humbled in such a silly way), nothing made sense to the guards anymore. Something inside them just gave in. "Come on!" Flynn called out. "Look at me! I'm a target! Can you hit me? Ha! Missed! Whoops, missed again! Oh, so close!" It hadn't taken long before all sense of duty was forgotten, and they just became determined to hit him.
In the meantime, Flynn had to admit he was not only having more fun than he had expected but also more of a challenge from his opponents. He had more close calls dodging food projectiles than he would like to admit. Several times he actually had been hit; most recently, it came from a whole cabbage slamming into the side of his head, sending him back to the floor in a shower of green. It wasn't just that he was outnumbered seven-to-one, that was rarely a problem for him. But rather it was like the moment they had stopped doing their jobs as royal guards, they had suddenly become frighteningly competent.
…
… How did that even make sense?
But Flynn was undeterred. The thief had already tossed a bowl of mashed potatoes as he leaped onto the food table and unleashed a barrage of edibles like a great wave descending on the shore. Anything and everything he could get his hands and feet on became a projectile seconds later. Bulls-eye with every single serving from the table, Flynn made sure that the guards sampled them all.
The men frantically scrambled for cover, or just to get out of the way. Two of them weren't so lucky; both were struck hard enough to hurl them backward and across the floor, where they lay in moaning, twitching lumps.
"Pete, Stan! Noooo!" Wailed one of their comrades. He somberly ran a hand over their faces, closing the eyes of his fallen allies in respect. "You will be avenged!"
At that moment, Flynn had found a lemon pie and knew exactly where to send it. "Taste this for me, would you Cap'n?"
Before Captain Stilton could get his vision chocolate-free of the last pastry, the lemon pie came flying, coating his head in the baked concoction. The thrill of his earlier success had quickly worn out. Still chained to a single table, he was obviously exposed, his mobility and arsenal were severely limited. Not for the first time in the past half-hour, the Captain resolved that he never hated a man more.
Then his desperate gaze caught sight of something that had rolled in his direction and lay just within reach. An idea blossomed in his mind. If he was subtle enough…
Ever so slowly, he began to reach. The object slid into his hand. He lifted it gently, afraid of making any noise at all, even over the laughter of the crowd. Still winded and aching from head to foot, the Captain rose unsteadily to his feet, his grip tightening and hardly daring to take his eyes off Rider's back as he did so. He called upon his training once more, straightening his stance and slowly moving his dominant foot back.
A hawk cried out somewhere, but he didn't let himself be distracted as he threw the rock-solid coconut at Rider's head with deadly accuracy, taking the one chance he might have left at taking him down.
For an instant, he thought it might actually work. Rider's attention was firmly on the other guards who were just as distracted, and the cheers of the crowd provided effective cover.
At the last instant, however, some arcane instinct must have warned him. The Captain could barely credit his eyes. Rider whipped out his sword and turned with almost inhuman speed, slicing the coconut cleanly in half.
The entire Honeycomb went still. The fight was over, the only movement coming from the two coconut halves spinning wildly on the floor like a crazed dreidel. Everyone could only stare at the thief standing in quite the pose. After that seemingly impossible display, there was absolutely no doubt of the man's skill.
Flynn smirked at everyone's reaction as he performed a simple flourish before sheathing his sword.
"Impossible…" The Captain breathed.
"You dance with the best, and you fall like the rest, Cap'n. Get with the program." The thief went as far as to check his tiny reflection in a large spoon to see if this little scuffle had done anything to his hair. It was completely untouched. "Well, folks, this has been a blast, but I gotta get a move on! See you later, Cap'n!"
The Captain shook himself out of his daze. "What! You dare to give me leave?! This is my kingdom, and you're not going anywhere!"
"It's cute that you pretended you had permission to give," Flynn chuckled. "I've got a life! Things to do! Adventures to live and fortunes to be had and general glory to revel in! So, if you can find a way to accepting that, great! If not, well, whatever! I'm Flynn Rider, and I approve nothing!"
"We're not finished here!" The soldier struggled fiercely against his restraints. "Come back here this min—!"
At that moment, gravity finally managed to loosen the Captain's sword from the rafters, where it promptly dropped right on its owner's head with a resounding clang. The Captain swayed for a moment before his eyes rolled back and his body crumbled to the floor.
"I rest my case," Flynn laughed as he turned to the cheering spectators. "Whew, what an epic battle, folks! If it were fiction, nobody would believe it!"
"I love you!" A young lady screamed.
"Right back at you, gorgeous!" He answered before looking back to Norris. "Sorry about the mess!"
The chef looked around at said mess of his restaurant before giving a helpless shrug. Along with a hidden nod.
The handsome thief smiled and nodded back before giving a sweeping bow to the audience as he pulled the door open. "Why thank you, thank you very much ladies and gentlemen! Flynn Rider has left the building!"
He could not stop smiling as he closed the door behind him while strolling back into the warm sunlight. Perhaps he should have been more subtle and simply given the guards the slip as the master thief he was, but being unprofessional was just so much fun! And that Captain absolutely deserved it! His first day in Corona and he was already having a blast! He wondered what other delights he may find waiting for—hey, whoa!
Flynn quickly avoided being trampled by a horse tied to a nearby post. It was a magnificent specimen of the equine race, with a perfectly groomed white coat and golden mane. And it was very, very angry.
"Whoa! Hey c'mon, what do you want?" Flynn retorted indignantly. "I'm trying to make a speedy getaway!"
His choice of words only seemed to infuriate the horse even more. And judging by how fresh and spotless its appearance was, along with its rather well-bred muscular stature and the palace insignia it wore, it only took a few seconds for the thief to work out who it belonged to.
"Oh, relax, your owner's fine! He looked a bit tired, and it made him grumpy, so he's sleeping it off now."
The horse's eyes and nostrils flared, looking downright murderous. He gave a loud whinny and immediately redoubled his efforts to break free and annihilate the man but to no avail.
"Toodles!"
Taking off like an arrow, his eyes spied a set of crossbeams that led to a balcony and then to an iron lattice covered with vines that bloomed in the summer. That led up to the roof. That was all Flynn needed. Once on the roofs, he was racing along the tiles with practiced ease.
Within seconds, he was gone.
~o~O~o~
The Captain groaned, gritting his teeth and wondering why his pillow felt so scratchy. He lifted his head, squinted against the overly bright light that shouldn't be in his room. His skull was ringing like someone used his head to ring the school bell. He blinked several times to clear the haze while the rest of his brain woke up and asked him what he was doing.
He didn't have a good answer.
"Let's hear it, folks!" Strange, that sounded like Chef Norris of the Honeycomb. "Flynn Rider is long gone! Just like the ex-girlfriend!"
Rider!
And then realization flooded back in, along with the sound of applause and laughter echoing all around him. The Honeycomb. Flynn Rider. Humiliating defeat. And the scum escaped! The Captain gritted his teeth. How could this have happened?
Hearing a metallic click to his side, Captain Stilton glanced over to see Chef Norris unlocking the shackle around his ankle. Apparently, he had found the key. A moment later, the Captain was free at last.
Only to subjected to a spine-popping hug by the chef. "That was magnificent! Grazie Capitano, grazie!"
"Gah! What… Norris… please… let go… *sigh*… thank you." The Captain could breathe again. How it felt like Norris' hugs could snap him in half while wearing his armor he did not know. "What do you mean 'magnificent'? That evil scoundrel got away!"
"Hahaha! Ah yes, 'he got away'," Chef Norris made air quotes as he chuckled. "Good one! You've always been a man committed to his role! But the only evil in my restaurant is the man with a growling stomach and an empty tankard!"
Stilton blinked. What was he talking about?
"Captain, you always have been a great friend to me and my establishment! But I'm just so touched that you'd go so far to help a friend by putting on a show for my customers and me! El bellissimo!"
"A show?" The head of the guard could not make heads or tails of this. How was this day actually getting more confusing? "What are you talking about? This wasn't a show!"
"What? No, of course it was a show, Captain. Otherwise, I would be upset that you brought weapons into my restaurant."
Stilton made a face. "For that, you have my heartfelt apologies. But with a man as dangerous as Rider, I couldn't take any chances. I needed to make use of every advantage at my disposal. And after what I've just seen, even that wasn't enough!"
"Okay. Now you're starting to worry me, Captain." An uncertain look was beginning to show on the chef's face. "I mean, this was an act, right? Right?"
"I'm confused about how confused you are."
"Uh, I hired a playwright, Mr. Zelinsky, to organize a few daily live performances in my place for the Festival. Didn't he set this up with you?"
"I have no idea who that even is, Norris! I got word from my daughter that the infamous Flynn Rider himself had come to Corona and was sitting right here at your restaurant, so I gathered my men to come arrest him and make him stand trial! And now he's escaped! I was such a fool to underestimate him!"
"No," Norris' smile became strained. "That was not the real Flynn Rider, it was not!"
"It was!"
"No, he wasn't!" The poor chef seemed to be on the verge of panicking. "I did not just give service to a wanted outlaw! Tell me you're joking!"
"Yes. That's me, Norris," The Captain dryly answered. "A joke machine."
That seemed to do the trick. Norris' eyes went wide. He took a step back, shaking his head numbly. "Oh… oh lord. I-I can't believe it…" He clutched the counter for support, looking pale and even a little weak in the knees. He looked around a moment, apparently confused before he stilled and took a seat. "I'm going to need a moment. I need a drink. Water, or maybe brandy."
Stilton gave the chef a comforting pat on the shoulder, feeling a wave of sympathy wash through him. The poor man, being tricked like that.
"It's alright, Norris. If he could outpace me, it's no surprise he was able to hoodwink you. Ah, no offense!" He hastily backtracked at the look Norris gave him.
As the master of the Honeycomb poured himself a glass of brandy, the Captain looked around at the sorry state of his men.
He did his best to ignore the musicians still playing that infuriating polka music as when Rider humiliated him.
How could this have happened? Flynn Rider wasn't a musclebound thug, he was a thief! The only thing that such lazy vagrants were good at was running away from their problems. They weren't supposed to be this skilled in a fight with the odds stacked against them! People like him stole from others because the thought of hard work sickened them. But instead of running like all his ilk were supposed to, Rider took up a weapon and ran rings around Captain Stilton and twelve of his best men without taking even a scratch!
Then he started a food fight. Seriously, who did that? Who thought like that? Intelligent people didn't do such outlandish things when they saw a trap; they planned a trap around the trap so he could plan a trap around their trap around his trap, then they could use his trapped trapped trap as bait for their trapped trapped trapped trap and so on until one of them slipped up in their deadly game of chess. Yet another perfectly sensible rule that Flynn Rider had spurned. How dare he!
No, wait a minute. Rider hadn't been surprised by the Captain's trap. Not at all. If anything, he had seemed to be expecting them! How else could he already have such a clever hoax ready to trick the audience from fetching reinforcements? He somehow knew about the trap in advance and had turned the trap to his favor by reversing the Captain's trap into his trap! Which meant the Captain's second trapped trap was actually the thief's trapped trapped trap all this time while his trapped trapped trapped trap was disguised as Stilton's own trap trap, leaving him with no traps and thus flipped the order of traps into its own trap! Gragh! Truly, Flynn Rider was a devious mastermind as cunning as his skills were sharp.
"Th' was *hic* g'd show. Br...braaavo, Cap'n," came a slurred voice right next to Stilton. The man blinked when he saw what looked like a small dwarf with a beard sitting on the table.
Wasn't that table empty a few seconds ago?
"Leave the Captain alone, Shorty," Norris called.
"Hey, mayb' you c'n 'elp me find m' magic fish?" The little man aptly named 'Shorty' paused before suddenly letting out a loud belch. "Oh wait, I 'member now."
"Wait a minute," the Captain frowned as he pointed a finger. "You were the one who made everyone think this was some theater performance! It's you, isn't it?! You're the one he came to meet! His accomplice!"
Shorty didn't appear to have even heard him. He merely stared at the man with his mouth hanging open. "...yer m'stache... it e'scaped..."
"Mustache? What?" The Captain blinked in complete befuddlement. "My mustache hasn't gone anywhere. Now what is your association with Flynn Rider?!"
"Ish h'kay, m'stache ma- *hic* man. I sh'll 'elp you retr've yer...must...ashhh..." The little man trailed off as his head tilted to the side with his eyes closed. Then he began snoring.
The Captain stared incredulously, with his finger still pointing. "Did you just nod off?"
"Relax, Stilton." Norris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shorty's been here for years. He's no accomplice. In fact, I doubt he even knows what the word means."
The Captain looked back at Shorty, who was now starting to drool and blow bubbles from his nose. "…Alright, point taken."
Why were they still playing that annoying polka music? He was not in the mood for this.
Stilton tried questioning the staff next for information on Rider. Which did not get him anywhere.
"It was like he walked out of a romance novel!" One waitress swooned.
"Did you see the way he moved?" Another gushed to the others.
"Oh, most assuredly," Giselle cooed. "The gentleman and adventurer look agreeably blended in him. He is a temple, sacred by birth and built by hands divine."
All the women sighed in blissful longing.
… What?
Captain Stilton couldn't believe this was happening. Being the upstanding citizen he was, he explained the truth to them. All the women went still as their eyes grew with excitement.
"Truly? T-that was really the Flynn Rider?"
Why did he suddenly feel like he shouldn't have said that? Especially when they looked to one another and had a silent conversation. Not a psychic or telepathic one, mind you, but the far more mysterious method of wordless communication all women seem to inherently have with one another. Then they squealed, falling into a fit of giggles like blushing schoolgirls. His attempts to remind them that Flynn Rider was a dangerous rogue only made it worse, seeming to add spice to the appeal. Oh good heavens, did that one actually faint? How was this happening?!
At least Norris didn't seem to be faring much better as he watched his own staff in disbelief. "How does he do that? And why does it never happen to me?"
Stilton shrugged helplessly.
"Wait." Giselle seemed to snap out of her daze and gave the Captain an accusing look. Why did he suddenly feel like he was on the edge of a cliff? "If that was really Flynn Rider, then that means… you're trying to hurt him."
All the other women stiffened and suddenly looked at him with pure murder in their eyes.
Oh dear god. Why?
"Excuse me!" Norris came to his rescue, gesturing to the giant mess. "Why do I still see my food all over the floor?!"
Like a switch had been flipped, the staff scattered in different directions as they rushed back to their stations.
The Captain let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Thank you, Norris."
The chef nodded. "Now then, I do hope you weren't trying to kill him. Come on Captain, you know how I feel about corpses in my workspace."
Stilton just frowned. "What did Rider do while he was here? Did he take anything?"
Norris paused to think. "No, I don't think so. He came in here a while ago, sat on this very stool and never even moved from that spot until your men came barging in."
The Captain blinked as if the answer surprised him. "Wait, that's it? He didn't threaten you or anyone else?"
"Wha—? No! Captain, despite this little, eh, spectacle here, he's just a thief. Not a killer."
"He's a criminal, Norris. There is no difference. It's simple nature: A is A, and scum is scum. And they all end up in the same place."
He did not see the way the entire Honeycomb staff was glaring daggers at him. And for more reasons than just simple infatuation for Rider.
"Moving on," Norris sighed. "All he did was order a few drinks, some paczki, and then some ice cream."
"Did he speak with anyone?" Stilton seemed frustrated and almost desperate to find a lead, or something wrong and immoral about the man that made a fool out of him.
"I'm sorry, Captain. Other than making subtle flirts with some of my staff, the only one he held an actual conversation with was me, Captain. He said that he was a new arrival, visiting Corona for the Festival. He was asking about local activities and information, then his food arrived, and he just ate after that. Afraid that's there is."
"Alright then, he's probably scouting out potential targ—Will you shut that bloody racket up?!" He screamed at the musicians. They jumped in fright and did so immediately.
By this point, his men had finally recovered and were awaiting orders. Though their armor would need a thorough cleaning from all the dents and food splatter. "Well, I wish I could have visited under better circumstances, Norris. I apologize for any damages; I'll see if the palace can cover them. Rest assured, we will find the man responsible and deliver him to justice."
"Just be careful," Norris warned as he followed the Captain and his men out the door. "I hear a lot of things out there; Flynn Rider is the best at what he does, and he specializes in the ridiculous."
"I believe it," the Captain growled. "Just wish that I had done so an hour ago."
Rider was plotting something; he just knew it. It was another trap, he expected. He hadn't killed him when he had had the chance, but that just meant that the trap needed him alive. Still, he would press on with the proper caution of Rider's trap, and use his trap to make his own trap, and if the vile criminal tried to put a trap around his trap around their trap first, then he'd just put a trap around their trap around his trap around their trap … and he was back in the game.
"Oh, Stan?" Norris handed an ornate jewelry box to one of the guards. "For your wife's anniversary next week."
"Oh god!" The man gasped. "Norris, you're a life-saver! I can't believe I almost forgot. I swear, you've only been here for three years, and you already know me better than I know myself."
Another member of the guard stepped forward. "Say, uh, any word on…?"
"Don't worry, Peter. Your new boots arrived this morning. They'll be waiting at your house once your shift is over."
Captain Stilton smiled. This was the virtue of a true, honest, and law-abiding citizen.
"Oh, and Pete?" Norris pulled out a fortune cookie. "I know how much you love these!"
The guardsman eagerly crushed the cookie and took out the slip of paper. "Alright, let's see… 'Confucius say: Blind pursuit of a goal leads only to misfortune.'"
…
…
…
Feeling everyone's eyes on him, the Captain gave Norris a rather questioning look.
The chef held up his hands in defense. "I swear to God I had nothing to do with that. Even so, you should be very cautious, my friend."
The Captain scoffed, "While I appreciate the thought, those cookies are still just silly superstition. Now, look alive, men! This may be a time of celebration for Corona, but this matter needs to be seen with more caution than putting ale in the stomach. A wanted thief is here! Skulking around the city of our king! Plotting nefarious schemes! Whatever he's up to, he will not succeed! I want him found! I want to know where in the world is Flynnigan Rider!"
He angrily stomped his boot for emphasis.
Squish.
There was a long silence as everyone froze with numb shock.
"…. Maximus," Stilton growled. "What did I just step in?"
The horse sheepishly looked away.
Norris narrowed his eyes. "Never. Mock. The Cookie."
That's right, folks! This is how awesome Flynn Rider can be when Rapunzel isn't in the room. Because let's be honest, Tangled is her story.
Mr. Zelinsky was the illustrator of the original Rapunzel novel.
Well, everyone. Things seem to have gone to hell with remarkable rapidity. At least my state governor has proven quite competent in his response to Corona. And yes, the irony of writing a story that takes place in the Kingdom of Corona is not lost on me. Anyway, stay safe, all of you, and listen to the advice from the *actual* qualified health experts instead of from overreacting idiots. And please, do your best not to freak out. The reaction to a virus often causes more harm than the virus itself. For example, I saw a video of a group of frantic women fighting over toilet paper at their local store. What are you doing, people? Of all the things to panic about, toilet paper is not one of them. Food, water, medicine, yes. But you can survive without toilet paper! Please don't forget you're in a bathroom with a shower. And failing that, use paper towels or even newspapers!
Flynn Rider: "I feel like people in first world countries don't know what to panic about."
Disclaimer: I do not own the Disney franchise, nor the Tangled films nor the TV series. Everything original you will see, such as OCs, are mine.