I gotta say, it leaves me in a state of perpetual awe, the range of extraordinary abilities we got at this school.
[Al is on screen, elbow propped up against a desk in what is presumably one of the faculty areas of the school. His eyebrows are raised pointedly, his lips cast in a dull line. Does he look perpetually awed? Not exactly.]
New revelations, every time I set foot in the fucking place. Pardon my language -- [He is really very concerned that he might have offended someone and not at all just saying that because the administration's chewed him out about the barrage of constant F-bombs and other sundry filth that comes out of his mouth daily.] Like today. Here, this very morning, I bring in a bottle of liquor, setting it aside for the enormous, skull-pounding, fucking headache I'm gonna have once I'm done acting as schoolmarm for the day, and...look.
[The camera pans around, circling from Al's look of feigned suspense to a stretch of open counter-top. There is absolutely nothing there.]
Breath-taking, ain't it? I had no idea we had someone around that could turn alcohol fucking invisible and intangible. Wonders and their never ceasin', huh?
And, now, I expect that one of you bright young minds is gonna astonish me further by popping it back into existence before the clock strikes next. Legal age or not, I assure you, the alternative involves you waking up powerless, by the side of the road in New Jersey or some other hellhole.
[Action]
["Armed Combat Instruction" is what it says on the tin, as far as Al's official position at the school goes. And while, most of the time, the "armed" part of that title can be supplied by the Danger Room and its hard-light programs, occasionally a firmer dose of reality is wanted. Hence the layout he's prepared on the desk in the otherwise workaday classroom he's commandeered for today: In place of the usual array of school supplies, it's lined up from one side of the other with a variety of firearms, starting with a trio of handguns at one end and working up to heavier fire-power at the other.
It's one of the smaller weapons that Al picks up as he stands in front of the class, double-checking the safety before turning it over in his hand. He looks impassively over towards whomever's actually shown up for the day.]
So, show of hands...
How many of you here have actually fired one of these? At something that was trying not to get hit. [He waits just a second for any potential response.] Or been on the receiving end...?
I suppose, with a group like us, we're as like to come out either way, am I fucking right?
Al Swearengen | Deadwood
I gotta say, it leaves me in a state of perpetual awe, the range of extraordinary abilities we got at this school.
[Al is on screen, elbow propped up against a desk in what is presumably one of the faculty areas of the school. His eyebrows are raised pointedly, his lips cast in a dull line. Does he look perpetually awed? Not exactly.]
New revelations, every time I set foot in the fucking place. Pardon my language -- [He is really very concerned that he might have offended someone and not at all just saying that because the administration's chewed him out about the barrage of constant F-bombs and other sundry filth that comes out of his mouth daily.] Like today. Here, this very morning, I bring in a bottle of liquor, setting it aside for the enormous, skull-pounding, fucking headache I'm gonna have once I'm done acting as schoolmarm for the day, and...look.
[The camera pans around, circling from Al's look of feigned suspense to a stretch of open counter-top. There is absolutely nothing there.]
Breath-taking, ain't it? I had no idea we had someone around that could turn alcohol fucking invisible and intangible. Wonders and their never ceasin', huh?
And, now, I expect that one of you bright young minds is gonna astonish me further by popping it back into existence before the clock strikes next. Legal age or not, I assure you, the alternative involves you waking up powerless, by the side of the road in New Jersey or some other hellhole.
[Action]
["Armed Combat Instruction" is what it says on the tin, as far as Al's official position at the school goes. And while, most of the time, the "armed" part of that title can be supplied by the Danger Room and its hard-light programs, occasionally a firmer dose of reality is wanted. Hence the layout he's prepared on the desk in the otherwise workaday classroom he's commandeered for today: In place of the usual array of school supplies, it's lined up from one side of the other with a variety of firearms, starting with a trio of handguns at one end and working up to heavier fire-power at the other.
It's one of the smaller weapons that Al picks up as he stands in front of the class, double-checking the safety before turning it over in his hand. He looks impassively over towards whomever's actually shown up for the day.]
So, show of hands...
How many of you here have actually fired one of these? At something that was trying not to get hit. [He waits just a second for any potential response.] Or been on the receiving end...?
I suppose, with a group like us, we're as like to come out either way, am I fucking right?