Never, Under Any Circumstances, Rock the Boat

Who: Barf, Rika, and the bomb squad
Where: Blue Dwarf hallway
When: Not a good time for a Mexican stand off
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When they found themselves surrounded by security gaurds with pointing zappers,
Barf
had his hands up before anything. In some ways, he was very relieved: this
saved them a
trip. I more ways than one, he felt very stupid. He never thought ahead of
anything, his
response to everything was action. Bad luck? Even though Barf said yes to that
question,
his thoughts were thinking something else. Bad luck barely scratched the skin
off this
potato. No, he would be happy if a thing like luck and bad luck existed. No,
the only
word that closely resembled the way his life works is fate. Frankly, fate was a
parasite that
was anoying but never killed unless messed with, so one should just deal with
it.
As always, Barf was the one to crack a joke for all the security gaurds in the
house, "How's
the weather people? I didn't know it was barbeque season." That was obviously
a bad
start to an already bad situation. It was certainly not as laid back as it was
in the mines.
Barf was also praying a hopeless prayer that his spontaneous shapeshifting would
not
occur.
"Where'd the green guy go?" asked one of the security gaurds.
"What are you talking about?" said another security gaurd. "There was blue
skinned guy
here, not green."
As Barf remaind silent and hopeful that nothing bad would happen, a voice spoke
over all
the disputes. "Stop complaining officers! That's a shapeshifter!" The man
that came with
the voice then came out from the crowd of the security officers. Barf noticed
Rika's look
when he came, that expression said everything: this man was the big cheese, the
chief.
Barf felt relieved of the fact that the cheif was looking straight at Rika.
Then Barf's sense tweeked, which it rarely does. Whenever Barf's sixth sense
tweeks, it
means that there is potential for danger, but there was a high chance that
nothing would
happen. Barf never had any use for statistics, chances were chances, and they
should be
considered, not disregarded. Strangely enough, his sense led him to Rika. Upon
closer
examination, he noticed two things: her eyes were glaring like a fire-eyed
lizard, and her
hand was too close to her zapper. "Well this is just a pile of sticky rocks,"
Barf thought.
"This woman's a born warrior. This is both good and bad." There were two types
of
statistics that Barf trusted: 50/50, or random happening. That meant there was
a 50/50
chance that Rika was in control of that warrior's instinct, and random
happnening meant
that there was a chance an unrelated bad thing could happen.
"Report officer!" said the chief. Barf was holding his breath, waiting, hoping
for something
good.