Getting nowhere

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"how do we know that?" seymour began, but before he could add
anything else, Jacks sword had flown towards him, Seymour had
screamed again, but Jacks blade had missed his body completely,
cutting off a milimetre thick slice of suede from Seymours shoe,
removing the dirt, and leaving them looking as clean as they were
when he bought them.
Seymour fainted, many people moved towards as if to catch him, but
couldn't muster enough speed to get to him in time, for some reason...
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Keats stood still for a moment, the arm around him was tightly
wrapped around his jacket, in an act of defiance incase the worse
happend. Thoughts spurred through his head rapidly, and for some
reason, one phrase above all the others seemed to clamber to the top
of his brain and onto his tounge.
'Ummm' he started
'Im off to get some coffee....'
He turned around carefully, aware that eyes had given up staring at
Seymour, who had fallen in the classic hand across forehead pose, and
onto him. Phil, who last time John had looked was with the others,
suddenly appeared next to him.
'And where do you think your going?'
'Ummm, there...'
Keats pointed to the coffee machine that was built into the wall
about 5 meters away. Phil stood forwards.
'Not likely! We still need to confirm your where-abouts!'
'Oh give it a rest! It wasnt him!' Amber shouted, arm still failing
to relinquish its grasp.
'I gotta agree with her boss, i know Keats, hes a great guy, sure,
hes a bit of a wuss when it comes to drink-'
'Yeah, i know THAT'
Phil reminised his time of being 'tortured' with Keats. He woke up
every night sweating, no one on board could make a curry that good...
'Well, yeah, cant take his drink, but a nice guy. Plus, he cant wield
a weapon larger than a pistol for Smeg'
'Well, he can use The Gun(TM) pretty well' Callum pointed out.
'Yeah, but it likes him, so, well, you know, it sorta, aims for
him... Oh, and dont let him use a blade outside of a kitch... NEVER
let him use a blade'
Jack still wore the scars from when Keats tried his hand at sushi.
'Okay, okay.... gottit, he cant fight'
'Hey.....'
'Well, who else is as blood thirsty as Keats then?'
Seymour flapped around on the floor for a moment as Mcjohn slapped
him awake. He stood up and dusted himself off theatrically.
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