From the prompt: "Sporadic midget..."
"Target Practice"
(Why did I let Tobias drag me into this?) Keith growled before promptly tripping over a chair and sending the audience up in a gale of laughter.
(Hey, I didn�t force you, I didn�t hold a gun to your head,) Tobias answered innocently.
(You threatened to turn me into a girl,) Keith snapped. And he spotted the target, smirked to himself. The other clown � barely three feet tall to Keith�s six feet � ambled past. Keith started across the stage after him, dodging a squirt from the target�s tiny water pistol. At the wings, a prop assistant handed him the knife, and he crossed the stage after the target again, exaggerated tiptoeing that had the audience in a fit of giggles.
The shorter clown halted abruptly, and Keith screeched to a stop a hair�s breadth from him. There was a cry of �Look out, Short-Stack!� from a child in the audience and gasps as he brought it down, blade first, onto the clown�s head. Short-Stack went stiff as a board, cartoon style, and fell flat on his face just as they�d rehearsed. Just as they�d rehearsed!
(But I switched Asia�s shiv for the fake knife!) he cried. Then he proceeded to load Short-Stack into a red wagon and sail off the stage with a big wave at the audience. His smile was already painted in place so he could panic.
The play over, Keith probably gripped Short-Stack�s hand too tightly during the final bows, but he didn�t care. As soon as the curtain was down he dashed for the dressing room, eager to rid himself of the garish make-up. (Street magician does not equal clown, Tobias!) he fumed, scrubbing viciously at his forehead.
Short-Stack ambled up beside him, grumbling. �...Dumb prop-mistress...I changed the !@#$ knife.�
Keith froze momentarily, and had the midget pinned against the wall � several feet off the floor � two seconds later. �You what?� he hissed.
�I � I changed the knife to a real one!� Short-Stack squeaked.
�Why?� Keith growled, blue eyes shooting sparks.
Short-Stack looked away. �I � I�m in with some bad people, and I double-crossed them. I figured I�d rather kill myself than let them deal with me.�
�I already changed the knife,� Keith bit out. �You must have changed it back.�
All the color drained from Short-Stack�s face. �The � they sent you. The Council. You were sent by the council?�
Keith slammed him roughly against the wall. �Of course I was. And since you admitted to the crime � well then, I�ll have to do this fast.� And pain exploded across his ribs as the midget kicked.
Keith gasped and doubled over, letting the smaller man drop to the floor. Short-Stack climbed to his feet, dusted himself off, kicked Keith in the shin and sped away.
The immortal straightened up, eyes narrowed to angry slits, and sprinted after his target.
Some of the crew members scolded as Short-Stack came whizzing past, Keith vaulting over speakers and ducking under clothes racks, hot in pursuit. His long legs should�ve given him an advantage, but the little man was quick. They emerged from the community theatre building and sprinted across the lawn where, unfortunately, that evening�s audience had congregated.
�Come back here, shorty!� Keith yelled.
�Not in a hundred years, scrapper!� Short-Stack yelled back.
Some of the people clapped, believing it to be a continuation of the performance.
�You were supposed to die when I stabbed you!� Keith cried.
Short-Stack glanced over his shoulder and blew him a raspberry. Keith�s blood began to boil, and he put forth an extra burst of speed.
Short-Stack led him round the corner and to the parking lot. Keith knew what the midget could do and cursed. Any faster and he couldn�t fool a blind man into believing he looked human.
Short-Stack darted sporadically between cars until he reached on old VW Bug and dove in through the window, which he promptly rolled up.
Keith stopped on the sidewalk, making a big show of being breathless.
�Fine, then.� He waved. �I suppose we�ll do this tomorrow night.� He smirked.
Short-Stack started the engine, and his car exploded.
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© Agent Duo 2004