Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously, in our tale...

Prompt word:

SLIP

Channelling my inner fourth-grade parochial school self, I raised my hand.

It took an easy full minute for my dinner companions to notice; not counting Anya Clarieaux… said no one with a sense of self-preservation ever.

The others: four people, all safely on the right shoulder of the Stanford-Binet bellcurve, let their silence serve as a Jules Winfieldesque retort to the nonverbal assertion of my elevated hand; Rosetta looked annoyed and the Sophomore showed relief; the nun and her leprechaun simply stared. I suspected the former had learned at an early age to slip into the background at the first sign of conflict, while her diminutive companion had an expression most often observed on the faces of mean drunks hoping to get in a fight and sixteen-year-old girls disappointed that their first real boyfriend preferred to hang out with his bros most of the time.

As it stood, Cyrus St. Loreto would play with this group like a mountain lion coming off a catnip-jag in a ball pit full of children on the last day of Summer vacation.

“Ian, how delightful, you truly never disappoint; do you care to bring your little group of Adventurers up to speed on how totally fucked they are if they even think they can out maneuver the man in Miami?”