Category: Munsi

Downtime
By Christopher Munroe

For the record: It’s not all club lyfe and binge-drinking, here on the party-bus.

Though there’s plenty of that.

We also, for example, have a biweekly Dungeons and Dragons campaign, for while we travel.

I play a chaotic-neutral half-orc ranger named Thog, Master of Contusions. He’s our party’s tracker/private security. Kind of a high-fantasy Pinkerton…

Jill, on the other hand, is our bard, a Zither player/epic poet. She’s very funny, though Alec, our paladin, finds her poetry borderline blasphemous.

It’s a fun way to spend time on the road.

And like I said, not EVERY party needs to be debauched…

The Proper Way to Party
By Christopher Munroe

There’s no one, “Correct” way to party, and anyone telling you otherwise is lying…

If your idea of a party includes the show, after-party, hotel lobby and, when ‘round about four you gotta clear the lobby, take it to your room, then by god do that.

Similarly, if you’re having a party, a party for two, then enjoy the intimacy of your very private party.

The party bus isn’t about judgment, it’s about parties, however you define them, and however you define yours there’s room for you here.

And perhaps that, more than anything, is what we need right now…

Flap
By Christopher Munroe

Don’t you see?

The “Magic” feather wasn’t magic, you never needed it, the power was within you all along!

You could always fly, you just had to believe!

So believe! Close your eyes, believe in yourself, and flap!

Flap, flap your arms, flap as hard as you’re able and believe as hard as you can, leap from atop this party bus, and soar! Soar to the heavens, where you truly belong!

Fly!!!

Shit, you okay? Let me help you up.

Sorry, I didn’t think you’d fall for that. Obviously people can’t fly.

You gotta admit, though, that was pretty funny…

The Detectives
By Christopher Munroe

We found him in his office, dead.

There were rope burns around his neck, and when we examined the body we counted fourteen stab wounds in various spots.

That’s not even going into bullet holes, eight total, the last basically obliterating the top part of his head, splattering blood and brain across the ceiling.

The room absolutely reeked of petrol, and a lighter was found near the gasoline-soaked body. One spark would have set the whole room ablaze…

Yes, we concluded, he had not died of natural causes.

His death had been violent, violent indeed…

But: Had it been accidental?