Oh, so it was baseball, Vern thought as he saw her wind up.  He wasn't amused but he didn't stop her. He could have but what's the fun in that. She wanted a cage match and he was just the wrestler to give her one.<br/><br/>The hand size container of paint whipped thru the air like a bullet.  Vern waited until the last possible moment. His arm shot out.  The paint container disappeared in his palm in mid flight as thought it had not even been there at all.<br/><br/>His brows furrowed deeper and one side of his thin lips curled up in a smirk. He kept coming towards her. But stopped briefly to slammed the paint container on the desk where the other two sat.<br/><br/>His voice like the sound of tires spinning on gravel. Deep with lots of rough spots. Definitely not a singing voice. A voice that could be heard over the blast of a jet engine or a Mosh pit at a Thrash Heavy Metal HellBastard Concert.<br/><br/>His eyes like barrels of a 45. Both trained on the two other students.<br/><br/>"Take this. UP front. Large sheet ah drawin paper. Make me somethin pretty. GO!!" then he forgot about them.<br/><br/>B W turned his head to the little princess in the barbie-shopped-at-Second-Life-for-a-fashion-faux-pas outfit. Not enough pussy or tits showing in his opinion.<br/><br/>His pupils dilate as he sizes up the desk she sat on.  Then her. He walks over like the coming of redemption. He stopped at kicking distance. And that's what he did.<br/><br/>" I said close the fuckin door gently," Vern growled.<br/><br/>He snapped his leg out like he was kicking over a goal post. The spit polished hobnail steel toed boot caught that wooden leg squarely mid point. It broke like the fall of Europe. The desk and all it's contents crashed down to the floor as he watched.<br/><br/>