Luigi "Baby Shanks" Manocchio's page

The adrenaline rush from escaping The Boar 'n Oysters is allowing his body to fight the allergic reaction to the shellfish water. That, combined with the removal of his hands from his throat is allowing sufficient airflow into his body and, therefore, sufficient oxygen to his brain. Baby Shanks' thoughts become more coherent; however, not all of his body tissue is recovering as quickly. He still finds it difficult to articulate words...

"Harb; dat plathe ith a death trap! Why would anyone want to thubject themthelbeth to dat thit?! I coulda died! Da rethurecthun cothth prolly woulda offthet the haul!"

He stops cleaning himself off and turns to Harv, "Ya woulda rethurected me, right Harb? I mean, we'th partnerth and all..."

Panic.

Confusion.

Baby Shanks is running on primal instincts now.

• Something about this place is making him feel a bit stuffy; ergo, moving to a new establishment is the only logical course of action.

• Finding the established exit to this public institution has become, for all intents and purposes, a fruitless exercise; ergo, it would be reasonable to expect that a new exit must be made.

• There is a dangerous drop with the expected intake of oxygen that is currently causing muscular and cognitive functions to be significantly degraded; ergo, a simple show of force expending all remaining muscular and cognitive reserves is the easiest solution to the extraction conundrum.

Having decided on a sufficient plan of attack, Baby Shanks simply moves toward the nearest wall and then moves through it. He keeps making progress until he is clear of the establishment.

This is what I envision Baby Shanks running on primal instincts looks like:

Baby Shanks tears through half of the door frame separating the two rooms as he tries to find out why Harv is screaming and why he's having such difficulty with hearing, seeing, and breathing...

He finds Harv; but with all the excited movement, smoke, and degradation of his most basic senses, things have essentially gone quantum for Baby Shanks... Breathable air, discernible sounds, and recognizable shapes appear and disappear at random. All of this reaches a fevered pitch for such a simple mind and cognitive collapse becomes a clear and present danger.

The swelling of his face has gotten to the point where his helmet has become incredibly restrictive and convolutes most of his auditory and ocular functions. He reaches out to grab Harv during one of the moments he seems within arm's-reach... and nearly rips his own throat out as the Sovereign Glue has set up completely. Baby Shanks succumbs to panic and confusion. He barrels through the tavern toward where the door seems to be present more often than not.

It has to be the ever increasing volume of smoke billowing in from the main hall... Yeah, that has to be why Baby Shanks is finding it so hard to see, hear, and breathe...

He manages to get the majority of the Sovereign Glue on the hands of the poor soul unfortunate enough to be in the Boar and Oyster's holding room. " A'ight, put dem handth on da floor or elth I'mma thmath dem on ya fathe!"

The inmate, in his state of utter confusion, obeys and places his hand on the floor of the cell. "Nithe! Dith ith workin' out jutht thtupenduthly."

However, Baby Shanks is finding it increasingly difficult to breathe; let alone see or hear...

He clasps his hand around his neck in order to try and clear his airway, "HARV! DA F~@# ITH WRONG WITH DA AIR IN DITH PLATHE?!" I CAN'T F'KIN' BREATHE!"

After a brief minute, Baby Shanks finds that he's unable to remove his hands from his throat...

As the room behind him briefly erupts in flames and is quickly reduced to smoke, Baby Shanks enters the holding room. Something about the smoke, the mask, or a combination of both start to cloud his vision and stifle his hearing. Even so, he can see that there's at least one person back here still incarcerated.

Speech seems to be getting progressively difficult too... "Hey 'der, you thit bucket, handth in da air!"

Was he shouting? It's getting difficult to hear things as well... What the hell is going on...?

The inmate back here seems confused enough by all the shouting, smoke, and fire that he re-actively throws his hands in the air and doesn't say a word.

Baby Shanks reaches for the crowbar that Harv lent him, but finds it difficult to get a firm grip on it... Regardless, he manages to pry the door open.

"Thith ith a thickup!" HA! Ithe alwayth wanted t' thay that! But theriouthly, keep doth handth in da air."

He makes a serious struggle trying to undue the seal on the Sovereign Glue; so much so that the inmate actually starts to feel bad for him... Finally, he's able to remove the seal and begins to generously apply the liquid to the inmate's hands.

Suddenly Baby Shanks looks up in alarm, "Did ya thay thumthin?! Why doeth ev'rythin thound like ith underwater?!"

The second cloud of mist materializes and the figure stands absolutely stone-still for several seconds...

...then retches repeatedly for the next few seconds...

...and follows that performance with a violent bout of vomiting.

Baby Shanks attempts to wipe the bile off himself, yelps excruciatingly as he drags a spiked gauntlet across his face, quickly stifles the noise by clamping his other hand over his mouth, and breaks his nose as his other gauntlet crashes into the cartilage.

Muffled, blood-soaked gurgles are all that emit from him, "M'ckdist'p'dm'ck'np'sh'nm'k'nmep'ksh'tallob'rmys'lf'n'br'kmyg'dd'mnnose" as he stumbles back and into the vat of the days oysters...

A moment later he's regained his posture and stemmed the bleeding enough to talk a bit more clearly, albeit with a swelling mouth and tongue now; "Godth damn dith 'toopid pile 'o fith thit... I'm gonna thmell like pith-wata' fa' dayth now!"

Baby Shanks begins to recall the plan laid out in detail by Harv:

"I got goz masks for the smell..."

"Da mathkth!"

He whips out the Goz Mask in the hopes of eliminating this wretched amalgamation of puke and pollock from his nostrils. With the blood clotting up his nose enough to make breathing impossible, he's fairly certain the mask is doing it's job splendidly.

Baby Shanks finally notices Harv toiling away and decides he'd better start pulling his weight in this operation if he ever wants to get noticed by the Boss Man.

"While's I'm doing this, I need you to go to the holding cells and take care of any possible witnesses."

He does his best to look professional as he quietly moves past Harv and into the back where the holding cells are, "Don't worry Harb, I'mma ho'd up my part o' dith operathun."

Aside from a blood-soaked mask sitting awkwardly on his face, bits of oyster and oyster paraphernalia stuck to several spikes on his armor, and an overall nauseating aroma emanating from him as a whole, Harv notices that something's not quite right with the parts of Baby Shanks' face that are visible... It could just be swelling from the broken nose..

"Harv! This... this is amazin'! I've seen some straight buttons case a joint, but nevah like this!"

Baby Shanks moves in and absorbs the wealth of knowledge inundating this dank corner of the shop... and quickly gets a brain-freeze...

"Man, ya gots ev'rything; tha five "E's" of hittin' a place:

and the goods"

Baby Shanks lets the headache subside before continuing.

"I gots ta hand it to ya Harv, this is professional. Tha Capo di capi has ta notice us afta this."

And then it hits him; an idea that's been forcing its way to the surface ever since Harv piqued his interest at the mere thought of knocking over Absalom's Finest's place of rest and relaxation.

Baby Shanks bursts from his thought and practically lunges at Harv, "What'll they call us Harv?! Think about it, we gots ourselves an opportunity here! We'll take tha world by storm and those mooks'll want to call us sumthin'..."

Thoughts and possibilities rage through Baby Shanks' mind like a bull in a china shop. After several minutes he makes it through two potential callings:

"We gots ta go wit' bandits Harv. It's just too good ta pass up; the fuzz hit by a bunch a' pros callin' themselves bandits? Classic. But we're more than tha jimmies runnin' around in tha grass stealin'... well... stealin' unguarded stuff. We gots ambishun. We needs ourselves a callin' card."

He looks over at all the Sovereign Glue Harv's got stocked back here and it hits him like that street meat will in another hour or so, "Harv! We're tha Sticky Bandits !"

"It's one thing ta knock ova some two-bit mark, but tha five-0? Man, ya got some eggs on ya Harv..."

Baby Shanks finds an operable chair to sit down in and crunch the numbers. He remembers to remove both gauntlets this time.

"I s'pose ya cased the joint already? Maybe ya got y'self a coppa-top on the payroll? I tell ya, I can't r'memba tha last time we had ahselves a good fix..."

Harv's excitement has fully sunk in and now Baby Shanks' imagination is beginning to run wild. New ideas flit in and out of his brain while he becomes more and more animated mulling over different aspects of the job.

"Harv! Ya got y'self tha muscle ya freakin' goomba you! If we get outta this without gettin' pinched, we'll be wiseguys fa sure!"

Baby Shanks comes to as Harv closes down the shop.

"Yeah, I's heard of it; so what? Youse guys'll neva catch me there what with all th' Barneys 'n Dicks makin' eyes at each otha 'n suckin' down rotten fish. I swear, th' place probably smells 'o burnt oinka's swimmin' around 'n vats o' tuna or sumthin'..."

He attempts to piece together the shattered chair but quickly gives up. After finishing what remains of his street meat, he adjusts himself and turns to Harv as he makes his way to the door.

Anyways; I's gots ta do this gig for the Boss Man... More babysittin' for th' Pathsissies prolly. I swear, if it's not bumpin' off mooks dat pissed off someone's ma by not eatin' her cannolis, it's diggin' a new bedroom for some zips that don't know how t' be standup guys...

A flash of anger crosses his face.

One o' these days I'ma do somthin' big enough for the Boss man to see I'm ready to be made.

Baby Shanks jolts awake. He manages to spill what's left of the grog in his mug as he does so and nearly falls out of his chair.

Hrm?! Huh?! Whysevrybdy yellin...

A short young man clad in heavy spiked armor stumbles to his feet and knocks over his chair. Turning around to see what the loud noise behind him was, he bumps the table and sends his street meat mug crashing to the floor.

Th'fcks wr'ng withis place?!

He attempts to bend down and scoop up the wreckage but misjudges the distance to the table. He smashes his face into the edge of the table covered in grog and foodstuff. The shock causes him to stand back up abruptly.

Wh'tth'hll'sg'ng'n...

He brings his arm up to his face and attempts to wipe the alcohol out of his eyes. However, he brought up the hand still wearing a gauntlet... The acute pain of dragging spikes across his face causes him to let out a shrill cry of pain and quickly sobers him up; however, not before stumbling backwards over his upturned chair and crashing to the ground. The over-sized spiked shield on his back causes his body to arch as it lands and snaps his head down with a quickness. Baby Shanks blacks out as his head finds the shop's foundation swiftly.

A sign hung on a nearby post is jarred loose and falls on top of him; it reads "No food or drink permitted on premises"