"Nobody shoot! WE'RE WITH THE BAND!"

Abbie hung back in the outside door as Tony barged into the diner headlong with her rifle poised to shoot. Excuses were already flying through her head. I am not associated with these people.... He stole my rifle. I was only taking it home to paint on the show colors.... I'm here for the food and wifi, just like everyone else.....C'mon now...it's Tony....

The stealing part wasn't a total lie. Tony did take it out of her hands without her consent after all, but whether or not she tried very hard to get it back was up to interpretation.

Even Ian looked like he was starting to realize how slamming open the doors to a public restaurant with a fake white rifle, was a bad idea.

"¡Antonio Raquel Izáno Santíago!"

"What?" Any confidence Tony still had in this plan was completely washed away as the door to the kitchen banged back against the wall. Everyone in the restaurant stopped what they we're doing and looked up to watch as a heavy set woman, hair streaked with grey pulled into a neat bun, strode her way across the room with a wooden spoon poised in one hand. She was a short woman, with wise eyes circled in smile lines. But Abbie knew from experience that the the wisdom on her face didn't always extend to her mouth.

Tony knew that too. It amused Abbie just a little bit, watching the percussionist remember that his grandmother worked in the restaurant. He looked so terrified, she almost felt sorry for him.

"It's not mine!" He yelped and shoved the rifle back in Abbie's face before his grandmother could get to him. Of course, he wasn't looking at what he was doing and hit her upside the head in the process.

She almost felt sorry for him.

"It's not what it looks like! I swear, Mimá!" Tony cried and seemed shrink even though she was a whole head shorter than him.

"What are you doing participating in this terrorism!?" The woman yelled in her thick Hispanic accent and wacked Tony over the head with the wooden spoon. "What have they offered you? Drugs? Money? Alcohol? I knew you your father shouldn't have let you taste the tequila. 2012 was a bad year! It's only gotten you into trouble!"

Abbie could feel the blood boiling up to her face as she tried to discreetly hide the rifle behind her back. Unfortunately, the subtle movement seemed to catch Mima's eye. "You," she wagged her spoon in Abbie's face. "My grandson is a good boy. Do you hear me? He doesn't want anything you can offer him."

"Mimá," Tony said hesitantly. "It's a rifle made out of solid wood....she's with the marching band's color guard. They don't shoot, they just spin them."

"Likely excuses," she scoffed and smacked him with the spoon again. The group of five was cornered at the door; they would laugh about it later, but with no viable escape, or pie, their current situation was terrifying enough to haunt the dead.

"Ow," Tony muttered and rubbed his head. "I'm telling mother you hit me with the spoon again, I'm a delicate child."

"Psht," the elder woman spun the spoon by the handle. "Like mi hija could do anything. You are fathers son, sí eres, but you are my grandson."

The line turned out to be some sort of unusual turning point in their conversation. Tony's face relaxed into an easy grin. "Don't be greedy Mimá, I've enough awesome to go around."

[3][2][3]

"C'mon! The look on your face!" Ian yelled and pointed his spoon at Tony. "You and everyone else here was convinced she was gonna eat you alive."

"Lies!" Tony exclaimed just as loudly. "I was just biding my time. She loves me, everyone does!"

"Now you're the one who's lying," Michael grinned and jabbed the percussionist in the ribs with his elbow.

Abbie smiled down at the table, over her pie and ice cream. After Tony managed to convince his grandmother to get back in the kitchen, Debbie, the owner came out from the back and made Tony promise he wasn't a terrorist and would never be one. There was a few well meaning threats from the heads of the local militia who were finishing up their evening rounds at the bar when the whole thing had gone down, but finally some order was restored to the restaurant and the five of them were able to order dinner.

With the aid of Wi-Fi and conversation, the hands of the suddenly seemed to time skip. One by one the customers all left to go home, but the five of them just stayed bunched up around their table, having a good time not thinking about the days to come (which wasn't probably the smartest thing since they had a competition in less than twenty-four hours).

"Hey, guys we're closing up soon. Don't you all have homes to go to?" Debbie came out from the back storage room, wiping her hands on her apron. The restaurant owner was a relatively happy woman in her mid forties. She had been single for as long as anyone could remember, and was proud of it. The restaurant is her husband and children, she always claimed.

"Aww, are you kicking us out, Debbie?" Ian whined and pulled a puppy face.

"Yes, I am," she replied sternly. "I open early tomorrow so I can't babysit y'all all night," she glanced up at a clock on the wall. "It's one in the morning, you kids are supposed to be in bed. Aren't your parents going to be worried about you or something?"

"They've honestly stopped expecting us home early on marching nights," Michael stretched out his arms before folding his hands behind his head. In truth he looked tired, but coffee does strange things to people. "As long was they hear from us at some point..."

"Besides, we're with Michael," Ian rolled his eyes with an implied message that hanging out with the drum major was a total drag. "He's like the most responsible person in the world. He can even get the percussion section to clean up."

"What's that supposed to mean!?" Tony exclaimed.

"Please, you can't kick us out, Debbie" Lisha pleaded. "I'm downloading a half dozen PowerPoints for an AP class and the Wi-Fi in my house is lousy."

Abbie decided not to mention the fact that Lisha could have downloaded the files at any time several hours prior.

Debbie glanced at the clock again and pulled a like the numbers caused her great pain. "Okay," she sighed and pulled a set of keys from a pocket in her apron. "I'll only do this for y'all once, and only once. You owe me. Lock up when you leave, and if I find anything out of place when I get here later, I'll be sending the militia after y'all. You understand me?"

"Yes, of course!" Lisha grinned and caught the keys the owner tossed at her.

Debbie gave the group one last well meaning look before flipping the sign on the door and leaving for the night.

A/N
Okay before we get any further in the story. I'm going to ask this question twice. Once now and once when we get a little further on.

Who do you think is gonna die?