So, I’m doing a story about wizards in the modern world, and some of the readers didn’t appreciate me dissing harry potter, and wizard duels in general, when I had some wizards confront my character over removing a hex off one of their victims, they try to challenge my MC to a wizard battle, I just decided to have him draw his 44. And talk in a texan drawl about a different kind of duel, and I took some time to diss on their harry potter style with the following:
“Look, kids. You really need to work on your image.”
Darth opened his mouth. It just hung that way for a minute.
“I mean, the van’s a bit overdone. But hell, I can’t throw stones. My VW Bug has a big ‘53’ inside a circle spray-painted on the hood. You’re sort of slipping elsewhere, though.” I nodded at one of the girls, a brunette holding a wand with a crystal on the tip. “Honey, I liked the Harry Potter movies, too, but that doesn’t mean I ran out and got a Dark Mark tattooed onto my left forearm like you did.” I eyed the other male. “And you’re wearing a freakin’ Slytherin scarf. I mean, Christ. How’s anyone supposed to take that seriously?”
“You would dare—” Darth Wannabe began, obviously outraged.
“One more tip, kids. If you had any real talent, the air would practically have been on fire when you got ready to throw down. But you losers don’t have enough magic between you to turn cereal into breakfast.”
“You would dare—”
“I can tell, because I actually am a wizard. I went to school for this stuff.”
“I mean, I know you guys have probably thrown your talents at other people in your weight class, had your little duels, and maybe someone got a nosebleed and someone went home with a migraine and it gave your inner megalomaniac a boner. But this is different.” I nodded at one of the other girls, who had shaved her head clean. “Excuse me, miss. What time is it?”
She blinked at me. “Um. It’s after one . . . ?”
The Dim Lord tried for his dramatic dialogue again. “You would dare threaten us with mortal weapons?”
“It’s after midnight,” I told the idiot. “I’m off the clock.”
That killed his momentum again. “What?”
“It’s my day off, and I’ve got plans, so let’s just skip ahead.”
Darth floundered wordlessly. He was really out of his element—and he wasn’t giving me anything to work with at all. If I waited around for him, this was going to take all night.
“All right, kid. You want some magic?” I pointed my gun at the van. “Howsabout I make your windows disappear.”
Darth swallowed. Then he lowered his staff, a cheaply carved thing you could pick up at tourist traps in Acapulco, and said, “This is not over. We are your doom, Dresden.”
“As long as you don’t drag it out too much. Good night, children.”
Darth sneered at me again, pulled the shreds of his dignity about him, and strode to the van. The rest of them followed him like good little darthlings. The van started up and tore away, throwing gravel spitefully into the Blue Beetle.
Could it sneer at them, the Beetle would have done so. Its dents had dents worse than what that van inflicted.