The three stand admirably posed for victory. Each with arms akimbo and hair abillowing, they stride together, side by side, towards what is to be this chapter's destination. "I love Pizza Hut." "As do I." Alucard agreed. "Stuffed crust pizza is the best thing to come around since sliced pizza." Bob looked up at the large wooden doors and then back to his companions. "Wanna go there for a bite to eat after we get the key?" "Sounds like a plan!" Plaz also agreed but with more enthusiasm than Alucard because to speak in the same manner as he does might be a contract infringement and we all know what that means... You don't? You should go ask someone to tell you, then. Alucard just nodded, whether it was intended for Bob or for the narration is for the reader to decide. And with that, a whole lotta pushing, banging and use of some colorful language on the door yielded little results. Before all hope could be lost, however, a clever observation of a sign placed delicately with care over the handle. The sign read, 'pull', and so a quick yank later, our heroes were once again on their way get the key to open the door to fight the guy to go onto some other as of yet undefined goal to go on to meet/destroy/have tea with the Dark Prince, Dracula, the slayer of all, the destroyer of all plus a few more, the-- well, you get the picture. Alucard paused just past the entrance and, with a quite admirable and victorious flourish of his equally admirable cape added, "Do you think we could get some bread sticks, too?" "I don't see why not" Bob said. "This isn't the time for that," Plaz interjected. "We're here for the key, remember?" Turning to Plaz, Alucard began, "Fernandez, perhaps-" "It's BernandERK- Felnande- !! ARGH!" Plaz argh!'d. "Yeah, Plaz is right," Bob glanced back and forth at his two partners. "We've got a job to do!" And *then* our heroes were _once_again_ once again on their way to get the key to open the door to fight the guy to go onto some other as of yet etc. etc. etc. >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ Improfanfic halfdrunkenly agreed to let me write for Castlevania 1970: Disco of Evil Chapter 10: The Chapter Between Chapter 9 and Chapter 11 Written with much trepidation by Rags Chapter 1 by: Dan Mastriani, who stole the idea from a future version of himself whom he met one day whilst erstwhile occupied policing the flow of time >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ It is a dark and desolate room. There are no doors. There are no windows. There isn't even a fireplace. No, there is no means of ventilation whatsoever. ... If you don't count the doorway, which didn't have a door attached to it thereby making the second sentence of the paragraph true and keeping the author's good name. There is a desk in the room, which is not well lit by the way, hence the word 'dark' in the topic sentence. However, the presence of a desk deludes from the room's desolateness and therefore would make the author a lying piece of dog pooh, but the narration digresses. The room is dark, even if it isn't all that desolate really. But I kid you not when I say that it was dark. Well, dim really. What's the point of having a desk in a room without a desk lamp? So the room is dim. Big whoop, it's a dim room with a desk. On with the narration. Oh yeah, there's a chair too... A few actually. There are two chairs in the room. Each on either side of the desk. Well, not on either *side* really but you get the point. There are also people in the room. Each one is sittinGURK-- >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ Author's Note: Sorry about that, I went to go make a sandwich and thieves broke into my house trying to burgle some of my things. I fought bravely, my guitar slicing through the air like an overly large off-balance club, but they were too many and I, too few. They threatened me with violence and naked pictures of Bee Arthur. Oh, the toils I was meant to endure. However, my neighbors, being the astute spying bastards that they are, caught the entire thing on tape (VHS *and* beta) and called the police just in the nick of time before my assailants had taken the opportunity to relieve me of my most precious sofa-loveseat combination and William Shatner wallscrolls and were subsequently apprehended. But I digress, while I was occupied at the police station filing paperwork and pointing fingers at men from behind a one-way mirror some _more_ thieves broke into my apartment, burgled my sofa, my loveseat, my wallscrolls and the left-over spaghetti in the fridge as well as began to write upon my work-in-progress rough draft of DoE. Luckily, I got home just in time to catch them and beat them over the head from behind with various blunt objects. The chapter will now continue, thank you for your patience. >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ Yes, the room was da^H^H dim and desolate. Dark Priest Shaft is seated behind the room's only desk eyeing the person in front of him critically. Seated confidently in front of the desk is a man who bears a striking resemblance in attitude and tone of voice to the guy from Desperado, The Mask Of Zorro and Assassins. We now join this conversation already in progress: "So, what makes you think that you'll be a valuable addition to Tenth Rising of our Dark Lord and Master?" Shaft adjusted his desk lamp under his face to better illuminate it in an intimidating fashion. "I am _Sancho_." The second man stated confidently. "And that means-- what, exactly?" "That I am _Sancho_!" _Sancho_ leaned forward in his chair. "So?" The half-lit face of Shaft was that of a demon speaking to a... well- a prospective employee, actually. "I am _Sancho_ in a way that only _Sancho_ can be. Are you _Sancho_?" "Well I-" "No, you aren't! Because only *I*- _Sancho_ paused dramatically. "-am _Sancho_!" "Go on," Demon Face Shaft leaned farther over the lamp causing the shadows cast by his chin and nose to play heinous tricks on the eyes of their audience. _Sancho_ did not waver, however. "There are many Tom's in the world. There are also many Jeff's, but only I-" _Sancho_ paused dramatically, indignant of the danger that depended upon a mere whim of the person seated infront of him. "-am _Sancho_. Sure, Brad Pitt is Brad Pitt, but he will never be _Sancho_. Scott Beo and Jeff Reid are equally famous, but-" Shaft's evil face interrupted, "-but only *you*-" D.P. Shaft paused dramatically. "-are _Sancho_." "Yes!" "Alright," Shaft turned off the lamp he'd been hovering over with a sense of finality. "You're hired." "Of course," Sancho nodded contentedly, unknowing that death was only a step behind him. Death bursts into the room somehow considering the lack of a door. "Shaft, I need to talk to you-" "Oh my god! It's Ally McBeal!" "I'M NOT ALLY McBEAL!" Death shouted offendedly. "I am _Sancho_," he replied. "Shaft, it's about the minions," Death said, totally ignoring _Sancho_. "Dammit, I told you not to come in here when I'm seeing prospective employees, foo'! Now hurry up an' say your piece 'fore I knock your bony ass outta my office!" "Uh, yeah, sure," Death stammered. "Look, the minions are getting smarter." Shaft was nonplussed. "So what?" "So they're forming unions and threatening to strike! That's what!" >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ The main hall is not desolate. It's quite full actually. Minions of all sort stand together holding hands and singing marching songs while holding up banners and pickets declaring, "Minion's are People too," and, "Give Shaft The Shaft!" One such minion wearing a grey vest and power tie stands upon a (gasp!) soapbox and addresses his cohorts. "FRIENDS! LET US NOT BE TROD ON *ANYMORE*!" He shouted, much to the pleasure of his fellow minions who replied with much applause and cacophonous, yet obviously positive, shouting. "THE TIME AS COME FOR US TO BAND TOGETHER AS ONE IN UNITY AND BROTHERHOOD TO ASSERT OUR BASIC RIGHT TO LIFE, LIBERTY AND THE PERSUIT OF MINOR NUISANCES!" "IT'S TIME TO SHOW D.P. SHAFT AND COUNT DRACULA THAT WE'RE NOT HERE TO JUST LAY DOWN AND DIE AT HIS WHIM! WE HAVE RIGHTS! WE HAVE WANTS! WE WANT MORE RIGHTS!" "WE WANT MORE DIALOGUE THAN JUST A FEW THREATS AND PERHAPS A POSTDEFEAT SCREAM!" <... didn't I say I was going to stop writing these? Oh well...> The scene stays as such for quite a while... until the boss shows up. Shaft, the Dark Priest of the Tenth Rising of the Great Lord Dracula, stands commandingly upon the third floor balcony with arms outstretched in not so much of a 'hey, let's hug' fashion but more of a 'I'm about to pounce on you're sorry ass' manner. Instantly, the crowd grows silent. Many, if not 90% of the pickets and banners are immediately lowered and hidden or replaced with ones that read, "We're not so important, anyway," and, "we love shaft!" The doors of the main hall do not budge an inch for those wishing escape. If fear had a smell, it would be akin to rotting fish frying with skunk juice in the backseat of a Ford Explorer with Fire Stone tires laying destroyed on the side of the freeway. "So," Shaft began, his voice disquietingly soft, yet still very much audible from fifty feet above the until recently, rebellious minions. "You want to form a union-" "WE'RE NOT GOING TO TAKE YOUR SHIT ANYMORE, SHAFT! WE'VE GOT RIGHTS!" The vested minion screamed up, still atop of his soapbox. In an instant, all eyes were on him. Wales of terror and disbelief in what their 'leader' had just done echoed up to Shaft's ears. He just smiled. Shouts of, "we love you, shaft!" and, "what the hell is this guy talking about? Let's kick his ass!" went up around the halls. More pickets were raised proclaiming, "Death to the vested guy!" as well as more stating the previously mentioned, "We love you, Shaft!" "I didn't say you couldn't form a union. Go ahead." Silence. The minions had been thrown from one extreme to another. None could believe their ears. A few pickets went up with slogans of, "Shaft's a pretty nice guy after all... ?" and "Uh... Yay?" A few amazed mumblings and cheers of, "See? All we had to do was get to know the guy a li'l better," overplayed the majorities decision to just gawk openly and stare with their chins hanging on the floor. The vested minion ventured forth a question, "...WHAT?" "Form a union. Go ahead." "OKAY! WE WILL!" "Good." Every picket in the entire hall simultaneously turned to, "..." The vested minion couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd won?... That's right! He'd won! He stood proudly and without fear of danger as he stared up at his former tormentor and issued one last rebellion speech to spur on and incite his fellow minions: "WE'RE NOT GOING TO HAVE TO PUT UP WITH YOUR SHIT ANYMORE, SHAFT! WE ARE STRONGER THAN YOU'LL EVER IMAGINE! SOON, MINIONS EVERYWHERE WILL UNITE AS ONE! MY BROTHERS AND I WILL BEAR THE TITLE 'MINION' NOT BY FORCE BUT BY CHOICE! WE WILL BE THE NEXT SUPERPOWER! WE WILL-- HEY, WHAT'S THAT SMELL? OH MY #@$@ING %@#!!" All around him lay the smoking bodies of his brothers and sisters. Every last minion, except for himself of course, had fallen victim to some sort of lethal force whose existence will hence forth for the purposes of the author's convenience be omitted from the chapter. As a few bits of ash from his companion's corpses drift by on an errant draft through the main hall, the vested minion is left with no other option. "YOU... DIDN'T MEAN IT, DID YOU?" "Nope." "SO I'M DEAD NOW, AREN'T I?" "Yep. You shouldn't have interrupted me, bitch." "YEAH, THAT PROBABLY WASN'T A GOOD IDEA ON MY PART. AT LEAST I'M GETTING DIALOGUE, THOUGH," The minion replied, still shouting to be heard fifty feet above him. "No you're not. This scene is being cut as soon as I pay off the editor." "OH... SHIT." What happened next wasn't pretty. It was quite horrible to tell the truth. A lot of fire and various bits of pointy sharp things were introduced to fleshy objects of varying sorts. Likewise, the sound effect budget for the piece was scrapped in lieu of late night partying and trips to Krispy Kreme. But more on that later. The vested minion died in an icky way. Someone offset yelled, "We're gonna need another Timmy!" And incase you're wondering why this scene wasn't omitted after D.P. Shaft bribed the editor, this is a bootlegged copy. You are now a federal criminal, I advise you to start running. >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ ____________________________________________________ CCCCCCC H H U U RRRRRRR CCCCCCC H H C H H U U R R C H H C H H U U R R C H H C HHHHHH U U RRRRRR C HHHHHH C H H U U R R C H H C H H U U R R C H H CCCCCCC H H UUUU R R CCCCCCC H H OF SCIENTOLOGY: Symphony of the Time of Day New Game >Load Game< Convert! Options ____________________________________________________ Loading.... Still Loading... While your game is loading, why not visit our convenient concession stand for a few refreshments? ~~~ Game START! ~~~ Alucard marches towards the single pedestal in this, the final room of the dungeon. Through the magic of the Memcard Artifact (which until now was kept cleverly hidden and unfortunately lost after only one use, sorry) our heroes were able to reenter the maze at the exact point in which their goal lie. Upon the pedestal in this, the final room of the dungeon, sat a overly large and glowing key shaped object which, most certainly, upon being touched would adhere itself to Alucard's Inventory screen for later use. The three walked purposefully towards the key and were just about to touch it when- "Not so fast!" Came a disembodied voice in the form of a textual box accompanied bye a CD quality audio sample. "!!!" Exclaimated our trio's own text box. "You have found the key in this, the final room of the dungeon, yes. Alas, you'll never live to use it! Buah hah hah!" A figure stepped out from the shadows. "Who are you?!" Questioned/exclaimed Bob. "I am--" The figure paused dramatically. "_Sancho!_" Yes, _Sancho_, in all of his quasi Desperado/Mask of Zorro glory. Clad in a open-chested yellow polyester shirt and Daisy Duke(tm) shorts, he assumed an _admirable_ stance. "... And this is supposed to impress us?" Male Plaz remarked. "I'm not impressed," Bob quirked. "Do not mock the mid-boss," Alucard stated. "He is surely of some skill to be-" "I am _Sancho_, not Shirley," _Sancho_ stated. "-the only minion that we are to face in our search for the key to the door that is locked and cannot be broken through based on principle. Although we will certainly prevail, it is only professional to react to his introductionary speech with a semblance of respect-" "Thank you." "-unless he keeps interrupting my dialogue, in which case he is to be slaughtered without such formalities." "Schink," agreed Alucard's sword upon being drawn. ][ HARDCORE MATCH: DIE, PIG! DIE! ][ ALUCARD, BOB AND PLAZ vs. _SANCHO_ ][ FIGHT! "Iyah!" Alucard leapt forward, sword outstretched for the kill. "." Plaz readied a spell. "Pokeball, go!" Bob threw a pokeball. "Wait! Is that sword real?! I'm an actogurk-!!" Sancho _died_. DAtataDaa! Da na TA dana!! With the mid-boss defeated, Alucard was free to claim the key in this, the final room of the dungeon, and subsequently adhere it to his inventory subscreens. Upon returning to his friends still standing aside what was left of _Sancho_ he was greeted with Plaz giving Bob an odd look demanding of explanation. "I just always wanted to say that, okay? Sheesh!" Bob said, raising his hands over his head in a disgusted manner. "It's not like I cost us the win or anything. Let's go get some food, already!" >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ The buildings weren't at all well taken care of in this part of town. Grass grew up from the various cracks and crevices that had spiderwebed throughout the pavement in some areas. Shattered windows gave no resistance to the gusty winds that would careen through the alleyways and abandoned apartments. It wasn't very well lit either. Hecubus walked into a bar. "OW! %@$#$#@!!" >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ Outside Pizza Hut, it's a cold, cold night. Traffic is slim and small rodents are generally having the time of their lives crossing the streets repeatedly in an effort to mock the motorists that, to them, seem to only have their rodent deaths as a purpose in life. Streetlights are lit, stores are all closed up. People are sleeping somewhere and there are no more cheesy potato things. A semi rolls down the street, getting the Guinness world's record for most small animals run over on a two-block stretch of road. Many baby rodents will wake up without parents and will subsequently be forced to consume each other's secretions for sustenance prior to finally turning to cannibalism. A bird chirps happily on a tree limb. "To bad the nearest Pizza Hut is four-hundred miles from here..." Bob says, toying with the parmesan shaker in his hands. Alucard, Bob and Plaz sit around a small artificial wooden table at Nunzio's Pizza in a booth, strategically positioned to be especially mysterious and shadowy. A waitress approaches with the check. "OOKayyyy, here's your check. Thanks for stopping by!" She says with a smile as sincere as the wooden grain of the table the trio are sitting at. Plaz picks up the check and [EYES] the scribblings there-on just long enough to give one the impression of his slight displeasure before groaning horribly and running towards the restrooms. Checking her reaction, Bob reaches over and checks out the check for himself. "Three breadsticks, one large pizza, two pitchers of soda and one ceiling fan-" "It attacked me." Alucard took another sip of his Pepsi which he held aristocratically in his left hand. "Sure it did, dude. We owe em $87.50." A blue window with a scroll bar opened up on the wall above Alucard's head, much to everyone's indifference. A quick glance to the status screen and then his attention was back on Bob. "I am of insufficient funds. You pick up the check." "Huh? Aren't you like, massively rich?! How can you be broke?!" Bob stared disbelievingly across the table. "Lately my expenses have been rather large in comparison with my gains." "Why didn't you just open up a savings account and let the interest compound while you slept for a century?!" "With the nation's wallowing economy and current interest rates all of my holdings have been depreciating in value up to .4% per year. I-" "Librarian guy, right?" Bob interjected, robbing Alucard of a chance to exposit and bore everyone even more than I'm sure you already are. "Yes." "Uh, okay... Well, I've got-" Bob reached into his back pocket for his pikachu wallet and leafed through for a few seconds before just pouring everything out and counting pennies by twos. "Two cents. Do you think Plaz'll have any cash?" "Did you see any place he-, she could've hidden a wallet yesterday?" "Uh, never mind..." >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ It was at this point in time that somewhere, in a mildly dank place, everyone's favorite minion of Funk *handjive* and EVIL! was traipsing through the aisles of the Disco of Evil's storage cellar. Amid the piles of partied-out young foxes (read: slightly pale and in no hurry to get up anytime soon) and double X'd wine jugs and in front of a full length mirror stood He, the Vision of Evil Disco. He *was* Saturday Night Fever. He *was* Disco Infernal. He could tell by the way he walked and so on and so forth. "I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And, dog-gonnit, people like me." He nodded to his reflection with a sense of mounting self-worth. And then, it was on. With a deft whip of his white polyester collar and a heel spin fast enough to separate curds from whey he thrust his left fist to his side and his right index finger pointedly into the air. To anyone watching, it would seem as just another idiot trying to play 'cool guy' when no one's looking. To Hecubus, however, the lights were bright, the music was loud and the floor was in Technicolor. Just as he was getting into his personal rendition of 'The Robot', a stifled snerk, barely audible over the wild gyrations and finger pointing of Hecubus' routine in front of the full length mirror he'd set up in the small corner of the cellar he called home, broke him from his activities. Framed in the bright, off-color light of the cellar door above him like an alien emerging from a poorly constructed oversized pie pan of a spaceship in a 1950's black and white sci-fi flick, stood none other than Shaft, the Dark Priest himself. Minutes of intense ego stroking and mental self-worth exercises melted away in less time than it takes to type 'reduced fat milk' backwards. Instantly, Hecubus became, once again, just a better dressed reoccurring minion. "It'snotwhatyouthinkIwasjustmakingsuretheseamsinMisterTravolta'ssuitwouldn'tgive outinthemiddleofhisactyeahthat'sit!" Shaft strode lazily down the cellar steps, each foot put forward in a deliberately intimidating fashion. His voice was like ice frozen to the point of being even icier. "You," he eyed Hecubus' snazzily dressed form for a moment before continuing, "were pretending to be a bad-ass, weren't you?" "No, not at a-" Shaft's gaze never once left Hecubus' eyes as he continued his decent towards the cellar floor. A harsh grunt silenced him in mid sentence, causing him to shrink back into himself as he replied, "... yes." Shaft, upon reaching the cool, partied-out-fox-strewn floor, walked towards his minion. He stood, eyes still locked onto Hecubus' terrified face, mere inches away. Then, with a look of finality he brought up his hand with such force that a candle on the other side of the room feinted dead away from the tension in the room. Hecubus nearly followed suit if not for the resounding clap of his master's hand on his shoulder. Shaft stared down approvingly, nodding all the while. "Evil! EVIL!" Now, we all know that pretending to be a bad-ass isn't particularly evil, so it's logical to assume that Shaft was just trying to give him a false sense of confidence in order to goad him into another errand. Have you ever seen a scene in an anime where a character goes through some particularly played up emotional moment and their eyes get all sparkly and well, particularly emotional? Overlap it with a fashion shot of Hecubus staring up into his proud master's eyes while dressed a la Saturday Night Fever and surrounded by corpses and empty liquor bottles. That's what this was. "Master, I-" Shaft stopped him with a gesture towards the mirror. "Speak not, let's groove." "Y- Yes, Master!" >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ Twelve and a half minutes later... "But enough of this," And lo, the dancing fashion shot sequence did endeth. "Hecc, my man, I got another errand for ya." Hecubus queried his employer, "aren't you the least bit concerned that I'll screw up like all the other times?" "Nonsense," Shaft waved the idea off. "Anyone could accidentally spill the entire Disco Infernal's coffee orders over Death's lap-" "I meant the *other* other times," Hecubus shrunk back when he realized that he'd just interrupted the boss and it was a bad thing to do so. "Oh. Well, yeah. There are those," Shaft didn't seem to notice much to Hecubus' relief. The last time a fox interrupted him she'd ended up gutting dolphins for a tuna company. "So you're going to send me anyway?" "Shut up and hear me out, dammit!" Oh drat, maybe he had noticed. Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit- "YES, SIR!" "A-ight, then," Shaft leaned in towards Hecubus' ear so as to avoid the audience's ear. "Here's what you're gonna do. I need you t-" and then when he'd realized that the audience could still hear him he resorted to just making *whisperwhisperwhisper* sounds. And there was much nodding and bewildered eye glancing on the part of Hecubus, everyone's favorite minion of Funk *handjive* and EVIL!. >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ Ed Gurenthal and his date Mixie pulled into the parking lot of their local pizzeria excited from the night's events thus far. The movie Ed picked out was perfect as far as his wife was concerned (read: he picked something that might get him some action later on back at the house) and all that was left to complete the evening was a nice, quiet dinner and some relaxing conversation (read: to get her liquored up). He exited the vehicle first, went around to the other side, and opened the door for her to step out before taking her arm and leading her inside. It wasn't particularly busy at this time of hour, so it was imaginable that the place would be completely empty with the exception of staff, of course. Ed walked confidently to the counter in front of the restaurant and waited to be helped. His date waited patiently at his side. He was there for a good three or four minutes before a woman in a poorly fitted poloshirt emblazoned with the name 'Guido' on it's breast came to seat him. "... Hello. Welcome to Nunzio's Italian Restaurant. Can I help you?" Well, she certainly wasn't energetic, that was for sure. "A table for two, please." "Right this way, sir." She led the couple to a booth on the far side of the restaurant and gave them their menus before turning away and making her way towards the kitchen. Ed didn't know why the service was as such, wasn't she even going to take his order? It was bad enough that she was hot, and didn't seem to have on anything but a triple XL poloshirt, but this was just too much. "Excuse me? We'd like to order, miss." Ed felt a more than a little uncomfortable when he swore he could see a red aura emanating over her head when he said that. She spun on her heel, "I'm sorry, sir. What would you like?" She pulled a notepad and pencil out of... somewhere and assumed the jotting-down-an-order position. Ed pretended to look at the menu before stating, "two plates of spaghetti, two dinner salads, a large cheese bread, and two beers, please." "Okay, coming right up." She turned to leave. "Aren't you going to ask me what kind of dressing I want on the salads?" "... What kind of dressing do you want on the salads," she said expressionlessly. "Ranch, please." "I'd like mine with blue cheese, dear." Mixie said, thereby justifying her existence. "One ranch and one blue cheese, please." "Okay. Will there be anything else?" "No, thank you." "Is there anything else I need to ask you?" "You need the menus back." Ed said, handing Plaz back the menus. "... Thanks," the waitress replied, before turning away for the third time in as many minutes. "And aren't you going to tell us your name so we know who to complain about on the comment card?" "... Plaz." She stated before finally succeeding in leaving the area. >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ In the kitchen things were a bit more crowded. All of the 'regular' staff had gone home an hour ago. Only Nunzio, the man whose name was boldly pronounced on all of his employee's attire, stood watch as a few customer's who'd failed to pay their check worked their debt off. "Hey! You two! Stop slacking, I wanna close up in a hour, capisce?" Bob rubbed his hands on his apron and got back to the piles of dishes set before him. "Why do we have to friggin' do this, again?" Alucard adjusted his chef's hat, "..." "And don't forget that phone order, capisce?" The owner went back into his office to contemplate various things such as the next week's payroll, how much special ingredient to put into the sauce in the morning and whether it was of better value to rent from Blockbuster or Hollywood Video. "Why couldn't we have just walked out the front door, again?" Bob said in-between scrubbing plates and wiping forks. Alucard turned away from the mirror in which he was contrasting the bishounenocity of his 'kiss the cook' apron with and without the adorned scabbard. "Because, my friend, *we* are the good guys. To skip out on a check would be a slap in the face to all in our profession. Such an act of juvenile delinquency would only contribute to the propaganda campaigns of evil in general and could some day lead to the worldwide danger of an anarchist uprising. You will learn these things all in good time." "Feh, that and Plaz took an hour and a half in the bathroom." Plaz came through the kitchen door just in time to poke him in the kidneys, "I heard that!" "Gah! Well you did!! Ow! Hey quit it! I'mgonnadropaplate! I'mgonnadropaplate!" "Perhaps it is *that* time of the month," Alucard observed while testing the balance of one of the variety of sauce pans put at his disposal. Plaz turned her attention to the chef, "it's *NOT* *THAT* time of the month! Now just make some spaghetti, will ya? Two orders and some cheese bread." Alucard unsheathed his Ginsu knife. "At once," he stated while simultaneously chopping various vegetables at a rate that would make some infomercials look bad. A few minutes later Plaz was back with Ed and Mixie's respective salads and alcoholic beverages. Their conversation seemed to be going well, even if she didn't stay long enough to hear any more than a drunken, "I wub wuu" and, "I like you too, dear." Not that she cared at all. >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ Bob looked over his shoulder through the kitchen door to make sure the coast was clear. "I think it *is* *that* time of the month." "Intriguing," Alucard stated while preparing two orders of spaghetti sauce. "I wonder if he'll be like this in the morning-" "Guehhhhh-" Alucard made a most unbishounen noise, which might seem impossible given his current level of bishouneness as the half-breed, evil smiting, good doing, spaghetti cooking, swordsman-chef, but the noise itself was still quite unbecoming of one such individual. And to top it all off his face wasn't too pretty for once, either. Bob left the faucet running in the sink and dashed to his companion's aid. "DUDE!? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor??" Alucard steadied himself against the wall aside the stove where he'd been preparing the customer's order. In slow motion, a wooden spoon, half covered in marinara clattered to the floor, adorning the floor with small specks of redness with definite dramaticism. Dripping slowly from the corner of Alucard's mouth, small bits of boiled down tomato, basil, oregano, onion, mushroom, and other vegetable matter coalesced down his chin. He regained enough composure to straighten himself slightly and enter a merely leaning position against the wall in time to say, "too... much... garlic." >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ "Ahh, here I am at last," Hecubus approached the doors of the local pizza joint on his secret quest to pick up a large order of pizzas and leave without paying. It was fairly late, so the owner wouldn't mind giving him the pies for free given the proper 'negotiation'. Mueh heh heeeeh. He walked inside and waited at the counter for a good ten or fifteen minutes before the waitress came to take his order. "I'm here for my six large pizzas," Hecubus said, malicious glint shined brightly in his eyes. Grinning slightly, he leaned in for what he hoped was a more intimidating position. "YOU!" The waitress screamed. "I'm sorry?" Hecubus took a moment to study the waitress' face more closely before raising his eyebrows and asking, "have we met?" >.< ^_^ ô_ô -_- @.@ Author's stuff (post Krispy Kreme trip): Well, there it is. My first solo contribution to anything with the phrase 'impro' in front of it. I'm glad this is chibi, otherwise I probably would've stressed a lot more over it. ^^; Thanks and stuff to go Rutt as always, well. As once now, but he reads through all my stuff and lots of times manages to reference me in some way in a lot of his own writings, so I guess I'm flattered. Even if he did totally RIP on me during prereading for this chapter. Oh yeah, and sorry about the length. ^^; I had no idea when I started that it would turn out to be a 30+ kilobyte part. In fact, I specifically remember hoping that I'd even get 15k up back when I was in the planning stages. (Yes, I did think just a *BIT* before writing :P ) If you didn't read the chapter before reading this, then I'm very disappointed in you. I want to at least be secure in the knowledge that people know what I'm responsible for when they tell me how much I suck! Comments are appreciated, seeing as any response I get from this chapter will greatly affect my signing up for any other parts to other stories. Thanks again!