Furniture Warriors
             PART SIX, Pleasantly Cool Doom!
                            Or
                   Burning Rubber Tires!

           (Formerly) A Spoof Chase Production
                            NOW
                 An ImproFanfic Production

          (http://pixelscapes.com/improfanfic)

The Furniture Warriors ImproFanfic was originally created by
Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne

This episode by Philip Barkow, a guy who considers his own sanity
to be mythical, and has made too many hentai remarks for some
other people's sanity.

(All characters copyright Nihana-san, obviously.  If I ever even
considered claiming that these were my own characters I'd
probably be thrown into a small cell where I'd be forced to eat
raw cabbage in order to survive.)

The term Frigidaire is copyright Frigidaire Home Products.



     It was a terrible noise, enough to bring a shudder to even
to the staunchest of warriors. It was the kind of sound that
tells fearless explorers that: 'Yes, the angry god whose idol's
emerald eye you have just stolen has awakened and is intent on
devouring your soul and having your body for an after-dinner
snack'. It was not a noise for the faint of heart. It was the
sound of scores of furniture warriors snoring at once. Some
sounded like chainsaws, others made little whistling noises, and
occasionally there was one that sounded more like a growl than a
snore. Proving that hope triumphs over experience more often than
not, Hugh was giving his pre-match speech.

     "Of course, there is nothing that can really equal the
philosophical impact of squid in modern dentistry, and now the
match between Evelyn Smith of the Purple Sunshine Commune and
Michael 'Mick' O'Brien of Assorted Pubs and Pool Halls will
begin!"

     Throughout the audience a chain reaction of each person
nudging the next awake, so they in turn could nudge someone else
awake, so that they wouldn't miss any of the match, began. In
retrospect this was rather surprising, because it meant that
someone must have managed to stay awake all the way through
Hugh's speech in order to let other people know that it was time
for the match to start.

     Evelyn readied her beanbag chair in what was apparently an
offensive stance. Like all beanbag chairs, it was an amorphous
mass, so it was rather difficult to tell what kind of stance it
was meant to be.

     Mick remained relaxed, the end of his pool cue on the ground
in front of him. While he wasn't quite leaning on it, it didn't
seem as if he was as ready as he could possibly be to bash
someone in the head with it, either.

     Evelyn was the first to strike; Mick's complacent, greasy,
chauvinistic aura was so unenlightened, that it was enough to
make her feel nigh unmellow. With a shout of  "RELAXING BEANBAG
CHAIR BUFFET!" she swung her weapon of choice at the apparently
unconcerned pool hustler.

     Despite his almost overly relaxed stance, Mick's reflexes
were as sharp as ever and with exaggerated ease he blocked the
beanbag chair with his pool cue.  Or at least he blocked a long,
narrow pool-cue-shaped portion of the beanbag chair, while the
rest of the formless piece of furniture went past the motionless
cue, striking the unprepared hustler and knocking him off his
feet.  Evelyn wasted no time laying into him.

     Somewhere in the audience Shelly started shouting
cheerfully: "Lose Dad! Lose!"

     After several comfortable and relaxing strikes, Mick
realized that even in the hands of an experienced furniture
warrior a beanbag chair isn't really capable of taking out an
opponent with a single, or even several strikes. Taking advantage
of the fact that Evelyn's oversized weapon blocked her view of
him; Mick stuck out his pool cue and tripped her as she attempted
to bring down the beanbag chair one more time.

     While not the most lethal of furniture weapons, the beanbag
assault had been sufficiently vicious that Mick took a couple
moments to shake off the attack. This gave Evelyn sufficient time
to regain her footing.

     Now more cautious, the two opponents circled each other
warily, each waiting for their opponent to make a mistake. Evelyn
was the first to make one.

     In an attempt to catch her opponent off guard Evelyn tried
to make a quick strike coming in from the side. Unfortunately for
Evelyn, Mick, being a veteran of many a much nastier fight, was
ready for this simple trick and she ended up walking right into a
solid blow to the noggin.

     Evelyn promptly went down like a sack of organically grown
potatoes. She tried to get up again, somewhat groggily, but
stumbled and fell down onto her own beanbag chair. She knew at
once that she was doomed. It's nigh impossible to get out of a
beanbag chair even under the best of circumstances; injured as
she was, Evelyn had no chance.

     "And the winner is... Mick!"

+++

     Shelly was angry. Someone else might have been worried, but
when she got worried the first thing that came to mind was how
did she get into the situation in which she had cause to get
worried. This would inevitably lead to figuring out who was to
blame for her getting into that situation, and thus she would get
angry with that person. A well-dressed man had asked her out
dinner (and complimented her nicely, too!). Normally, this
wouldn't be a bad thing -- well-dressed young gentlemen saying
nice things were a rarity.  However, something about Leonard put
Shelly in mind of slime.  Well-dressed slime, but slime
nonetheless.  She had been about to firmly, yet politely, turn
him down when that idiot Yarslov interfered.  [If it hadn't been
for that, that nosy overprotective twit, I wouldn't be in this
mess!]  She couldn't do something as mean as stand someone up --
she might be violent, but she wasn't cruel.  She was also
irritated that all she had to wear was her school uniform. Which
lead to thinking back to her reasons for having no clothing other
than the school uniform, and thus significantly expanded the list
of people she could blame.

     It was with these angers on her mind that Shelly came across
Fifi-the-wearer-of-excessive-lingerie.

     "And what are you moping about, little one? Though I can't
say I really care what your answer is." Fifi asked
condescendingly.

     Shelly glared in response. "I don't think it's any business
of yours, but if you must know I have a date tonight."

     "Well you can't go dressed like that!" Fifi responded, with
genuine horror in her voice.

     "I'll go however --", Shelly's angry retort was cut off as
she was suddenly whisked off by a handful of Fifi's personal
servants.

     "Don't worry about a thing, I will personally see to it that
you are properly dressed for this evening!"

+++

     A couple of hours later, a positively glowing Fifi was
surveying her handiwork. Now barely clad in the two small pieces
of fabric that made up the lingerie she was wearing, Shelly was
looking profoundly embarrassed. The lingerie was in a light green
shade, which did a good job of bringing out the color of her
eyes. Shelly was also blushing a furious shade of red, which
contrasted with her lingerie to create a rather nice christmasy
sort of effect.

     "I can't be seen like this in public!"

     "Nonsense! You look wonderful."

     "I said I can't go around public looking like this! Just
because you're an exhibitionist doesn't mean I am!"

     "Hmmf! Very well, if you intend to scorn my aid, to throw
aside all of my hard work, then you can just take off that lovely
outfit and walk right out that door."

     "Fine! Then I will."

     Shelly started taking off the lingerie but then paused, as
she seemed to realize something. She glanced around the room,
slowly at first but with increasing alarm. She seemed almost
frantic by the time she stopped to say:

     "Hey! Where are my clothes?!"

     "You have scorned my aid child, and have thrown aside my
art. You shall receive no more assistance from me."

     Her blush having given way to the darker colors produced by
anger, Shelly brandished her desk threateningly.

     "If you don't return my clothing right away, as in
immediately, then I am going to have to get violent!"

     "Insolent little girl. You are not worth soiling my pillows
over. Deal with her."

     Responding to their mistresses' command half a dozen
reasonably buff, but still scantily clad bodyguards attempted to
restrain the angry schoolgirl.

     Not particularly surprisingly, in less than thirty seconds
Shelly was flattening the last of them into the floor.

     "Sigh, it's so hard to find good help these days. I suppose
I'll have to intervene personally."

     Shelly didn't reply; she merely flung her oaken desk
directly at Fifi's face. There was a very ominous clunk as Fifi
casually blocked the massive desk with one of her
depleted-uranium-lined pillows. The desk fell to the floor with a
thud and bounced slightly.

     As Shelly looked on in shock, Fifi made a slight, but
imperious gesture to her ubiquitous personal servants. This time
a full dozen of them tackled her. Caught off-guard, it was only a
moment before she was thrown out of the room tied to her own
desk.

     "Hey!"

+++

     "Is it just me, or is their majorly bogus smell in here?"

     "It is not merely you, friend Yarslov. This hall is indeed
full of the odor of something burning. I am uncertain what it
is." Ikea's brow creased as he replied, though it was difficult
to tell because it was only a fraction of a percentage deviation
from normal.

     "My apologies gentlemen. The odor you detect is that of
burning rubber tires. I assure you it is not noticeable from the
residential wing of the palace. If you would allow me to escort
you there?"

     "It is not necessary, but we will accept your offer the
interests of courtesy."

     "Yeah, let's get back to where the air if froody."

+++

     "Well the time for your match is coming up soon."

     "Don't worry, Hugh dear. I'll make short work of whoever
that poor sap that I'm going up against is."

     "And with that small victory, we will be one step closer to
the final victory; world domination!"

     "I'll be able to dress all the world's pretty girls in
lingerie!"

     "And I'll finally be able to destroy Ikea!" 

+++

     Having eventually gotten free from her own desk, Shelly was
currently engaged in that peculiar variety of multi-tasking of
which only the truly furious are capable. Though thoughts of
immediate revenge were forestalled by her upcoming date, she was
busily engaged in planning the things she was going to do to
Fifi, Leonardo, and Yarslov, all of which she felt deserving of
blame for her current set of circumstances. Physically she was
simultaneously attempting to avoid being seen, and desperately
trying to find something else to wear.

     Skulking around a corner, Shelly suddenly caught sight of a
pair of figures coming towards her. She caught a glimpse of one
in black, and another wearing a khaki shirt. She quickly ducked
back out of that passage and ran the other way.

     "Yoshi, did you just see something red and green disappear
around that corner?"

     "Obviously a manifestation of the spirit of the upcoming
Christmas season, made visible by the strange nature of this
place."

     "Christmas, ha. That's a little bit more bright and cheerful
than your normal dark and brooding choice of conversational
topics."

     "On the contrary, the Christmas season is merely a modern
interpretation of ancient solstice rituals. At one point blood
sacrifices were considered essential to bring light and warmth
back to the world, after the cold and death that was winter. The
Christmas season is quite firmly placed in the, as you put it
'dark and brooding' category."

     "And here I was worried that you were beginning to get
overly sentimental."

+++

     Continuing to sneak around, Shelly was trying to very
carefully peek around a corner when a very cute and rather loud
greeting suddenly startled her.

     "Hello next-next-next-next-next-or-something-cousin Shelly!"

     "Uh, hi."

     "Ano, why are you walking around in your underwear?"

     "It's all that darn Fifi's fault. And Leonardo's, and
Yarslov's too, come to think of it."

     In response to this liberal spreading of blame, Lumi-chan
merely looked confused in a rather cute fashion.

     "Anyway, can you help me find something to wear?"

     "Sure, you can borrow one of my outfits!" Lumi-chan replied,
cutely enthusiastic.

     "I hope your room is nearby, he's supposed to pick me up at
eight."

     "Wai! You have a date? I've heard about dates, is he cute?
Do you have to bring any other fruit, or does he handle that?"

+++
                Leonardo DiMario showed up exactly on time, as
befits a proper gentleman. Shelly made him wait for half an hour,
as is universal throughout all classes of society.

     Shelly opened the door to show herself clad in a beautiful
maroon dress, which did a lovely job of accenting her hair color.
Its hemline was a lot further up than Shelly was entirely
comfortable with (seeing as Lumi was much shorter than she was),
but it was better than nothing but lingerie.         " 'ry I took
so long." Shelly grumbled in a rather non-committal tones.

     "Ah, you need not apologize fair lady, for the wait has only
made you seem all the more beautiful."

+++

     Elsewhere our hero was in dire peril!

     Actually no, I'm just trying to keep up your interest. To
tell the truth, Ikea was sitting in his room meditating on the
question of whether a tree dreams of being a table or a table
dreams of being a tree.

     Kind of boring actually.

+++

     It was a classy restaurant. The décor screamed expensive.
The atmosphere seemed oppressive somehow, though. Perhaps it was
the excessive amounts of oxygen being produced by the variety of
potted plants that seemed to surround every table.

     Leonardo found it challenging to pull out the chair for
Shelly before she did it for herself. She was already reaching
for it and if he hadn't moved quickly she would have gotten it.
Of course it was not the speed of movement that was the
challenge; it was too move rapidly without appearing to be in
unseemly haste. The evening almost came to a premature end at
that point; Shelly already had her hand on her desk.
Short-tempered Furniture Warriors don't take well to being
startled by people suddenly moving in front of them.

     Shelly tried to pull down her hemline as she sat, alas her
efforts were in vain. Leonardo seemed oblivious to her growing
annoyance.

     Strangely enough, they were served almost as soon as they
sat down. This was not a restaurant to bother with little things
like menus. After all, they had better taste in food than you
did.

     Apparently working on the logic of 'What you don't know,
can't hurt you', the meal was utterly unidentifiable. It looked
as if someone had attempted to embody the Great Cthulu in a
platter of Spaghetti Bollanaise. 

     "I am so glad that I could persuade you to accompany this
evening. The thought of you spending time with one such as that
Yarslov, pains me greatly."

     "What did he mean by doughnut anyway?"

     "Of course I corrected him immediately. I said 'Un poco
acido' would much better describe a lovely young lady such as
yourself. Leonardo trailed off as pokes at what appears to be an
eyeball in his salad.

     " 'Un poco acido'?  What does that mean?"

     Somewhat distracted by something that appeared to have moved
on his plate, Leonardo doesn't entirely focused as he replies. "A
little tart."

     "WHAT did you call me, you PERVERT?!" Shelly asked her face
changing color to match her dress.

     "Ah mia bellezza, I believe there has been a slight
misunderstanding, you must allow me to apolog-"

     Leonardo was cut off abruptly as Shelly hit him with a desk.
It had taken too long to get to this stage; Shelly had been
getting worried.

+++

     "Now Shelly, after what he said, you were showing great
restraint not beating him into a bloody pulp much earlier on.
Besides that guy was slime."

     "Well, thanks for talking with me Joanie. Thanks, I was kind
of concerned."

     "No problem. And call me Fifi, I don't want to have to
explain to the tournament officials why I signed in under a false
name. See you tomorrow, good luck in the tournament!"

     Feeling as close to cheerful as she'd gotten since losing
her first match, Fifi wandered back towards her room. However, as
she turned the corner an oversized humanoid figure was lurking
unnoticed in the shadows behind her, watching. Without warning,
an arm that looked like it was made from the contents of a shelf
in the appliance section of a Wal-Mart reached out of the shadows
and clamped an electric knife sharpener over her mouth. An
electric mixer closed its beaters on her wrists pinning her arms
together, and thus kicking and failing to scream she was hauled
off into the darkness.

+++
     The couch had an array of blinking lights attached to the
side. A panel of buttons was built into its left armrest. To the
left of the couch was a food processor, which seemed to have a
few more blades than its manufacturer had intended. Actually, it
looked like it would be safer to stick your hand into a river
full of hungry piranhas. A couple of chairs had blow-dryer-like
attachments that looked as if they had been modified to do
something other than just dry hair. Off in a corner, so as to pay
respect to the classics sat an antique electric chair, circa the
mid-eighteenth century.

     There was also a lab table with a figure strapped to it in
the center of the room. We shall return to that later in greater
detail.

     Without doubt however, the centerpiece of the room was an
oversized refrigerator. The refrigerator appeared to be of very
solid construction, that is, it was made out of tank armor. It
was a black metallic color, which did a good job of emphasizing
the colorful digital readouts.  It was also wrapped in chains,
padlocks, had a palm scanner, a combination lock, a keypad lock,
and generally looked as if it would be impossible to get into
unless you were supposed to. However, it also looked like
whatever was kept inside was more likely to eat you, than you
were to eat it.

     Right now all of these features, save perhaps the
refrigerator, would have probably not gotten a second glance as
the room was currently echoing with the sound of Evil Laugh
#54-D.

     However, the evil laugher was suddenly interrupted by one of
the few sounds capable of cutting through evil laughter. No, not
the peculiar crunch that's created as a black dragon cracks your
femur bone open with its teeth so as to be able to get at the
juicy marrow within, but that would be close.

     No, it was the sound of a woman's voice full of righteous
(so to speak) indignation.

     "Dr. Pfischer! The Emperor expressly forbade you to
experiment on the participants in this tournament!"

     Sure enough, Fifi the Maid was strapped spread-eagled to an
examination table in the center of the laboratory. Well, actually
it was slightly off-center, but, as the saying goes, it was close
enough for government work. Which was closer than most Mad
Scientists tend to bother with.

     Since she was still wearing only her tiny French Maid
costume, the position she was strapped in afforded a quite
interesting view of her cleavage, assuming you were standing on
that side of the examination table. The view that was available
to one looking on from the other side of the table will remain
lacking a detailed description, in order to preserve this fic's
PG-15 rating.

     "Of course Miss Oeru. I always obey the commands of our
master. This one was eliminated in the first match. She is no
longer a participant in the tournament, and as such is an ideal
candidate for 'Project Deep Freeze'."

     "Hmmf. I'm sure I don't want to know the details."

     "I'm certain you don't. However I suspect that our master
will be quite pleased to hear them. Quite pleased indeed!"

     Dr. Pfischer lapsed into Evil Laugh #33-G as Miss Oeru
departed crisply.

+++

     He smiled grimly to himself. This was slightly less
psychotic than most of his facial expressions, but it soon
passed. He'd been tossed out twice, but this time he was going to
get in for certain! Yes sir, third time's the charm, after all.
Or was it seventeenth time? Anyway, this time he was going to
show those far-nature warriors, or whatever they called
themselves, how it was done!

     All he needed to do now was find one of them. The place was
full of them; it shouldn't be too hard. Aha! There's one now, a
new-agey-looking woman who was dragging a beanbag chair around
behind her in a somewhat despondent fashion. Since the speech
hadn't gone over so well last time, he decided to keep it simple
this time.

     "Alright, now I'm going to join this tournament, or else!"

     "What weapon do you use?"

     "I use my... GRENADE!"

     The young woman took a moment to shake her head sadly,
before she replied.

     "You are obviously unenlightened to the true path of the
Furniture Warrior. I am sorry to have to do this, but you may
take comfort in the certainty that it will speed your passage to
true understanding."

     This said she promptly walloped him with her beanbag chair
sending him flying out a conveniently located window, leaving
behind only the pin from his grenade.

     "Oops." She said putting down her beanbag chair in
embarrassment.

     A small explosion could be heard in the distance.

     "Sorry about that!"

+++

                "Hi Yarslov."

     "Oh, hey Fifi."

     "I was wondering... Well I was wondering if you'd like to
spar sometime?"

     "Oh sure, that would be, like, very froody."

     "Great! I'll talk to you tomorrow." Fifi concluded and
wondered off in a somewhat embarrassed hurry.

     Yarslov, left behind was experiencing mixed emotions. She
wanted to spend time with him, which was real frood, and she was
cute which was very cool. But sparring meant he would have to hit
her, and hitting girls was majorly bogus. But he had, like, made
a committee, no a communist... Nah, that couldn't be it. He'd,
like, given his word, and not showing up would also be very
uncool. But he didn't have to talk to the chick until tomorrow
and in the meantime he would sleep. Hopefully he'd have something
useful to say to himself in the course of the night.

+++

     Mick had shown up early so as to get a seat in the front
row. Even if Fifi had gotten a little soft around the edges, a
fellow gang member deserved his support.

     "Hey Yoshi, that guy is dressed all in black. Is he a
relative of yours?"

     "No."

     "And now the second match of the day, between Fifi L'Enfer
of La Bureau Café in Paris, France and Fojarusu Kuristazu of the
Kohisutando Ryu, Japan."

     At the mention of the first name, a shadowy figure moved to
get a better view. She had waited so long for vengeance, but an
opportunity to see how rusty Fifi had let her technique get,
could be useful.         Fifi had forestalled Hugh's usual speech
by threatening to stop sponsoring his artwork if he made one.
Many of the assembled warriors had been very grateful, and
several were now cursing how incautiously they had expressed
their gratitude to Fifi.

     Fifi was clad in her standard multiple layers of lingerie.
Her opponent was garbed in a fairly standard ninja outfit, i.e.
black pajamas with a hood and tabi. He was also armed with a
coffee table.

     Fifi lapsed into a Kodachi style laugh, before boasting: "I
shall defeat you easily."

     Her opponent remained silent and took a moment to bow
respectfully before launching a volley of drink coaster shuriken
at her.

     Caught off-guard by the unexpected assault, Fifi lost a
couple layers of lingerie to the table-protecting projectiles.

     Maddened by the damage to her precious lingerie, Fifi
charged in with wild swings from her depleted-uranium-lined
pillow. Her black-clad opponent managed to block the first couple
of strikes, but a pillow swings a lot more freely than does a
coffee table, and Fifi soon got in a solid hit. With a rather
unpleasant whomp, the pillow knocked the ninja off his feet.

     Unfortunately from Fifi's point of view, he got up again
almost immediately. With barely a pause Fojarusu flung another
handful of deadly projectiles at her.

     "Ow!" Fifi cried out as a flurry of espresso beans rained
down upon her. She was then found it necessary to dodge as her
opponent's coffee table narrowly missed her.

     Fifi was forced to take the defensive as her opponent swung
with the kind of inhumanly fast reflexes that come only from
unhealthy levels of caffeine consumption. 

     After a few minutes of madly dodging and blocking the
swinging coffee stand, Fifi was surprised when Fojarusu's furious
assault suddenly stopped.

     Reaching into an unseen pocket, Fojarusu pulled out an
oversized thermos. He opened the thermos with swift practiced
movements; the smell of piping hot espresso soon filled the
arena.

     Taking advantage of this opening Fifi knocked the thermos
from his grasp, and then catching him on the follow through,
knocked him down.

     Fojarusu desperately tried to make it to the thermos, but
Fifi simply kicked it to the side. Momentarily, he fell asleep.

     "And the winner is... Fifi!"

+++

     Back in Dr. Pfischer's lab, the mad scientist was currently
ranting to an unconscious Fifi (the maid).
     "You shall be finest creation! When you wake up, you shall
be Fifi no longer. Instead you shall be Frigidaire Fifi, the full
realization of 'Project Deep Freeze'! Your new form will be
stronger, faster, smarter, and have a built in ice cube
dispenser! Not only will I be able to use you to bring pleasantly
cool doom upon my enemies, but you shall be a source of frozen
ice cream treats on hot summer days!"

     The mad scientist succumbed to Evil Laugh #43-H, and for a
moment it looked like he'd be at it for the duration, but he
managed to regain control, and returned to his fiendish task.

+++

     "Oh how ghastly. I still seem to have some espresso beans in
my lingerie. Could you help me get them out, Hugh darling?"

+++

     "Hi oniichan!"

     "Greetings, Lumi-chan."

     "I won my match, wai!"

     "Indeed, I have come to congratulate you on your victory
yesterday. You have brought great honor upon our family and upon
the Tibetan Furniture Warriors Monastery."

     "Wai! Thanks Ikea-nichan!" Lumi replied cutely (and loudly).

     "Now I must depart to continue my own training, for my
upcoming match tomorrow."

     "Wai! You're so disciplined, Ikea-kun!"

+++

                Joyful feminine shouts and the creak of
bedsprings being pushed dangerously close to their breaking point
filled the room. The sound of someone knocking at the door was
barely audible over the racket.

     Lumi however, did hear the knock at the door, and with a
certain amount of reluctance to end so pleasant a pastime, she
stopped jumping on the bed so she could go see who it was.

     Instead she found a simple wooden box.

     "Wai! A present for me! I wonder what it is?"

     Lumi immediately opened the box.

+++
     In the shadows an extremely cute young woman was feeling
slightly frustrated. She had lost Fifi in the crowd after the
match had ended. However her frustration was almost eclipsed by
her anticipation. This time, she knew she was better than Fifi.
She would make Fifi pay for ruining her lingerie designs! This
time there would be no doubt as to who looked better tied to a
bed!

+++

     He was in a great deal of physical pain. This was however,
secondary to the massive blow to his pride she had dealt him.

     THUD!

     Okay, perhaps that leg injury was almost as important as the
damage his pride had suffered. But she had refused him! She had
refused Leonardo DiMario, the only Gentleman Furniture Warrior to
be found in this entire low brow tournament. He wasn't good
enough for her!

     It was all the fault of that low brow fish-gut eater,
Yarslov. The cad had corrupted the beautiful young woman. It was
obviously Leonardo's duty as a proper gentleman to destroy the
cursed Swede and return the young Shelly back to the proper path
before it was too late for her. Honor demanded no less.

     He turned as a young lady in a business suit walked in and
regarded him matter-of-factly.

     "Good evening, Miss Oeru."

     "Good evening, Mr. DiMario. You seem slightly discomfited
this evening."

     "A minor matter, I assure you. Nothing you need concern
yourself with."

     "Ah, but my Emperor is very concerned. It weighs heavily on
his mind that an honorable gentleman such as yourself is treated
with such blatant disrespect. As a way of making amends, he has
bid me make this offer to you. It would please him greatly if you
would do him the honor of accepting a position within his court.
In exchange he would grant you the power necessary to see to it
that disrespectful individuals were properly dealt with. Of
course, in light of your new status I'm sure the young lady would
reconsider her earlier attitude."

     His honor, anger, and pride tearing him different
directions, Leonardo could only see one path worthy of
consideration; stalling. "I am honored by the offer, but I would
like to meet your Emperor before I am to swear fealty to him."

     "Of course, I'm sure his Imperial Majesty would be honored
to meet you."

+++

     "YOU MAY SIT DOWN."

     "But I'm supposed to give my speech!"

     "THAT WILL NOT BE REQUIRED. I WILL BE MAKING THE SPEECH."

     "Hmmf."

     The Emperor paused a moment to clear his throat before
beginning. It sounded a lot like the sound a cliff-face might
make to politely catch your attention before dropping several
tons of rock on top of you. It was however greeted
enthusiastically by the audience of Furniture Warriors. Anything
had to be better than one of Hugh's speeches. 

     Hugh's speeches were so awful that a couple of the Warriors
attending the tournament, having received their inspiration,
would go on to design a martial art based entirely around using
your voice to either frighten away, or put to sleep your
opponent. Within a century it would be one of the most feared
martial arts of their peculiar corner of the multiverse. Within
two centuries, there would be almost none of them left... Their
order having been the victims of an extremely thorough campaign
of annihilation waged by a coalition of Warriors of Light who had
decided that the martial art form Hugh had inadvertently inspired
was too horrifying to allow to continue to exist.

     "YOU CALL YOURSELVES FURNITURE WARRIORS. THIS IS AN ILLUSION
WE HAVE ENCOURAGED YOU TO FOSTER, AS YOU FIGHT AMONGST YOURSELVES
LIKE CHILDREN SQUABBLING OVER WHOM SAT DOWN FIRST IN A GAME OF
MUSICAL CHAIRS. BUT NOW THAT COMFORTABLE FANTASY YOU HAVE BEEN
ENTERTAINING COMES TO AN END. NOW YOU FACE YOUR FIRST REAL
WARRIOR.

     The spotlight switched to a pair of ten feet tall doors in
the side of the arena. They began to creak open slowly, gradually
revealing an oversized vaguely human figure.

     It was humanoid, but only barely. Constructed out of what
had to be an entire suburb's worth of kitchen appliances, it
looked like the monster from a second rate science fiction movie.
Had it been in a movie, it would have been laughable. In fact, as
long you maintained a safe distance, it was still laughable. As
it was, only a few people in the back row were snickering.

     "THIS IS MY LIVEWIRE, MY CHAMPION. YOU CANNOT HOPE TO STAND
AGAINST HIM. IN THE UNLIKELY EVENT THAT ONE OF YOU DOES MANAGE TO
DEFEAT HIM, THEN I HAVE OTHER CHAMPIONS. THE FATE OF THE EARTH IS
SEALED. THIS IS WHERE YOU BEGIN TO LOSE. THE FIRST AMONG YOU TO
FALL SHALL BE THE ONE CALLED CHRONOS TICKINGCLOCK."
     Perfectly on time as always, Master Chronos Tickingclock
entered the arena. He was a medium sized man, and his most
striking characteristic was a ticking sound that traveled with
him. You couldn't really tell where it was coming from, or
whether it was just one clock, or many clocks all perfectly
synchronized.

     "LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!"



END PART SIX!
Stay tuned for more Furniture Warriors!
Part Seven: How Much Milk Has She Got In Those, Anyway?
HUMOR! NAUGHTINESS! VIOLENCE! ROMANCE! MAGIC! SEX! FURNITURE!

In the next part of Furniture Warriors, written by...       
Phoebe [applause]

Much thanks to my Pre-Readers:
Chris "Yasha" DeBartolo and John Evans.
Thanks to Jonatan Streith for contributing ideas.
And to all of you on the DGML, the Keiko-chanians shall triumph!