Furniture Warriors PART FOUR, Journey on insanity! or Remember the Alamo! (Formerly) A Spoof Chase Production NOW An Improfanfic Production (http://Pixelscapes.com/improfanfic) A Furniture Warriors ImproFanFic created by Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne This Episode Written By Jonatan Streith, A Man With Too Many Capital Letters For His 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 my own fans to live.) -=- RECAP: For those who haven't read FW before... IKEA, the heir of the ancient and venerable Tibetan Furniture Warrior Dojo, and his sister LUMI, have come to Paris in pursuit of a dojo yaburi, their much scorned fellow student HUGH. Hugh is siding with a mystic Evil Overlord who plans to take over the world, and has gained the aid of FIFI to bring together all Furniture Warriors of the world. Among these are YARSLOV, a friend of Ikea, and who is trying to fulfill some kind of destiny; SHELLY, a really irritable girl who wants to prove herself; MICK, a hustler looking for money, and possibly several unnamed cannonfodder, er, secondary characters as well. Also, sneaking around in the shadows, is an at-the-moment unnamed, curtain-rod (with curtains) wielding, and very very angry girl. After a rather tedious gathering including dinner, karoke, and a demonstration of the power and might of their greatest contender, the Ottoman Empire (tm), the warriors have stuffed themselves into (or in one case on top of) a very black bus and gone off to another dimension, or something. Which is where we join the story... -=- The black bus zoomed through the darkness like very few buses do, black and twisted shadows leaping around around it, crooning and cajoling. Inside, the warriors were trying to get comfortable for their impromptu journey. Incidentally, no one looked at the shadows. "Oniichan, these seats are so uncomfortable!" Lumi whined. Ikea broke off from his mental exercise for the fifth time. Once again, they were traveling in a strange metal box; Truly, the people of the outside world were strange that they used such things, when they had fully functional feet. It was a taxing experience for someone in such balance with nature as Ikea. "True, Lumi-chan," he intoned in a calm voice (not that he used any others, very often at least) "metal framing with springs and cheap synthetic cushioning is just not as good as anything the dojo would produce. However, as the heirs to the Tibetan Furniture Warriors Dojo, it is our duty to show strength and endurance, and ignore these temporary discomforts." "Waai! Ikea-kun, you're so wise!" Lumi chirped, clearly not understanding a single word. She suddenly frowned. "I wonder what Hugh is up to?" A microscopic crease appeared on Ikea's forehead. "Probably he's plotting his evil schemes again." The crease vanished, to be replaced with his much look of Cool Righteousness (tm). "No matter. We'll thwart his vile plans once he reveals them." Lumi grinned even more cutely. "Gosh, that's honourable! Do you think they'll serve us peanuts here, too?" -=- If Hugh was plotting his evil schemes, he did a good job of hiding it. In fact, he was busy drawing a nice little picture of his evil master with oil pastels. "It has begun, boss," he addressed the picture. "The warriors of this world are gathering, and we are now traveling to the place of the battle." The robed master on the picture grinned, although it was a bit hard to see. Hugh sketched a bit more about the mouth, and the maniacal grin became much clearer. "Excellent! My plan will come to fruition! And then we will TAKE OVER THE WORLD!" "Yes!" Hugh gleefully said. "WE WILL WIN! MUA-HAHA-HAHA!" Mick lazily opened one eye and peered at the artist. "Wot are you talking 'bout, mate? Yer laughing like yer planning to take over the world or somethin'..." "Not at all, fellow warrior." Hugh said reassuringly. "Go back to sleep." "Alright then..." Mick leaned back in his seat. Soon, his mind was filled with visions of money, violence, and girls in lingerie. -=- "I SAID, stay on YOUR side of the SEAT! Pervert!" Shelly yelled, squeezing against the side of her seat, the side facing away from Yarslov. Yarslov groaned, hoping that her yelling wouldn't give him a headache. That would be seriously un-cool. "I tell ya, I was just picking up my wallet! I wasn't trying to peek up your clothes, I swear! Geez!" "Hmpf!" Shelly hmpf'ed angrily, and made a big show of crossing her legs in front of her. "See if I care!" She gazed at the curtains flapping outside the bus. [What idiot puts up flower-print curtains on the OUTSIDE?] She pondered the subject for a nanosecond, and then continued to ignore Yarslov. "" Yarslov mused in Swedish. Shelly suddenly loomed over him, a heavy oak desk in her hands. "WHAT did you say? 'Soet'?" "Eep! Nothing!" [Change the channel, change the channel!] He looked up at the desk. "So you fight with desks, huh? Uh, my name is Yarslov, by the way." "Huh?" Shelly said, looking slightly dumbfounded. Then her eyes blazed again. "Yeah! And if you say something about 'silly fighting style'..." [Be cool now, Yars... really cool.] "Hey, no way it's silly or anything! I fight with a beach chair, how's that for silly?" He added a small, easy-going chuckle. Shelly blinked a few times, and then started laughing. "A beach chair? You yell something cheesy like," she took a breath, "RISING CHAIR FIRE, or something?" She put away the desk. "Man, that's so fresh.." She wiped away a tear of laughter. "So you're not going to bash my head in?" Yarslov asked bluntly. Shelly grinned in a not-too-nice fashion. "Wait until the tournament." She then ignored him again. "All right." He leaned back. [Danger averted. Damn, I'm smooth!] Then the cartoons started. -=- Fifi snoozed in her seat (after first ranting about how terribly inappropriate it was how a person of her pedigree should sit in a horror like that, followed by some of her flunkies forcibly ripping it out and installing a much more luxurious one). Her dreams were occupied by her conquering the world and dressing everyone in lingerie. -=- The mysterious girl clung to the roof, glaring at the mystical shadows that were flying around her and trying their best to drive her mad. She growled at them. [Fifi, once I get in this tournament, you shall PAY for the suffering you've brought me!] She glared at a spectre shaped like a chicken, trying to sneak up on her. "And what do YOU think you're doing?!" The spectre quickly decided to fly around on the other side of the bus. -=- In the dark chamber, the dark master of the Ottoman Empire laughed in joy. Well, perhaps not joy; the background was wrong, and there's very little joyfulness in "MUA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!". Nontheless, he laughed. FINALLY, THE TOURNAMENT HAS BEGUN. AFTER ALL THIS TIME... He took a large tome from his bookshelf. Unlike the other books, it wasn't dark or menacing; it was pink and bright. It had a disgustingly cute title. AND *SHE* IS HERE ONCE AGAIN... He opened the book on a dog-eared page. It showed a young woman in a medieval dress, with long red hair and a confused smile on her face. Impressively drawn electricity crackled over her and the two glowing orbs she held. SOON YOU SHALL BE MINE, QUEEN RADIANCE... -=- The cartoons were interrupted with a news flash, much to Yarslov's dismay (not that he ever used words like "dismay"; he preferred to use "bogus" or "really un-cool"). However, he knew this was important. "The long journey has started, and the warriors have gathered," Yarslov the reporter announced. Yarslov blinked. "Hey dude, why are you talking like that?" "Dunno, just trying to get into the feel of it." "Oh, okay." Yarslov shrugged. "Go on, and all that." "Right." Yarslov the reporter scratched his chin. "Where was I? Oh yeah. You can trust Ikea, and his sis, but you have to be careful with the painter." "That's OK, I never trusted Hugh anyway." Yarslov replied, grinning goofily. "'Course you didn't, you da man. Anyway, be wary of the others. Some of the warriors might be cool dudes, but stay on your guard and all that." "Right." Yarslov replied. "Anything else? Any predictions?" The reporter shrugged. "Nah, not yet. I was just gonna do some..." he looked at a paper. "Eks-po-sitch-shun. Yeah, that's it. Oh, and the girl on the roof has nothing to do with your destiny, I think. Well, bye now!" The newsflash ended, and Jeopardy was on. Of course, he knew all the answers. -=- Meanwhile, somewhere else, in a forest. It was dark, and the stars were coming out. Two men were standing in the middle of a glade, illuminated by.. a floor lamp? "You're sure they're coming by this way, then?" one of the men asked. He was burly and short but solid-looking, wearing cammie fatigue pants, a khaki t-shirt, and a thin, fake-looking beard. He held onto the lamp with a possessive air. "...yes." the other one monotonously replied. This one was wearing black clothes and a black cloak that looked even darker in the meager light. He had long, black hair and a look that says 'Don't mess with me.' (And impressionable young girls might describe as 'dreeeeeeeaaaamy.') "Don't question my judgment, Tony.. if that's really your name." The burly man chuckled. "You shouldn't question things like that with your name, 'Yoshi'. Is that supposed to sound like a Japanese name? Cheesy..." Yoshi spun to face his companion, the floor lamp illuminating his very un-Japanese features. "You be quiet, pathetic fool! This is our best chance to get home to Earth! The real Earth, not this cheap replica!" Tony's nostrils flared. He grabbed the lamp and spun it over his head in a complicated kata (which also was rather confusing, as it sent flickering light over the area). "You want a fight, pretty boy?" Yoshi dropped into a battle stance and was about to make a reply, when a huge tear in reality opened up behind him, a black bus crashing out. "...told you so." Yoshi commented. The bus pulled up in front of the dark-clad man, and the driver leaned out. "You the fighters we're gonna pick up?" He held up a clip board and a pencil. The two warriors put a mark next to their names, and-- "WAIT! I wanna go too!" Several heads turned towards the source of the voice.. a young man in his late teens, with a psychotic expression on his face, who was running towards the bus. "I wanna go too!" the teen repeated. The driver turned his head and looked at Hugh. "Sir?" Hugh groaned and got out of his seat. "Sure, sure." He walked over to the entrance. " So you want to compete in the Furniture Warrior tournament, boy?" The crazed teen nodded vigorously. "And your choice of weapon...?" Hugh inquired. The boy grinned like he was going to bite someone. "I use my... GUN!" he exclaimed, brandishing a big magnum. Silence filled the bus, along with stares of disapproval from all wake members. "Denied." Hugh replied, and walked back to his seat. The kid blinked. "But.." "Get lost, kid," Yoshi spat, as he pushed by. "Get a piece of furniture if you want to compete." The boy's left eye twitched. "Oh yeah?" He grabbed hold of the front of the pseudo-Japanese's black shirt, and pushed the gun in his face. "OH YEAH? Well, this gun says I'm in, and if you have any prob--" Faster than slow lightning, Yoshi pulled a large amp and hit the teen over the head. Then he held it up right in front of him. A portable CD-player attached to his waist was wired to it. "Say goodbye to your eardrums." 130 dB of Nine Inch Nails blared out at the boy, throwing him ten feet. He landed with a *THUMP!*, ears ringing. Inside the bus, Ikea raised an eyebrow slightly. [Fascinating,] he mused. [Perhaps this tournament will be more interesting than I thought.] The black-clad man put away the amp, and stomped down the aisle. As he reached Mick's seat, he carefully picked up the sleeping hustler (how he managed to sleep through NIN is anyone's guess...) and laid him down on the floor. He then sat down and fixed Hugh with a stare. "You're the manager for this?" "Yes?" Hugh replied. A slight energy built up between them, as the two warriors tested each others' strength. "Good." Yoshi replied, and promptly fell asleep. Hugh looked contemplatingly at the man, plans forming in his head. Then he moved away from him. It wasn't that he was AFRAID, but the man's clothes were so dark and drab it looked like it was contagious. Once again, the bus roared forward, as the ground split up before it. -=- The boy picked himself up. [All right,] he thought, [if they want furniture...] He looked at the vanishing bus, and realized that his ride was leaving. He jumped after it just as the hole closed. -=- Once again the bus burst out through reality, into a huge dark room. Paintings of former rulers hung on the walls, and evil minions shuffled in the shadows. In the center of the room stood a throne upon which sat a being of power, with eyes glowing green, and wearing... ...a business suit? "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!?" the man yelled. The driver leaned out the door. "'Ey guv, is this the Netherworlds?" "No!" the man yelled, although he stopped using the Capitals of Omnipotence. The bus driver scratched his head. "I knew I should've made a right turn at Albuquerque... you don't have any warriors due for pickup?" "No!" the man yelled, dark energy crackling all over him. "For your impetuousness, you shall pay! TELE--" "Yo, boss, no!" A man dressed in what could only be described as 'snazzy threads' ran up to him and covered his mouth. "Baad idea! You want those things to hug us again? Just send 'em away, boss!" "Whatever you say, guv!" the driver replied, and started the engines again. Within seconds, they were gone without a trace." The man on the throne frowned. "A lot of riff-raff going through the dimensions these days." "Gotta agree with ya, SG." He took out a mirror and corrected his hair. "Damn cute girl on the roof, though." "Yes. Now, you said you had a plan to deal with that blasted band once and for all..." -=- Several stops later, to pick up a multitude of warriors (it would have been nice to think that the new-age woman with the beanbag chair was the craziest), the bus halted in front of a huge pair of gates. The warriors stepped out and beheld the sight in front of them. A castle stood in front of them. Well, mostly a castle; it seemed to be an amalgamation of several architectural styles, with huge parts that looked like hollowed-out rocks, mingled with beautifully crafted pillars and balconies, and framed in with Heian-style buildings. Some parts seemed to defy gravity, and some broke even more laws of physics. It appeared to be more than a square mile across, and who knew how many miles cubed; it made Xanadu look like an outhouse. Jungle surrounded it, and ocean surrounded the jungle. "Wai! What an interesting place!" Lumi wai!'ed, spraying little bits of peanut over her brother. "Must have a HUGE freaking heating bill," Yarslov commented. In the back, the mysterious girl slipped off the bus and skulked away. Not once did the term "excessive secrecy" cross her mind. [Soon, very soon, Fifi...] -=- Hugh looked out over the teeming mass of Furniture Warriors gathered around the arena, and shivered. "Master," he stage-whispered to the robed entity to his left, "how will we be able to subvert them all?" VERY-- "Master! Not so loud! They can hear you!" "Very simple," the man(?) replied in a lower voice... although it still sounded like two headstones being slammed together. "Only a few are really important... the ones from your world, and a handful others. The rest... their power will be added to the power of the Ottoman Empire." "And I'll get to kill Ikea!" Hugh said, eyes sparkling. "And then we will take over the world!" The two laughed megalomaniacally, while the gathered horde patiently waited for them to get on with it. "And now," the Master said, "you will give them your speech." Hugh bigsweated, and turned on his microphone. "Ladies, and gentlemen... warriors alike. You probably wonder why you've been summoned here..." Down below, Fifi groaned. -=- "Man, Hugh really sucks at speechmaking, huh?" Yarslov stated. He unfolded his chair and sat down. It was a bit crowded, but it worked. "Indeed, Yarslov-kun." Ikea replied, already seated. "Hugh has never been able to remain with the pure and true; always he pursues the twisted and unnatural." "...the honor of the art..." Hugh droned above. "Next-next-next-next-next-or-something-cousin Shelly!" Lumi shouted cutely. "Hello!" She grabbed Shelly's hand and shook it vigorously. Shelly stared at the redheaded incarnation of cuteness. "Do I know you?" "...the weather, always fine in spring..." Hugh droned on. Mick pushed by. "Pardon me, me lasses, need to get through..." Shelly grabbed him by his shirt. "Not so fast, mister!" She locked her 1.21 gigawatt stare on the hustler. "Long time no see, DAD." Mick blinked three times in rapid succession. Then his confused look was replaced with one of revelation. "Sheila! How's dad's little girl been?" An oaken desk landed in his face. "How I've been?" Shelly raged. "HOW I'VE BEEN, YOU LAZY BUM?!? Where's that child support? Why don't you ever write? WHY DON'T YOU EVER SHOW UP?" she ranted, striking him with the desk once for every accusation. "AND THE NAME IS SHELLY!" Lumi stepped back, watching the scene with interest and crying softly in a hanky. "I love family reunions..." "...I've always said that..." Hugh continued. Except for the small area of commotion, most of the audience had fallen asleep. "Ah, you're in a most foul mood, Sheila," Mick commented, as he blocked the desk with his cue. "Mick will be back once you've gotten your head back." He casually grabbed a bystander and put him in the line of fire, then scampered away. Shelly fumed. "That bastard..." "Pardon me, miss..." the bystander said, with a slight Italian accent. Shelly turned around. He was fairly lithe in build, had blond, impeccably combed hair, and was terminally handsome, in the 'pretty boy' fashion. He was also wearing clothes that screamed out "Expensive and fashionable!". He took her hand and kissed it lingeringly. "I am Leonardo, a fellow warrior. If there's anything I can do for you..." he looked at her with a predatory smile. Then a beach chair landed in his face. "Hey!" His eyes found Yarslov, who was glaring at him with vengeful anger. "What do you think you're doing, uncouth barbarian!" "Leave her alone, Euro-trash!" Yarslov bellowed. "Euro-trash? Fishgut eater!" "Snot-nosed upstart!" "Uncivilized low-brow!" "...the ways of the fish..." Hugh droned. "Garlic-smelling frog-eater!" Leonardo blinked. "That's French. I'm Italian." Shelly nearly facefaulted. Silence fell as the two warriors glared at each other, invisible lightning shooting back and forth. Flies that passed by caught fire, as did the short Hand-Woven Basket Warrior, who ran away screaming. Leonardo finally broke the stare. "I'll see you in the arena, punk." He smiled at Shelly, showing off his perfect white teeth that gleamed with an audible *ting!*. "And I'll see you too, miss..." He walked off. Yarslov glared at his retreating back. "And I'll see--" *SMASH!* Shelly pounded him flat with a desk. "Since when did I need a body guard?" she accused. "Whoa," Yarslov began, getting up from the floor. Shelly glared at him. "I fight my own battles, Yarslov! So stay out of it, okay?" she hmpf'ed and then ignored him. "" he mused in Swedish. -=- "...and thus..." Hugh said, coming to the end of the speech (finally!), "we will hold the first battle NOW." Several warriors cheered, eager to see some action. "And the first combatants are..." Hugh glanced at a sheet. "... Fifi the Maid..." A girl in a maid's outfit leapt into the arena. "Vive la France!" she cheered. "Hey! That's my name!" Fifi (the lingeried one) screamed. "I'm the French fighter here!" "But zat is tres impossible! MY name eez Fifi, you fluffly lingerie eempostare!" Fifi the maid replied. "YOU aren't even FRENCH!" "But of course Ah ahm French! Why else would I speak with zis aut-RAE-jous accent?" "And her opponent," Hugh interjected in an attempt to avert the unscheduled fight, "hailing from Knuergen near the Bjoergenfjords, Sweden...Yarslov!" "Huh? Me?" Yarslov said, confused. "I'm not from..." he expression darkened. "Really cool, Hugh. Real frood." -=- Yarslov eyed his opponent, and the weapon in her hand. [Just a feather duster? Since when is that furniture? At least this should be an easy one], he mused. Right on cue, the girl pulled out a huge crystal chandelier, and swung it menacingly through the air. Hundreds of little sharp edges glittered in the light. Yarslov paled. Then he grinned. "Remember the... Remember the... Remember that place in Texas!" he bellowed, and raised his beach chair. Ki flared from it. END PART FOUR! Stay tuned for Furniture Warriors... PART FIVE : Railing death! HUMOR! VIOLENCE! ROMANCE! MAGIC! VIOLENCE! FURNITURE! In the next part of Furniture Warriors, written by... Yasha! [applause] -=- Author's afterwords: Now, was this fun or what? It's not easy to take over after a writer as renowned as Twoflower, but I think I did a pretty acceptable job. Big, BIG thanks to Yasha for prereading, nitpicking, offering suggestions and not declaring a holy war on me. She's great. ^_^ Also thanks to the denizens of the DGML for some other ideas and general "go" spirit. ^_^ C&C sent to J_Streith@telebot.net Comments appreciated! Flames will be ignored. Flamers will be sacrificed to Arioch. Have a nice day! -=- And, Phoebe... Washuu-chan will be mine! MWA-HAHAAHAHA! *Manaical Laughter #39-D*