Furniture Warriors PART SEVEN, Rubies and Ice Cubes! Or How Much Milk Has She Got In Those, Anyway? (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 Phoebe, a girl who drinks so much of a certain carbonated caffienated substance that she believes sanity a tale of little moral and less sense. (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 unfinished stories in order to survive.) There was a long silence, broken only by the ticking that emanated from Master Tickingclock. Then Livewire pointed one huge electronic eggbeater finger at the medium-sized average-looking man. "This?" he rumbled dangerously, sparks flying from the EZ-Make Oven which made up his head. "This is my opponent?" Tickingclock bowed. "Master Chronos Tickingclock, the Honourable Furniture Warrior of England," he replied evenly. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." It took a while, but eventually everyone recognised the screeching buzzing sound coming from the huge electronic figure as laughter. "Time to die, little man," Livewire proclaimed. An eight-slice toaster appeared, dangling from one massive hand by the cord. "TOSUTAA SUTURIIKU!!" he yelled, swinging the red-hot appliance at the Furniture Warrior's unprotected head. Which, along with the rest of him, promptly disappeared. "Huh?" Livewire turned around, bewildered. "Where did he -" "Oh dear," came a mild voice from behind. "I seem to have toast crumbs all over my tie..." "You dare to MOCK me?" roared Livewire, eyes literally glowing with rage. Once again he made for the calmly smiling man. Who once again disappeared, only to reappear again. Livewire began swinging wildly through the air, trying to catch his opponent on one of those reappearances. "Come out and FIGHT!" he ranted, as an overhead strike tore a chunk out of the floor. "Come out and FIGHT, coward!" A thought fuzzily forced its way through the creaking brain. Gears turned. Cogs whirled. And Livewire leapt straight for the audience, plucking Shelly from the front row like a cherry from the tree and holding her in front of him like a shield. "Let me go!" she screamed furiously, lashing out with her feet. "Let me GO, you oversized mechanical FREAK!" Livewire ignored the thrashing girl and roared his challenge to the empty air; "Come out and fight! Or the girl is TOAST!" "Sheila!" "Next-next-next-next-next-something-cousin-Shelly!" "Stop, Yarslov." Yarslov halted mid ki-gathering, and looked at Ikea, who was as calm as ever. "What do you mean, stop?" he cried. "He's going to kill her!" "No," Ikea corrected. "It appears Master Tickingclock has the situation well in hand." Indeed, the mild-mannered man had appeared again, facing Livewire across the arena. "I will fight," he said quietly. "Let the girl go." Livewire laughed again, and tossed the shrieking girl across the arena to Chronos. "Come, little man," he taunted. "Show me what you've got." "GRANDFATHER PENDULUM SWING!!" Tickingclock shouted, pulling a grandfather clock out and swinging it up into the air. The clock reached the apex of the swing and... stayed there. Livewire looked up at the motionless clock, bemused. "That's it?" he asked, flabbergasted. Tickingclock smiled, the only time he'd shown emotion throughout the entire fight. "Why no," he replied. "ULTIMATE AGING!!!" The clock face began to glow. A beam of light projected downward, engulfing the household-appliance humanoid. "BONG." "Are you all right, my dear?" Tickingclock asked solicitously. "BONG." "Yeah, I'm fine. Uh, shouldn't you pay attention to the fight?" "BONG." "Shelly!! Like, are you okay?" "BONG." "I'm FINE, Yarslov! No! Don't pick me-" "BONG." *SLAP* "BONG." "No, my dear, the fight is almost over, as you will soon see..." "BONG." "Ah, there we are..." As the last ponderous "BONG" faded into silence, the beam of light subsided, leaving behind a rusting pile of junk metal. Tickingclock walked over and poked it curiously with his foot. It collapsed into its component atoms. "And the winner," Hugh gasped disbelievingly, "Is Master Chronos Tickingclock of England!" The arena erupted into applause. The Emperor stood, ignoring the sobs of Dr Pfischer. SILENCE, FOOLS! THIS WAS BUT THE FIRST OF MY CHAMPIONS. I RETURN TOMORROW WITH A NEW AVATAR. CONTINUE WITH YOUR LITTLE TOURNAMENT, PATHETIC MORTALS... YOUR DOOM AWAITS YOU IN THE MORNING!!" And with that, the Emperor and his coterie vanished. "Uh.." Hugh began, still staring at the space that had been Livewire. "The next match is scheduled for tomorrow morning, between Shelly Thompson, of Miss Pifflemoore's Academy for Privileged Girls, and Mistress Aquamarine of Knossos!" * * * * * "WAI! Look 'ni-chan! Lumi-chan got roses!" Lumi wai'ed. "Indeed. Who are they from, Lumi?" "Ano... My SECRET ADMIRER! I guess that's the same person who sent me this pretty necklace after my match..." Lumi lifted a priceless ruby necklace from a plain wooden box and posed. "Isn't it pretty?" she giggled. "Yes, Lumi. However, it is not proper for a Furniture Warrior to receive payment for a job well done. A fair win over an honourable opponent is a reward in itself. You must return the gifts." "Ohhh, Oniiiii-chan..." Lumi whined. A thought impacted itself upon her tiny brain... "Should Lumi-chan return the note too?" "May I read this note, Lumi?" "Sure!" = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = DEAREST LUMI-CHAN, I HAVE WATCHED YOUR PROGRESS WITH GREAT INTEREST, AND CONGRATULATE YOU ON YOUR TRIUMPH. PLEASE ACCEPT THIS SMALL TOKEN OF MY APPRECIATION AND ADMIRATION. YOUR SECRET ADMIRER. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = "Hmm.." Ikea hmm'ed. "Like the creak in the joints of a deckchair, this bodes of bad things to come..." "Hai!" Lumi agreed, nodding and smiling. * * * * * "Hah! So, Doctor, ve are not laughingk so much now, are ve? Our Livevire is now dust! 'Hah!', I am saying to you! And 'Hah' again!" The doctor shrieked, driven beyond endurance by the taunting, and lunged across the table at the smugly smirking woman. STOP! ordered the Emperor, effectively cutting off Dr Pfischer's attempt at certain suicide. WE DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS. SOPHIA, YOU WILL FACE THE NEXT FURNITURE WARRIOR. I EXPECT NOTHING BUT SUCCESS FROM YOU. Sophia smirked again. "I vill crush the veaklingk varrior vith my eyelash!" she promised. GOOD. MISS OERU, I HAVE A GUEST? Miss Oeru bowed crisply. "Yes, my liege. A young gentleman from Italy, who may be persuaded to join our cause." I WILL SPEAK WITH HIM NOW. YOU ARE DISMISSED. * * * * * Yarslov was sleeping. For those who need reminding, this meant he was watching the Yarslov Show. "Yarslov - This Is Your Life!" Yarslov watched himself laugh embarrassedly and scratch his head, and settled back to enjoy clips from his froody life. "...and do you remember this voice?" "Hello, Yarslov, darling!" "Sure! It's my wife, Shelly!" the on-screen Yarslov jumped up excitedly. "That's right! After a kinda bogus beginning, you guys became friends after something really weird that... I'm sorry, dude." "Huh?" Yarslov asked, confused. "We have to make a break in this totally awesome programme for an ultra-important message," the presenter informed him. "Shoot," Yarslov sighed. "Okay, go for it." The scene dissolved to be replaced by the face of the most righteous mystical reporter - Yarslov! "Yo, Yarslov!" he waved nonchacantly "Yo," the sleeping Yarslov replied. "Beware the Fifi chick. The one you didn't fight. She's cute, but she's an uncool dudette," Yarslov began, getting right into it. "And the Italian slime isn't exactly your enemy, but watch out for him too." "Got it. Anything else?" "Ah... not really." The reporter squinted at the cue cards. "Ohm and stuff, I guess. Well, back to your regularly scheduled programme. Enjoy, dude!" Yarslov did. * * * * * The dark lab of Dr Pfischer was suddenly illuminated as the door was flung open, a beam of light falling square on the oversized refrigerator in the centre of the room. "'Hah!' she said to me!" the doctor snarled, stepping over lengths of chain and striding purposefully towards the fridge. "Me! The greatest scientist ever known!" he added, ignoring the padlocks scattered all over the floor. "I'll teach that overgrown overweight over bearing Valkryie!!" he declared, completely oblivious to the piles of dust that had once been sensitive electronic locking devices. "Come, my darling, emerge into your new world!!!" he proclaimed dramatically, flinging the door of the tank armour refrigerator open. It creaked ominously, then fell over, the hinges twisted in unusual ways. Dr Pfischer looked into the empty fridge with horror, then turned to survey the rest of the room, only now taking it in. "oh crap..." he said quietly, then picked up his emergency welding torch. "Fifi! Darling! Come to Papa!" he called, racing out of the lab and into the hallway. * * * * * "So you've come up against this Emperor guy before?" Tony asked. He and Yoshi were strolling towards the dining hall for breakfast. Yoshi nodded coolly. "Yes. I was one of the few to escape the carnage-" his face twisted momentarily, then smoothed over again "-though not without some considerable loss." Tony scratched up under his beard. "But you still beat him, right?" he asked. "What I'm saying is that the Warriors of Light still won, so they will this time, right?" Yoshi flicked back his dark hair in a bishounen manner. "The Emperor is strong. And he has dangerous allies. And we are missing one very important warrior who ultimately won the tournament last time, though she gave her life for it. I can see only one possible way for us to win." "And that is?" "I believe we should attempt..." "Let me into the tournament, weirdo!" Tony wheeled sharply, professionally swinging his lamp into a battle ready stance and scanned the kid that had just popped out of a shadowy hallway. "Oh. You again," he recognised. "Okay. Your weapon of choice?" The psychotic kid grinned maniacally. "I shall triumph with my FLAMETHROWER!!" he crowed, brandishing an awkward looking contraption with pride. Tony sighed, took a step foward and struck out sharply. The kid dropped the flamethrower, clutched his hand and shrieked. "My THUMB!!" he howled. "Oh GOD, it STINGS!!" "You will not be allowed to enter until the true spirit of Furniture Warriorhood has infused your soul," Tony lectured firmly, as he swung the lamp back again, then forward, with his full weight behind the strike. The kid was thrown back down the corridor he'd emerged from, his scream fading slowly away. "Come back when you've figured it out!" Tony called, as the faint sound of impact echoed faintly back to him. "...and that is our only hope if we are to succeed." Yoshi concluded. Tony blinked. "Uh, could you repeat that?" he asked. "I was kinda busy..." Yoshi did NOT sweatdrop. Though he probably wished he could. * * * * * The Emperor watched the young man's face in the flickering light. It was hard to tell, but it seemed as if the Italian prettyboy was considering his proposal, indecision clear, right and wrong, yes and no, light and shadows dancing across his perfectly even features... The Emperor switched off the reel projector. WELL? he asked, trying to make his voice even more imposing than usual. Leonardo tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You wish me to betray my fellow warriors and become one of your champions in the hope of winning the lovely Shelly and of revenging myself upon that uncouth wretch Yarslov, correct?" CORRECT, the Emperor nodded, watching the young man carefully. Leonardo sighed. "Tempting as the offer is, I must refuse. One's honour as a Furniture Warrior, you understand." He shrugged regretfully. "Thank you anyway." YOU WILL REGRET THIS, LEONARDO DIMARIO. Leonardo's eyes narrowed. "I was told that I was guaranteed safe conduct, whatever my answer." AND I WILL KEEP MY WORD. BUT IF YOU ARE NOT FOR ME, YOU ARE AGAINST ME. AND FOR THE INSOLENCE OF REFUSING MY GRACIOUS OFFER, YOU SHALL HAVE THE HONOUR OF BEING THE NEXT TO FACE MY CHAMPION. SOPHIA, COME FORTH! Leonardo looked up. And up. And up. "Oh," he said quietly. INDEED. DO YOU WISH TO CHANGE YOUR DECISION? "No. I will face your champion." GO THEN, DIMARIO. PREPARE YOURSELF FOR CERTAIN DOOM. Sophia laughed, a shocking sound. "HAHAHAHA!!!" she boomed. "This little varrior? I vill destroy him vithout even tryingk!!" As Leonardo made his way back to his room, a slight furrow appeared above his eyes. One might have thought that he was almost... worried? * * * * * Shelly walked down the long corridor towards the arena. 'Be calm,' she thought. 'Calm and collected and ready to win! Now, if all these people will just stop BOTHERING me!' "Wai! Cousin-or-something Shelly is fighting today! Lumi-chan hopes you win!" Ikea nodded calmly. "I also offer good luck wishes, Shelly, and hope that you uphold the honour of your dojo." "Uh, yeah..." "Sheila, can I talk to you for a minutey winutey?" "It's Shelly- oh. It's you. What do you want, DAD?" "Well, love, I just wanted to wish you good luck for the fight. I'll be cheering." "Thanks a lot," Shelly bit off sarcastically. "You'll forgive me if I don't wax ecstatic, after you abandoned me for ten years." "Now, Sheila-" "That's Shelly! Do you know what it was like, DAD? All those stupid rich girls with their stupid rich fathers?!" The words seemed to boil out of her, emotion too long buried. "Sheila..." "Shelly, DAD! 'My father's a neurosurgeon,'" she mimicked savagely. "'My father's an oil tycoon.' 'My father's the mayor. What does your father do, Shelly?' Well, my father's a worthless irresponsible LOSER who RAN AWAY!!!" "Sheila, I'm-" The heavy oak executive desk, Shelly's finest, took him straight in the face. "IT'S SHELLY!!!" she screamed, ignoring the shocked looks from passers-by. She leant over her semi-conscious father. "It's Shelly Thompson, Dad," she said quietly. "Sheila O'Brien doesn't exist any more." Then she ran down the corridor towards the arena, determinedly not crying. Ikea helped Mick to his feet, expressionless. Mick looked up at the young warrior, still dazed. "She was the most beautiful child," he whispered. "I thought every smile was a miracle." Ikea nodded. "And you left her," he said calmly. "Why?" Mick blinked, and opened his mouth to speak. Then a veil fell back over his eyes. "Oh, you know," he laughed mirthlessly. "Kids are messy wessy creatures, yes? Not dandy at all. Shall we go?" And he slouched down the hall towards the arena, leaving the two Tibetans behind. "Wahhhh!!!" Lumi wailed. "That's so saaaaad!!!" * * * * * "... and to conclude, I introduce our competitors; Shelly Thompson of Miss Pifflemore's Academy for Priviliged Girls!" There was a pause. "Shelly? Shelly Thompson?" "I'm HERE!" Shelly growled, stalking her way into the arena. Hugh continued. "...and Mistress Aquamarine of Knossos!" A bulky figure vaulted onto the arena floor. At first glance, she appeared to resemble a teddy bear. On second glance, you could tell it was just the oversized bathrobe she was wearing. "Here!" she cheered, raising a toilet brush in salute. "Then let the fight begin!" Hugh sat down, settling back to watch the fight. "Like, GO SHELLY!!!" cheered Yarslov. She shot him an embarrassed glare, which was a mistake. Her opponent took advantage of the momentary lapse in concentration and leapt forward. "DEEP SCRATCHING!!!" she screamed. Shelly fell back, her face adorned by several deep scratches inflicted by the brush. "Is that all you've got?" she said scornfully, hefting her favourite heavy oak executive model. She lobbed it at the capering Aquamarine, but the woman simply dodged aside. "No, little girl, it is not!" she cackled. "KNOSSOS HALF FLUSHING!!" An antique flushing toilet abruptly appeared. "I am NOT a little girl!!" Shelly screamed, pulling out a light plastic schooldesk and racing towards the bathrobe'd woman. Mistress Aquamarine grabbed the enraged schoolgirl and... dunked her. The girl rose up out of the water, gasping furiously, wet hair dripping all over the arena floor. Aquamarine didn't give her a chance to recover however, grabbing the girl by the scruff of the neck and obviously preparing to finish her off. "KNOSSOS FULL GURK!" There was a crash. There was a splash. Shelly picked herself up off the floor, confused. Since when had water been white and creamy? Wait! This wasn't water. In fact, it was... milk? Even more bewildered, Shelly watched another five-gallon glass milk bottle fly past her face, impacting on the sodden bathrobe-wearing form in the corner. Then she followed the milk bottle's flight path to its source. Her mouth fell open. Standing in the middle of the arena was a nightmare. It *looked* a little like Joanie - the uniform was right, anyway. But since when had Joanie been six foot tall and made out of aluminium and plastic? And the ice crystals covering her? Where'd they come from? "I am FRIGIDAIRE FIFI!!" the thing proclaimed, her breath steaming in the arena air. She pulled out another two milk bottles from her stomach, eyeing Shelly menacingly. "And I will have my REVENGE!!" * * * * * END PART SEVEN Stay tuned for more Furniture Warriors! Part Eight: Is A Bird A Bird? HUMOR! NAUGHTINESS! VIOLENCE! ROMANCE! MAGIC! FURNITURE! In the next episode of Furniture Warriors, written by the one and only Mal! (applause) Notes: Short wee thingy, aint it? Apologies to all those who wanted something longer, but this is where it ends. MANY thanks to my pre-readers, Jonatan and Yasha who make life bearable with their pickiness and compliments, and to all you DGML people. Some of you guys are crazier than me! ^_^ Oh, and people - the Aki-chanians will triumph uber alles!!! Phoebe, who thinks it scary that the first four 'new' FW eps were all written by key OW! players...