Furniture Warriors 

    PART SIXTEEN: In Which Everything Goes Horribly Wrong
                           or 
                  Fried Vegetables, Anyone?
                     (by Stefan Gagne)

     (Formerly) A Spoof Chase Production, now an ImproFanfic
     Production, thanks to ME for writing it in the first place,
     if you want to get technical... ^_^

            (http://pixelscapes.com/improfanfic) 


-=-

What hath transpired.

     People fought in what was presumably a tournament, a lot of
jobbers got smacked down, some evil plans were hatched without
really working out and many people got drunk and not pregnant. 
Eventually, things seemed to settle into some coherent shape,
with Lumi-turned-evil, Dark Queen Radiance, assuming power over
the Ottoman Empire, while the Emperor tried to get power back and
while various people did various things which escape the memory
like a white collar convict from a minimum security prison.

     And somewhere, a clown cried.  But that's besides the point.

-=-

     There are endings.  There are beginnings.  There are endings
which are beginnings and beginnings which are endings disguised
as middle parts which go under the radar of life and pop up when
you least expect it like a lop-eared rabbit with a switchblade
screaming 'TIME TO DIE, NERDBOY!' which is of course always
mildly unsettling.

     But the full fledged, hardcore, Alanis Morrisette style
irony of endings that are beginnings is that the people involved
rarely figure out what's happening until it's too late.  Even the
people who started things off are busy sitting in dark rooms
massaging away a headache and wishing Red Dwarf was on.

     RED DWARF, the Emperor mumbled.  MY KINGDOM FOR RED DWARF. 
I COULD BE WATCHING IT FROM MY THRONE OF PENULTIMATE EVIL,
DOCTOR, ON MY PROJECTION SCREEN TELEVISION.  IF NOT FOR THAT
UPSTART RIVAL WHO YOU ELEVATED TO POWER TAKING MY SEAT OF
DARKNESS.

     "Well, technically, she didn't take it," Dr. Pfischer
stated.  "She threw it out in the garbage and had it replaced
with a Pikachu inflatable chair."

     ...DON'T MAKE ME HURT YOU ANY MORE THAN I PLAN TO, DOCTOR.

     "Ah.. right, sir."

     But he wasn't going to be hurt.  Normally, the Emperor would
crush the insignificant ant like an insignificant ant underneath
his mighty heel, but he wasn't in the mood.  Evil coursed through
his veins like black fire, true, but he had another problem.  As
all villains do when in a decline, he had entered the Long Dark
Teatime of the Soul, when you tend to wonder aloud :

     IS IT REALLY WORTH IT? he wondered aloud.  I MEAN, LIFE. 
PLANS.  EVIL.  WHEN YOU GET RIGHT DOWN TO IT, DOES IT MAKE
ANYBODY HAPPIER?  WHAT IS JOY?  IS IT THE SMILE ON A PUPPY?  TO
SEE YOUR ENEMIES DRIVEN BEFORE YOU AND TO HEAR THE LAMENTATION OF
THEIR WOMEN?  THE LATTER, I'D SUSPECT.  BUT I HAVE TO WONDER. 
YOU KNOW... LIFE.  YEAH.  WOW.

     The Doctor was nervous.  He'd been like this for an hour
now, with still no word on where Dark Queen Radiance was, and
what was going on in the outside world.. where furniture warriors
presumably went about doing whatever they did between fights. 
All the goons and thugs who had stayed with the Emperor (way too
few) had gone off scouting to find the Queen... leaving him alone
with a neurotic demi-god of darkness.

     "Ah... perhaps I can cheer you up, sir?" the Doctor tried. 
"I could show you my evil machinations and various schemas for
world domination through this centuries old tournament and--"

     OH, YES, VERY GOOD.  AND WHAT PROGRESS HAVE WE MADE THERE,
HMM?  THE EARTH WARRIORS BEAT EVERY UNDERLING, THUG AND MINION WE
THROW AT THEM.  NONE HAVE SIGNED OVER TO THE CAUSE OF EVIL SO
THAT WE CAN TURN ON OUR GREATEST THREATS, LUMI AND IKEA -- AND
ONE OF THE TWO HAS TURNED ON US, MORE POWERFUL THAN EVER!  LUMI
MAY BE DARKNESS INCARNATE NOW, MY GLORIOUS QUEEN OF EVIL, BUT IF
SHE WINS THEN EARTH STILL SURVIVES!!

     "But what about, umm... err... well, we've got..." the
Doctor thought.  "I could go rebuild Livewire.  I mean, how he
was originally, back in the last tournament, just a living being
of energy.  He could defeat Queen Radiance.  Except that, um,
Queen Radiance tossed him off like a frisbee last tournament,
didn't she..."

     THANK YOU OH SO MUCH FOR REMINDING ME.

     "..and then she beat you, too..."

     SIGH.

     "Surely there's some scheme that will still work, lord.  I
mean... AH!  Wait!  I have it!  Do you want to hear, sir?"

     The Emperor didn't seem enthused.  MAYBE KILLING YOU WOULD
MAKE ME FEEL A LOT BETTER, he wondered aloud.  Prompting the
Doctor to move FAST and get his blueprints out.

     "You recall, we had the backup plan," he says.  "Discussed
it before.  To suck all furniture in the world back into
FurnitureSpace, and bring the Earth realm to its knees!  All
Furniture Warriors would be crippled from the shock of losing
their weapons, as well!  We could TAKE the planet!"

     HMMM... TEMPTING.  EXCEPT, OF COURSE, THAT WE CAN'T DO THAT
UNLESS WE CAN GET TO EARTH.  WHICH WE CAN'T DO UNTIL WE WIN THE
TOURNAMENT.  THAT'S A BIT OF A PROBLEM, THAT.

     "Oh.  Um... right.  Well... look, we could make this.. large
wooden badger--"

     DOCTOR.. WHERE IS THE FURNITURE VORTEX? the Emperor asked. 
IT IS DANGEROUS UNTIL WE CAN PUT THIS PLAN INTO EFFECT.  I TRUST
IT IS SAFE?

     "Oh, absolutely, absolutely.  It's positively safe.  Not
only is it located in a room inaccessible by anything except,
like, level four powered furniture of evasion and
maneuverability, but it's been cleverly mislabelled so nobody
could possibly ever believe it was the Furniture Vortex Device,
nor would they be able to operate it while encrypted unless they
had an amazing quantity of natural luck!"

     The Emperor nodded his massive head.  GOOD.  IT'S ABOUT TIME
WE GOT SOMETHING RIGHT.

                              *

     "Ano, what does this button do?" Radiance asked, poking at a
button.

     Nothing happened.

     Harry the Handsome Executive looked around, nervous.  This
was his second time here, and he hadn't liked it any better. 
When he got the letter from Queen Radiance, suggesting that they
could be of help to each other (you scratch my back, I'll get
ScumCo off yours), he didn't know what to expect... definitely
not THIS.

     Apparently, the Queen had found some hidden room in the
palace while looking for ice cream, but when she stepped into the
hall sixty kinds of deathtraps sprang on her.  Being Queen
Radiance (or an evil approximate thereof) she escaped through an
amazing quantity of sheer luck, but knew she'd need someone fast
enough and skilled enough to make it all the way through.

     Hence the crazed ride down the deathtrap corridor, perched
on the back of Harry's chair, granting her access to the room. 
But things hadn't improved since.

     "How do I make this thing WORK?" Radiance pouted, stamping
her foot.  "We couldn't get it to work last night and it's not
working now.  I want my ICE CREAM!"

     (Someone had, after all, placed a huge tarp on top of the
machine, which read 'NOT A VORTEX; ACTUALLY AN ICE CREAM MAKER.')

     "...I really think we should get out of here," Harry
suggested.  "This place gives me the creeps.  And I don't think
that makes ice cream--"

     A bolt of pure light (also known as a "Laser") shot by
Harry's head.

     "Don't interrupt me when I am ice cream deprived," Radiance
suggested.  "I am not leaving until I can enjoy the yummy
goodness this evil machine is keeping from me."

     With that, she continued to pull levers and push buttons,
with no effect, just waiting for that big moment when it would
all pay off...

                              *

     Meanwhile, in the cliffhanger scene we avoided dealing with
until now, a man was being asked to betray his friends, or lose
his only daughter's life.

     Mick stood his ground, his gaze like knives into Dr.
Shockwave.  The good doctor, however, was like ice.  Mick was
like rock and Shockwave was the unyielding ocean, Mick was the
tiger and Shockwave was the hunter, like the alpha, the omega,
the yin, the yang, the almighty dollar and Santa's Happy Workshop
rolled into a metaphor of great cosmic unreliability.

     "So... you have two choices," Dr. Shockwave said.  "You may
backstab your friends in the Emperor's employ to find out how the
Queen was turned, or your daughter will be killed.  How strong is
your loyalty, Mick?  Where do your feelings lie?  If I was evil
and not simply very pragmatic, I would chuckle at the irony of
asking you to--"

     "Okay, when do you want me to start?" Mick interrupted,
bored with the speech.

     "...what?"

     "It's a simple-wimple question.  When do you want me to
start?  I have no problems tossing Hugh Blue and Fifi chaps for a
loopy."

     "...but aren't they--"

     Mick waved it off.  "I knew them long, long ago.  We've all
moved on.  Fifi, apparently, farther than any of us... anyway,
the pointy-wointy is that I'm not stupid enough to risk my
daughter's life for THEM.  But you'll be releasing Sheila now
that we have our little understanding, yes?  After all, we are
the 'good guys', aren't we, welly well now?"

     "Perhaps," Dr. Shockwave stated, lowering the satellite
dish.  "But I trust nobody.  The empire Radiance left behind
has... not fared well.  Until we can restore it to glory and
righteousness--"

     "Needs be when the devil drives," Mick supplied.  "So I see,
so I see.  That's how it is, then.  Welly well.  I'll just be off
now."

     Mick spin his pool cue, to use the blunt end for walking
stick purposes, took two steps... then looked back over his
shoulder.

     "Of course... if you harm a fraction of a percent of a hair
on bonnie Sheila's head," he noted, "I plan to take my cue, turn
it sideways, and stick it up your ass.  I might do it anyway,
just for my own self amusement, when this is over."

     "I had counted on as much," Shockwave replied, emotionless. 
"Go to work.  Find out how they have turned the Queen.  Because I
do have other options I can try if you fail, but you do not."

     Mick looked back to the door.  He didn't like this.  He
should have kept a better eye on Sheila anyway.. even if she
didn't want him in her life anymore.  He should have BEEN there.

     He should have been there a long, long time ago.

     But he'll be here now.  It'll have to do.  He walked out,
then picked up the pace to a stroll, then to a run.

                              *

     Another person moved with haste for the shake of Shelly, but
with different purposes, goals, and destinations.  And less brain
cells, which is why he had knocked on six doors before finding
the right one.

     "Oh.  It's You," Leonardo DiMario said, emphasizing the Y.

     "Dude," Yarslov greeted, but it was one of those 'I don't
like you either but hello' sort of Dudes.

     The two paused awkwardly.

     "Well, state your business and begone," Leonardo said.  "I
have to train for tomorrow's fights."

     "Okay.  Um... dude.  Like, I know we're not really buds, and
don't get along, and I kinda want to kick your teeth in although
I'm not that violent of a guy normally and I think you feel the
same way in, like, mutual--"

     "What is it, Yarslov?"

     "Shelly's gone," he said.  "I think she got kidnapped or
something.  She's in big big trouble and I need help to get her
safe and stuff."

     "Oh," Leonardo said.  "We'll begin immediately."

     "Huh?"

     DiMario stepped out of his room, shutting the door behind
him to join Yarslov in the hall.  "You are an uncouth, unwashed
peon, Yarslov, but Shelly comes first.  Now, what is your
tactical strategy?  What clues are available for us to follow?"

     "My textilewhat?  Isn't that the clothing industry or
something?"

     "...you have no plan, do you?" Leonardo asked, pegging it
right on the head.  "Of course.  I wouldn't expect one from you."

     "Hey, I do too have a plan!" Yarslov rebutted, thinking of a
plan fast.  "We can... uh.. well, we can ask around first.  Then
we can start knocking on doors.  There's a lot of doors, but... I
mean, a LOT of doors, but--"

     "We'll start with her door," Leonardo supplied.

     "Right, that's what I'm saying, we'll start with her door. 
Room.  We'll search her room first."

     And that's where they found the third person of the search
party that his television show suggested they'd find.

                              *

     Meanwhile, Mick came to a screeching halt on the hardwood
floor of the hallway of evil.

     It was like all the other hallways of the fabulous Ottoman
Empire Palace, Warkeep and Hotel, but a bit.. darker.  Dimmer. 
At more of a tilt angle, like a Batman villain hideout.  Mick was
good at keeping his balance under odd conditions, however, and
was all perfect-poise and composure when he knocked.

     "Welly well well, long time no see," he smiled, all charm
and pally wally when Fifi answered the door.

     Fifi's eyes widened.  True, she knew Mick was in the
tournament... but they hadn't met each other, not for real, in
years.  And here he was in a surprise move...

     "I like the new look," Mick stated, and let himself in.

     "...hello again," Fifi said, tugging her lingerie closed a
little better, so it was only scandalous and not Hustler.  "Ah..
what brings you?"

     "What brings me?  Why, Fifi, how could you ask such a
question?" Mick asked, kicking back on a parisian tuffet and
enjoying the perfumed air.  "We're droogmates, aren't we?  Or
were, at any rate.  I was in the neighborhood, and thought I'd
droppy-woppy in."

     "Ah... good to see you," Fifi replied.  "So, um... how have
you been, Mick darling?"

     "Oh, I've been worse, I've been better," Mick replied.  "I
see you've changed a bit.  Sexes, notably.  I'm not surprised,
though, you were always the most girly of the gang of four."

     Fifi actually blushed.  "Yes, well... I figured it was best
to leave the droogs.  Ah, the gang, I mean.  They didn't like me,
and I had a career in clothing design and domination and
subordination already waiting for me in Paris... I got enough
money for the operation, and the rest is history, yes?"

     "Ah, I had figured as much.  I always liked you most of the
bunch, Feef.  You knew how to kick back and have a silly willy
fun fun time," Mick said, grinning.  "And... now, it seems you're
here.  With the bad guys."

     Fifi laughed.  Getting relaxed, comfortable now.  "Oh, tosh. 
The Emperor isn't all that bad.  And the results are going to
be.. will likely be quite nice, once he finishes his little world
domination thing.  I have my share already carved and waiting."

     "Got some to spare?" Mick asked.  "I'm joining.  I'm a
little bored here, and I remember how we used to mix it up in the
good 'ol days..."

     "...you want to join?" Fifi asked, hopeful.  The Emperor DID
say he wanted to reel Mick in.. one of the strongest of the
Furniture Warriors, a good aid in winning the tournament... but
it seemed a bit sudden.

     "Sure I do, sure I do," Mick said.  "Aaaand to prove it...
let's drink on it."

     He pulled out a bottle of Old Nasty Swill.  Fifi's eyes
glazed.  Her favorite brand, from the reckless days of youth...

     And Mick simply smiled to himself.  Sure, he was an old
drunk.  But he was a smart old drunk.  And he knew just how to
use a bottle of the good stuff to get some information out of an
unwilling sort.  All while keeping a level head.

     One of these days, he'd have to teach Sheila the trick.  The
call was in her, but she didn't know how to control it, and just
kept getting in trouble.  His smile wavered.  There was so much
to do, to make amends for.  But all in good time.  All in good
time.

                              *

     Shelly's apartment was a wreck.  Furniture strewn
everywhere, tables smashed, a few desks lying around... the
remnants of a hardcore but extremely short furniture brawl. 
Leonardo and Yarslov looked in from the hallway, surprised to see
that the room had a living occupant.

     "Oh, you guys," Joanie said, picking through the rubble.  "I
swear, it was like this when I got here.  Door was left open,
too."

     Yarslov walked in.  "She was--"

     "She was kidnapped," Leonardo interrupted, taking immediate
command.  "I'm hosting a rescue party.  Have you found any clues
to identify her attacker?"

     "I'm still looking," Joanie said.  "I'd have been here
sooner, but the rest of my refrigerator bits fell off en route
and I had to find somewhere to dump them..."

     "Make yourself useful and look around, Yarslov," Leonardo
ordered, without even looking in the boy's direction.  He knelt
down by the remains of a shattered oak desk, and started to look
for labelled matchbooks, big black footprints or other obvious
clues (proving he's a better dramatic leader than a detective).

     "...looking that way won't find much," Yarslov decided. 
"It's all, like, broken bits of big stuff that was here in the
first place.  I think I'm gonna have to meld with the decor."

     "Melt with what?" Joanie asked, confused.

     "No, meld.  It's, like, a technique I learned at school with
Ikea.  You focus your spirit on your surroundings and examine the
harmony of the furniture.  Although it's been a long time since I
tried it, last time was to find my car keys in the sofa..."

     "Yes, well, ancient powers and hokey religions are no match
for a good four poster bed by your side, boy," Leonardo joked. 
"How about doing something USEFUL like checking for dropped
business cards?"

     "Hey, I'll have you know this trick's been passed down,
um.... like... dozens of generations or more," Yarslov countered. 
"It's ancient and honorable and--"

     "And you're little more than some beach bum who can swing a
chair," Leonardo stated, getting to his feet... taller than
Yarslov by a head or more.  "I've been tolerant of your ignorance
so far, kid, but frankly... you're no warrior.  You can swing a
chair, but you don't have special magical powers, you don't even
have much strength compared to your partner Ikea, and you have no
true skills.  Practical or otherwise.  You, sir, are a SLACKER. 
Now do as I suggest or we'll get no closer to helping Shelly."

     The blonde beach bishounen fumed.  "Dude, you're insulting
my heritage.  Just because I'm from Caly by way of the fjords
doesn't mean I don't, like, respect my heritage.  The fury of a
thousand dead dudes lights my soul and stuff.  I'm a Furniture
Warrior, trained by the best, and I'll PROVE it.."

     "Fine, fine," Leonardo said.  "Do your hocus pocus.  We'll
be busy getting things done in the meantime."

     Yarslov bit back a reply.  Get on it, he thought.  Master
Oakcraft taught you just like he taught Ikea.  Focus.

     Step one, blank your mind.

     Not a problem for him.

     The technique was called Harmony of Interior Decorating, and
it worked like this.  You filter out all life, all noise, all
sights, all negative space... everything except the furniture
itself.  You meld with the furniture, become like the furniture. 
And then, at the peak of your focus, when you can't distinguish
yourself from furniture, you chant the ancient song...

     "...one of these things is not like the other, which one's
different, do you know..." Yarslov chanted.

     There.

     He snapped back to himself, stumbling a little since he no
longer was made of wood and nails, then pointed to the offending
object.

     "...that lamp," he said.  "That lamp wasn't in this room
originally.  Someone dropped it here.  It doesn't belong."

     Joanie and Leonardo looked up at him, surprised.  Apparently
they had been searching for awhile during Yarslov's trance.

     "Oh, he speaks?" Leonardo asked.  "And tell me, how do you
know this for sure?  Not that it helps us in the slightest--"

     "This says 'Property of Tony' on the bottom," Joanie said,
examining the floor lamp.  "I think we found our kidnapper."

     Yarslov just grinned at the stunned Leonardo... then walked
right on by, giving him the brushoff.  Taking command.  "Okay,
brother and sister... we got ourselves our man.  Now let's go
find him!"

                              *

     "OOOOOOOHHOHOHOHOHHOHOOHHOOHOOO!!  Oooooh, everyting'sh all
shpinny..." Fifi warbled, leaning heavily an her pillow, the
empty flask of 500 proof alcohol dangerously close to slipping.

     Of course, half that noxious fluid was in Mick's stomach,
and he was wobbling all over the place too... but the difference
was that he was faking it.  He was stone sober.. with six Coffee
Patches on his left arm, just under the sleeve.  He held out a
long time on natural skill, but forgot how Fifi had trained just
as he did... and frankly, a little cheaty-weaty wasn't above ole
Mick when it comes to Sheila's safety...

     "So then," Mick continued his story, "We was facing off in
an alley, squares like, and he went this way and I went that way
and I said, Hey! What's that? An' then I stabbed him.  Ah, that
was one of the funniest days of my life, I tell you,
droogmate..."

     Fifi giggled.  "Naaa anymore!" she reminded.  "I gott.. I
gottem... my yarbles cut off.  And I'm evil now and stuff.  It's
fuuuun, I'm glad you're joining!"

     Now would be the time, Mick decided.

     "So, tell me.  What's cooking in the kitchen 'of evil
today?" he asked.  "Evil plots and plans?  Evil souffle? 
Emperor's certainly got a way with things--"

     "BAH!  He's doin' misherable," Fifi spilled.  "He's not even
in power annimore.  Queen Radiance turned on us and kick'dim out. 
Inna nuts.  Yah.  He's not doin' much of anything cause he can'
do much of anything about it."

     "So Queen Radiance went bad, then?..."

     "Yah, Doktor Pfi.. fiii... Fish Man turned her evil. 
Something about.. ice cream therapy," Fifi said.  "Told her Ikea
stole her ice cream.  It turned her bad."

     The payoff!  Mick grinned, and produced a second flask. 
"Here, Fifi, have as much as you like.  You've been very helpful
indeed."

     "Oooh," Fifi giggled, taking the distraction nicely.

     "If you'll excuse me... ole Mick's got to visit the Men's
room.  We only rent the stuff, after all," he said.  "Ta ta."

     "BYEEee!" Fifi waved.

     ...he was backstabbing an old friend.  That was true.

     But he didn't care.  If he had put Sheila in front of his
silly gang that long time ago, this wouldn't be happening. 
Better late than never.  He bounded out of the room, intent on
getting to Dr. Shockwave fast.  It had been hours, and the Doctor
might have given up on him...

     Minutes after Mick was gone, and Fifi was drop dead drunk, a
new arrival dropped into the room from a ceiling.  Curtains
fluttered in after her.

     "...NOW I have you," Rebecca smiled.  Not a nice smile at
all.

                              *

     Ikea focused on the candle, meditating.  A simple exercise,
but enough to prepare him for his sixteen hour training regimen. 
And to help him focus on the problem.

     His sister had been.. changed.  Methods unknown, current
location unknown.  But dark forces were turning as well.  He
could feel a disturbance in FurnitureSpace.  He linked to it, to
sense the flow of furniture in the world, surrounding us,
supporting us, empowering us... seeking his sister.  Seeking
answers...

     He was not expecting to see what he saw.

                              *

     There was a huge red button.  It had the letters O and N on
it.  Radiance blinked a few times, adorably.  "Gosh!" she said. 
"I hadn't noticed that before.  Silly me!"

     Harry started to break into a sweat.  "Umm.. your highness,
I REALLY think you should leave that alone--"

     "Nonsense.  I am Queen!  And I want.. my.. ICE... CREAM!!"
she shouted, and slammed one fist on the button of the Not A
Vortex; Actually An Ice Cream Maker.

     Reality inverted itself.  Twisted around, looped onto
itself, tied up in knots, pulled an arm behind its back and made
itself say Uncle.  Everything changed, nothing changed, things
went away...

                              *

     Mick, being an efficient old boy, had opted to slide down
the bannister of the master stairwell.  He'd get to the ground
floor, to where his daughter was being held, much faster this
way.

     Then, in mid slide, the bannister went away.  Just like
that, vanishing.  He was too busy plunging to the bottom of the
spiralling stairwell to wonder why -- one's mind, in that state,
is usually only thinking of two words.  One started with O and
the other in S and it all ended in a HIT, which he did, hitting
the bottom.  Hard.

                              *

     All around the hotel.. furniture vanished.  Imploding, a
painful trick of light.  Weapons, seats, tables, bars, desks,
everything just going away.  Furniture Warriors stared as their
best weapons stopped existing in conventional time and space. 
Some reached quickly to FurnitureSpace, to regain access, only to
find the path to that mystic dimension of joinery blocked.

     The Furniture Vortex had activated.

     Harry dropped to the floor, landing smartly on his butt.  It
was the first time said butt had ever touched the floor.  His
reality immediately ran into the corner and started crying for
mommy.

     Dark Queen Radiance looked around.. the few tables and
chairs had gone away.  This was odd.  She poked around
FurnitureSpace, found the way blocked, and started to get a
little concerned.

     But not so much as she was concerned about why her ice cream
wasn't presenting itself.

     "Gyp!  Foul!  Meanie!" she proclaimed, giving the Vortex a
swift but ineffectual kick.  "This thing tricked me into thinking
it'd give me yummy treats!  Foo.  Well... I'm bored now.  Let's
go home, Harry."

     "Aaa...aaahh... ooeeeerr..." Harry babbled, his arms locked
into armrest positions, eyes wide with terror.

     "Ano, your swivel chair went away too?" Radiance asked.  She
looked back at the open passageway... the deathtrap alley.  Only
Harry was good enough with the swivel chair arts to navigate them
through, and with no swivel chair...

     "Aww, nuts," she pouted.  "I hate it when this happens."

                              *

     ...Ikea's vision was FILLED with furniture.  All the
furniture in the Ottoman Empire, entering FurnitureSpace, all at
once.  It shoved him roughly out, the link staying open, but his
mind slamming back into his body hard enough to knock him head
over heels.

     He quickly asserted his physical upstanding position in
life, and assessed.  The one low table, the luxury he had allowed
himself, was gone.  And that, plus his vision, meant only one
thing his highly logical mind could realize.

     The furniture armageddon was upon him.

                              *

     Miss Oeru sat on the floor, surrounded by her papers and
pens and staplers.  Surprised at how her nicely furnished office
went from organized to chaotic in a split second.

     Of course, she knew what happened.  Some fool had activated
the Furniture Vortex before they could move the dangerous thing
to Earth and use it there.  This was not a good situation at
all...

     "Hey, what's going on?" a young boy asked, leaning into the
office doorway.

     "A disaster," Miss Oeru sighed, gathering her papers.  "It
seems we are all, in technical terms, screwed.  All the furniture
is gone."

     Marlo, Miss Oeru's recently hired understudy, looked
confused.  "You've gotta be kidding me.  Really?  So all these
guys lost their stupid little furniture things?"  He scratched
his head idly with a coat hanger.  "Heh.  They should've realized
REAL weapons are the way to go--"

     "Where did you get that?" Miss Oeru demanded.

     "Huh?  FurnitureSpace, like Yoshi taught me.  Why?"

     "You can still access FurnitureSpace?!"

     The boy grinned.  "I'm powerful," he said, spinning a hat
rack into attack position.  "Fastest study ever in Varied
Tactical Furniture."

     "And," Miss Oeru added, "About to become very, very
important."  She was smiling.  After all, if there was one thing
the Office Lady knew, it was how to climb the corporate ladder,
and how to take advantage of each opportunity along the way...

                              *

     Mick sat up, rubbing his head.

     "Welly well.. that was a nasty knock, that was," he said. 
Wondering why his voice was all echoey.  Wondering why he was in
a black void and not the bottom of a stairwell.  Wondering what
that guy with the scythe wanted.

     "MICK?" the gaunt man asked.

     "'allo, yes?"

     "...YOU'RE THE NEXT CONTESTANT ON 'THIS IS YOUR LIFE!'"

     And the studio lights came up, and the cameras rolled and
the canned applause sang true and clear.

     "...oh, bloody hell.  I'm dead, aren't I?" Mick asked.

     "No, not really," the reaper said, discarding his robes and
assuming a TV Game Show Host outfit.  "You're in a coma.  But
there's been a bit of a screwup, dude, and instead of flashing
back over your life, you got wired into me.  This stuff
happens..."

     Mick focused.

     "Yarslov?!"

     "Welcome to the Yarslov Show," Subconscious Yarslov said. 
"We don't go on the air until I go to sleep, though, so you've
got some time to kill--"

     Mick grabbed the metaphor of the boy by his shirt.

     "Yarslov, we have to get Sheila out of hock.  She's being
held in Dr. Shockwave's hideout in the basement!"

     "..dude, I can't help you," Mind-Yarslov said.  "I can't
hear anything until I go to sleep.  You're in my head, dude. 
Snafu and all while your body's in a coma at the bottom of the
stairs.  We can't DO anything from in here except put on the
show, and that's only later..."

     Mick gritted his teeth.  This made no sense.  But if it WAS
real.. as surreal as it was... he'd have to wait.  And waiting
was dangerous.  He'd have to be clever, and find a way around it. 
Somehow.

                              *

     But meanwhile, Yarslov was in a throng of Furniture
Warriors.  Or a flock of them or a herd or whatever it would be.

     All of the Furniture Warriors had gathered in the
auditorium, the traditional meeting hall, all hoping for some
kind of explanation of what just happened.  It was one of those
drop what you're doing and get out here sorts of occasions.

     Even the Emperor was out.  Although he knew what was going
on, and had Dr. Pfischer in a headlock.

     YOU LITTLE TWIT! he blared.  NOW LOOK WHAT YOU DID.  YOU
DIDN'T HIDE IT WELL ENOUGH!  EVEN I AM BLOCKED!  YOU'RE GOING TO
THE CLEANERS, PAL!!

     "ghk," the Doctor offered in response.

     "ATTENTION!  ATTENTION PLEASE!" a voice boomed over a
megaphone.  The attention was turned to the stage.. where Miss
Oeru stood.  "There has been.. an accident.  I'm afraid all
furniture is now gone.  Normally, this would cause the tournament
to end, as there are no competitors left with furniture. 
However...."

     And then Marlo entered.  Toting a huge sofa over his head. 
The Emperor's Sofa of Power, recently swiped and stuffed back
into FurnitureSpace with the rest of the load.  Somewhere in the
back of the room, the Emperor was turning nine shades of purple
in anger.

     "Alright, you primitive furniture toting screwheads, listen
UP!" Marlo shouted.  Not needing a megaphone.  "I've got the
power!  All you wussy little idiots have lost your precious
furniture... but I've got MINE!  I'm taking over this entire
island, this entire TOURNAMENT!  Oh, you all laughed at me, you
blew me up or threw me out windows... you made fun of me. 
Well... you're ALL GONNA BE SORRY NOW!"

     The sinking feeling had officially set in with the crowd.

     YOU.. IMPUDENT LITTLE BRAT! the Emperor blared, getting past
angry and directly into threatening.  THIS IS MY EMPIRE!  YOU MAY
HAVE MY SOFA, BUT I HAVE YOUR PITIFUL SOUL AND ALL KEYS TO THE
WORLD OF DARKNESS, AND--

     A combination washer/dryer unit rocketed through the air,
until it impacted squarely between the Emperor's eyes.

     "Know your role, pal, and shut your damn mouth!" Marlo
responded.  "Here's the game plan, you idiots.  I'm gonna beat
down every single one of you who doesn't concede to my power. 
Once everybody's defeated or given up, *I* will have won this
stinking tournament, and the entire Ottoman Empire!  I'll give
you ONE night to think over your decision, to fold or get the
beating of a life time.  All of you.. except one."

     He gestured to a single face in the crowd, with an umbrella
stand.

     Yoshi stood his ground, face hardened.

     "Time for me to school my sensei," Marlo declared.  "You and
I fight tomorrow, man.  And then I'll show YOU who's the master. 
Now everybody beat it!  Me and my new office assistant got fights
to plan!"

     He turned and left, Miss Oeru having officially defected to
the new winning side, leaving behind many, many frightened
Furniture Warriors.

     If Ikea could possibly feel fear, and/or express it, he
might possibly have a chance at maybe doing just that.

     While the warriors around him discussed the many merits of
staying alive and running, he quietly focused, and tested...

     A chair appeared in his hand for a split second, before he
sent it away, so as not to rouse suspicion.

     Because he was in FurnitureSpace during the accident, he
still had his link.  But could he keep it?  Could he defeat this
new menace?  And how would he repair the damage done?

     Questions too large for him to answer now.  Concentrate.  Be
one with the furniture.  Ikea was the tao of joinery.  He would
prevail.  Events would be set back in righteous course in due
time.  All was as it would be.

                              *

     Dark Queen Radiance sat in the center of the room, ignoring
the panicked babble of Harry, who had completely lost his grip on
sanity since losing his swivel chair.

     This wasn't fun.  It wasn't any fun at all.  She didn't like
stuff that wasn't fun at all.  Something would have to be done
about this.  She would have her ice cream.  She would have her
revenge.

     First... she had to get out of the room.

     Pointing upwards, without even looking, she fired a stream
six feet wide of holy fire, burning a hole through about six
hundred feet of solid rock.

     "You wait here," she suggested to Harry, who was drooling on
himself.  "I've got things to do."

     Radiance ascended the column, glowing, and intent on having
fun until someone got very, very hurt...


-------------------------

END PART SIXTEEN!
Stay tuned for more Furniture Warriors!

In the next episode:
     Everybody panics!  People get stomped!  Marlo keeps talking
like The Rock!  Radiance finally gets her ice cream!?  It's hell
in a handbasket multiplied by a factor of four, and is there any
light at the end of the tunnel?  Find out in...

Part 17: Part 17!
HUMOR! VIOLENCE! INSANITY! DUTY FREE SHOPPING! FURNITURE!

In the next installment of Furniture Warriors, written by Mal!


Author's Notes :
     Probably not as funny as I'd have liked, but I wanted to do
plot work mostly, and tie this into NeoPuu and NeoVid (wai!
twins!)'s parts so we had some coherent plot and not just a
string of fights. ^_^ Hope it worked for you.  Hasta!

-2f