Furniture Warriors PART EIGHTEEN: The Flaming Avocado of Doom! or The Flaming Avocado of Doom! (Formerly) A Spoof Chase Production NOW An ImproFanfic Production (http://pixelscapes.com/improfanfic) A Furniture Warriors ImproFanfic created by Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne This episode by John "John Evans" Evans (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 rows of five equal signs to live.) ===== What happened in previous chapters: ...will not be gone over this time around because I don't want to. ===== A sound echoed through the halls of the Ottoman Empire Palace And Etc.. A rhythmic, rasping sound. The sound of a woman going through great exertions. Soon it became interspersed with other sounds; the occasional grunt of stress, and sometimes an odd clanking. Any curious listener would soon find the sounds to be getting in some way higher, and perhaps sharper, building as time passed to a peak, and finally, a release... Miss Oeru collapsed on the desk. "At last...I...I found you...sir..." she wheezed. "Oh, hey there," Marlo said, trying to balance an end table on one finger. "It's amazing how much stuff there is hanging around that Space thing." Miss Oeru looked over her shoulder, at the veritable mountain of furniture she'd had to climb to find her new boss. "Indeed, sir," she said. "Yeah, I'm really glad I didn't take that job offer," Marlo continued. "You mean that guy who said he was going to find another Marlo in another universe?" Miss Oeru asked. "Yeah, him. But anyway...what's up, babe?" Marlo twirled the table at right angles to reality, and it went home to Furniture Space. "It's time for the fight you wanted," she replied. "Against that Yoshi person." "Already? Rockin'! Time to lay some smack down!" He gleefully hopped out of his chair and scampered past the Office Lady. "Come on, come on!" Miss Oeru looked down at the incredible pile of furniture, and sighed. "Monica had it a lot easier," she muttered under her breath. ===== Yarslov took stock of his situation. Shelly had been kidnapped. Not cool. Then they found her. Cool. But that guy named after a Transformer had run off to another dimension with her. Not cool. However, they'd managed to follow him...sorta cool. But Joanie had been knocked out. Not cool. Overall things were definitely leaning towards 'not very froody'. To top it all off, the dimension they were in was somehow...drab? No, that wasn't quite the right word; for some reason 'twilight' kept popping into Yarslov's mind. It looked like the last dawn had been a long, long time ago... Yarslov fought back a yawn, and looked around. There was no trace of the mad scientist guy...so the first priority should probably be making sure Joanie was all right. He bent down and examined her. And blushed. After Joanie's 'Frigidaire Fifi' jok--er, warranty wore out, she had found an opportunity to change into her 'Fifi-ze-maid' clothing. Lying sprawled on the ground, she was sort of... Yarslov blinked, and shook his head. Suddenly he felt like she should be thinking of Shelly. But she didn't really like him...and he didn't quite know how he felt about her... It was enough to make Yarslov rather confused. Fortunately he was intimately familiar with that state of mind, and knew what to do about it: Plunge ahead and hope things worked out. Joanie didn't seem actually injured, just unconscious, so he started some gentle shaking and slapping. (Her face, in case you were wondering.) After a moment, Joanie moaned slightly. "Hey there, uh, dudette, you okay?" "Just five more minutes, Ma..." Satisfied that she was recovering, Yarslov thought some more. Next on the list was finding the guy who'd kidnapped Shelly. He looked around at the extensive ruins that surrounded them. "Not froody..." ===== Most of the Furniture Warriors were not very happy. This should come as no real surprise to anyone. A Furniture Warrior without furniture was like a magical girl without a frilly costume, a demon without tentacles, a jobber without someone to lose to, an otaku without a net connection, a CLAMP anime without the Tokyo tower, a list of metaphors without a reasonable stopping point. The warriors were dealing with this harsh blow in different ways; some endured hardship stoically, while others went through box after box of tissues. The most creative solution had been arrived at by Joseph Krankengesheitmeyer of the Assorted Linen School, and the small Jermyn twins (Ryan and Al) of the Sofa and Loveseat Disciplines. Joseph's massive build approximated that of a heavy armchair, making the twins feel secure, while their bodies draped over Joseph's arms put him reassuringly in mind of a pair of doilies. Somewhere, a Furniture Arts teacher was regretting ever using the words 'You must BE the furniture'. However, among the many ways of dealing with the senseless loss of so much precious furniture, there was one constant. Everyone had turned up to see the match between Marlo and Yoshi. "WELCOME!" Marlo boomed at the crowd, without even needing a microphone. "Welcome to what will most likely be the final day of this tournament! After which the billions--"--he stared off into the distance for a moment--"--and billions of people on the Earth will become MY subjects! HA HA!" "Unless you lose," a voice said. The crowd parted, and Yoshi walked through. At his side he held a weapon...honed and trained through hours of practice. A weapon that knew the price of failure. "I knew this was a bad idea," Tony muttered. Marlo laughed raucously. "What the hell's that? Don't tell me THAT'S furniture?" "But of course," Yoshi replied. "Observe." He quickly set Tony down on the floor, bent him down, and sat on his back. Marlo's howls of laughter were the only sound in the arena. "All right," he gasped finally. "All right! I may have to forfeit from laughing too much, but you can use *that* as your weapon." Miss Oeru stepped up behind Marlo in true Evil Advisor fashion. "Sir, are you sure that's wise?" she murmured. "I think we can declare it illegal if you want..." "Quiet, babe," Marlo said, shoving the megaphone at her and pulling a coat stand from Furniture Space with the other hand. "It's time to let my sensei know his role. And no parallel-universe-traveling guy is going to get me to leave either," he added. ===== Ikea trained. Usually he trained alone, but sometimes he was able to find a partner to spar with. He always valued these sessions, because his master had impressed upon Ikea the fact that differing perspectives could greatly speed one along the path to enlightenment. Thus, sparring was one of the things which could almost be counted as a joy in life, for him. The time he spent years ago with Hugh, and nearly all his life with Yarslov, had been pivotal in his development into a mature Furniture Warrior. Unfortunately, today's session wasn't going too well. The Emperor had just fallen down. Again. OW, he said. Ikea almost sighed. "This isn't going well." PERHAPS IF YOU GAVE ME SOME FURNITURE TO FIGHT WITH. THAT IS KIND OF THE POINT, ISN'T IT? Ikea reflected. "But...a moral dilemma is involved, one which I am having trouble with..." AH, I SEE. YOU DO NOT WISH TO GIVE ME A WEAPON TO FIGHT WITH, AS IN MY CURRENT WEAPONLESS STATE I AM OF LITTLE DANGER TO YOU. TO GIVE UP WHAT POWER YOU HAVE OVER ME WOULD, IN A SENSE, NULLIFY THE ADVANTAGE YOU HAVE GAINED FROM THE FURNITURE VORTEX. "...No, that isn't it." The Emperor and Dr. Pfischer (watching the training session) shared a blink. "I had always intended to defeat you in honorable Furniture Combat. I do not intend to use this strange occurrence to my unfair advantage." ...UH...WHAT ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT, THEN? Ikea looked down. "Well...to reach outside of my own personal corner of Furniture Space...into another warrior's domain..." AH, I SEE. YOU AREN'T POWERFUL ENOUGH. "No, I'm powerful enough. It just seems...wrong, somehow." Another blink. WRONG? Ikea nodded. "To intrude upon another warrior's private sanctum. The source of their power, their very identity as a Furniture Warrior. It would be as entering their home and lying in their bed...eating at their table... sitting in their *chairs*!" "I think he has a bad childhood memory connected with 'Goldilocks'," Dr. Pfischer whispered to his Emperor, who nodded. NEVERTHELESS, IN THIS INSTANCE IT IS NECESSARY. YOU WISH TO TRAIN, I WISH TO FIGHT IN THE TOURNAMENT. NEITHER OF THESE ENDS MAY BE ACCOMPLISHED WITHOUT FURNITURE FOR MYSELF. "I know, but--" Ikea began. NOT ONLY THAT, BUT I *WANT* YOU TO GET IT FOR ME. I'M GIVING YOU EXPRESS PERMISSION TO GO INTO MY PART OF FURNITURE SPACE AND GET A PIECE OF FURNITURE FOR ME. Ikea stood for a long moment. Then his stance became resolute. Well, slightly more resolute than normal. "I'll do it." ...JUST NOT THE CHEST OF DRAWERS. LEAVE THAT WHERE IT IS. "Why not the chest of drawers?" Dr. Pfischer asked. The Emperor glared down at him imperially. BECAUSE IT HAS PRIVATE THINGS OF MINE INSIDE. UNDERSTAND? "...Yes, yes, of course! Your Highness! Majesty! Emperor-ness!" the doctor squeaked, backing away. Ignoring them, Ikea closed his eyes and...felt, in that region of otherness that was his right, his privilege, his responsibility as a warrior in the noble furniture arts... A small ottoman fell out of the air. The Emperor picked it up with a grin. *NOW* WE'RE GETTING SOMEWHERE. Ikea exhaled. "It is done." COULD YOU MAYBE GET SOMETHING FOR DR. PFISCHER HERE, TOO? "...er...what? Me, fight?" the Doctor said. WE DO NEED ALL THE HELP WE CAN GET. "...but...but I mean...it's been years since I did any practice..." "Tell me of your chosen weapon, Doctor," Ikea said graciously. Dr. Pfischer blinked, and then sort of swelled a bit as he started to recall past glories. "In my day...I wielded the File Cabinet...of DEATH!" Ikea nodded. "A modern, but still worthy weapon. One moment." "Why, I remember defeating old Sergeant Sandalwood with--OOF!" That last exclamation had been elicited by a large file cabinet suddenly materializing just above the Doctor. The Emperor peered down at his subordinate. ALL YOU ALL RIGHT, DOCTOR? "...it *has* been a long time..." ===== In the room with the Furniture Vortex, Harry the Handsome Executive was not doing well. But in another sense, he was happier than he'd been in quite a while. His mind had retreated somewhere deep inside to a happy place, to replay old memories of frolicking among rows of cubicles on his beloved chair. Outwardly, though, he was basically a drooling vegetable. ===== Yoshi jumped back, a sofa slamming to the floor inches in front of him. He lunged forward as it disappeared, narrowly dodging an oncoming desk, and swung his 'weapon'...only to be blocked by a hastily appearing halogen lamp. "Ow!" Tony yelped. "You're good, 'sensei'," Marlo sneered, spinning the lamp away again, "but not good *enough*!" "And you," Yoshi replied calmly, "are an undisciplined brat who can only talk in cliches." "I am NOT!" Marlo yelled. "You'll pa--...er...I'll beat you up even more for saying that!" He angrily pulled out a ceiling fan and brandished it. "You're welcome to try," Yoshi said, spinning Tony around him in a rather stylish manner. "Errgh! Stop it Yoshi, I'm gonna be sick..." Tony whimpered. "Astounding," Miss Oeru murmured to herself, watching the fight from the milling crowd of onlooking furniture warriors. "Even undisciplined, the range of furniture the boy uses gives him a huge advantage. I certainly am lucky he didn't go off with that guy who offered him a job." ===== Joanie leaned against a ruin, panting. "H...hold on, Yarslov. Let's stop and rest for a minute." "Sure thing," Yarslov said agreeably. He looked around. "Are you...really sure this is the right direction?" Joanie asked, frowning at the surrounding ruins. "Not at all," Yarslov replied. After a moment, Joanie turned to stare at Yarslov. "What?" Yarslov shrugged. "There were no, like, traces of where that dude went with Shelly. So this is like a random direction, or something." Joanie stared for a few seconds more, then slumped down to the ground. "...Hey, anything wrong?" Yarslov asked, concern evident in his voice. "So you're telling me," Joanie replied, "that you have no idea how to find her?" "Well...we could knock on doors again." "Yarslov, look around!" Joanie waved an arm. "This city is in ruins! It's deserted! There's no one here!" "Well, it couldn't hurt," Yarslov said, and walked over to knock on a door in the wall Joanie was slumped against. Doctor Shockwave opened the door. After several seconds of staring, everyone said "YOU!" "You must be powerful indeed, to track me here," the Doctor said, "but you will not disrupt my plans without a fight!" About half a minute later, Yarslov and Joanie rushed into the room and started undoing the restraints holding Shelly to an upright lab table. "No," the Doctor croaked from the ground. "You can't! Kidna...no, *detaining* that girl is a vital part of my plans to restore peace!" "Dude, kidnapping chicks is *not* cool," Yarslov replied. "I didn't kidnap her!" the Doctor yelled. "I was merely keeping her here so that Mick person would have an incentive to infiltrate the Ottoman Empire!" "I think he's a few candles short of a chandelier," Joanie muttered. "You're jeopardizing the entire plan to ensure the future of the Queen's kingdom and the safety of the Earth!" the Doctor continued to rant. "Without that girl strapped to the lab table in that position, evil could triumph!" "Yeah, whatever you say Mr. Mad Scientist," Yarslov said, finally managing to pull Shelly away from the table and put her in a nearby chair. "I am NOT mad! I am simply...annoyed!" Doctor Shockwave started to pace, muttering to himself. "Well...at least I still have the Flaming Avocado of Doom." Joanie looked up from Shelly to stare at the scientist. "The what Avocado of what?" "This!" The Doctor gestured grandly, and all eyes (except for Shelly's, which were closed in unconsciousness) were drawn inexorably to the ceiling of the room, where was revealed... An avocado. With wires attached to it. And for some reason it seemed to be on fire. "This is the greatest masterpiece of the convergence of electronic and nutrition sciences," the Doctor (who else?) said. "Ah, if only my colleague was here to see it..." "...Your...what?" Yarslov asked. "Colleague," the Doctor replied. "A master of high-tech produce. You might have heard of him, Mr--" "Never mind that," Joanie snapped. "How do we get Shelly back to normal? She won't wake up!" "Oh, the mind control device will wear off in 10 hours or so," the Doctor said offhandedly. "Coincidentally enough, that's about the length of time until my dimensional portal device recharges." "You mean we're stuck here until then?" Joanie asked. "Well, yes. But you're here with the Flaming Avocado of Doom!...I'm going to work on it some more!" He scampered up a ladder toward the vegetable. Joanie sighed, and sat down in another chair. "Well...guess we're stuck here for a while." "Yeah." Yarslov yawned again. "Why don't you take a nap or something?" Joanie suggested. "You look pretty tired..." "Yeah...that's probably a good idea," Yarslov admitted. "I could use some advice." "...Huh?" "Never mind. G'night." Yarslov stretched out on a couple of chairs, and closed his eyes... ===== Leonardo turned over, and pulled the sheet closer around him. "...I miss my bed..." ===== "Well, it's about *time*," Yarslov said. "...Oh...hey there," Yarslov said. "Hey, who's that guy with you?" "Yo, matey-watey," Mick replied. "I'm Sheila's poppa." "Oh, hey there," Yarslov said, waving. "We're just tryin' to, like, rescue her and stuff." "And yer doin' a bang-up job, boyo, really," Mick said. "'Fact, I like you a lot better than that guy named after the turtle." "Well, thanks, dude," Yarslov said, almost glowing with pride. "Dude, I hate to break this up," Yarslov said, "But we got something important to talk about." "Oh, hey, sorry," Yarslov said. "Yeah, just listen," Yarslov replied. "All the furniture's, like, gone." "Yeah, I know." "And Furniture Space is blocked off from the Ottoman Empire's dimension." "Yeah, I knew that too." "But Mick here is trapped in your psychic space, so he's not in the Ottoman dimension. And the conduits can still be formed from your psychic space to Furniture Space. So since Mick is here in your mind, he can still access the dimension of Furniture Space, and form conduits to access his personal area of Furniture Space, although he's not able to form links to the entire range of the Space as a more powerful practitioner would be able to." Yarslov and Mick stared at Yarslov. "Huh?" they said. Yarslov sighed. "Dude, because Mick's here in, like, your mind, you can get things from Furniture Space, but only Mick's pool cues and stuff." "Oh." Yarslov considered for a while. "But that's still more than everyone else." "Well, not everyone. But almost everyone." "Oh. ...Cool." "Yeah." "Looking forward to workin' with you, boyo," Mick said. "Yeah, me too," Yarslov said. "Okay, this is all cool and froody," Yarslov said, "but you gotta wake up, dude, like, right now." "Oh. ...Why?" "Just trust me. Later, dude." Yarslov opened his eyes. "...whoa." ===== "...that must have hurt," Pon commented. Marlo grinned maniacally, and spun an end table with one hand. Things were looking good. He had taken some nasty hits, but he'd had a hell of a lot worse, and his blood was about nine-tenths adrenaline. In contrast, the other guy was looking pretty bad, covered with bruises and abrasions. And Yoshi didn't look too much better. "Had enough?" Marlo asked. "Yes," Tony whimpered. "You are no Furniture Warrior," Yoshi stated. "What the HELL are you talking about?" Marlo snapped. "I got Furniture. I'm using it to beat you up. What else is there?" "Worlds," Yoshi replied. A movement caught his eye, and his head flicked to the side. The doors to the arena opened in a suitably dramatic fashion, revealing a trio of mighty warriors. Ikea, clad in a pure white Tibetan Furniture Warriors gi. The Emperor, hulking form cloaked in deep shadow. And...Dr. Pfischer, in a ratty lab coat. None had furniture at the moment, choosing to appear incognito. All the Furniture Warriors in the arena looked at the trio. Marlo tossed them a glance, then sneered. Yoshi studied Ikea for a moment, and raised an eyebrow. "Get ready, Tony." Tony whimpered. Yoshi twirled his weapon around a few times. "You are truly skilled, student. But there is one last test." Marlo was about to advance to the attack, but halted. "Huh? Last test?" "If you can defeat me with...a file cabinet...then, you shall be acknowledged as the better warrior." Marlo blinked. "...why a file cabinet?" "Yeah, why?" Tony asked. "There are...reasons." Marlo peered at his erstwhile teacher for several long moments. Then, he shrugged, and pulled a file cabinet out of thick air. "Okay, whatever. A file cabinet it is." "And so...it begins!" Yoshi leaped. Marlo smacked him with the file cabinet. Yoshi staggered, but swung Tony in a low circle. Marlo set the file cabinet on the ground, and Tony smacked into it. Yoshi pulled Tony up and launched a final attack... Marlo swung the file cabinet in a wide arc, sending both opponents flying. He frowned as the drawers slid out, and tossed the cabinet to the ground, muttering, "Damn piece of...furniture!" Miss Oeru walked over to the prone Yoshi and Tony, and examined then. Satisfied, she returned to Marlo and raised his arm in the air. "The winner!" she proclaimed. "And current Furniture Tournament Champion...MARLO!" Marlo grinned insanely (which was something of a strange coincidence) and raised his arms, to the disappointed murmurs of the crowd. "That's right! I'm the CHAMPION!" he yelled. "Tomorrow I'll take on any and all comers! And if there's nobody else...I'll be the champion for ALL TIME!" He turned and strode out of the arena with Miss Oeru following him, leaving the other warriors to mill about in confusion. Tony managed to roll over and stare at Yoshi's prone form. "What...the hell was that?" he gasped. "A gamble," Yoshi replied. Tony blinked. "So it didn't pay off?" "Actually, I think it did," his partner replied, and raised a shaking finger to point at Ikea, who was conferring with Dr. Pfischer. "So what would your estimation of his skill be, Doctor?" Ikea asked. Dr. Pfischer seemed to be seething. "That...that *hack*!" he snarled. "He was swinging that file cabinet around like...like a glorified club! No respect at all for its noble roots! He didn't even make use of the drawers!" Ikea nodded. It was as he had figured...Powerful and physically capable as the boy was, he was not a true Furniture Warrior. He had no sense of the essence of the Furniture Arts, no appreciation of the point of the whole thing. He was thinking of his furniture as simply weapons...instead of *furniture*. Ikea knew, in this one aspect, he was the superior warrior. But would it be enough?... ===== END PART EIGHTEEN! Stay tuned for Furniture Warriors... PART NINETEEN : "Untitled!" I have no idea what will happen next chapter! (It was hard enough writing this one!) Suffice it to say that it will involve... FURNITURE! In the next installment of Furniture Warriors, written by... Eric Jones! ===== Author's Notes This is usually where the author apologizes for writing the part. But things have been crazed enough for me lately that I'm not going to apologize for ANYTHING. So there. Oh, and my email address is jevans@datablast.net. In case you didn't know.