He was indomitable. He was unstoppable. He was many words found in the thesarus. He was prose made flesh. Twoflower would WRITE... THIS... FANFICTION! "YOSH!" he shouted at his computer monitor, which took one full hobble backwards. Cracking his knuckles, he started typing at breakneck speed. "This will be my 'piece de resistance'! A real 'joie de vivre'! An undisputed 'Las cucarachas entran la hotel, pero no puedan salir'!" After creating a cool, elaborate ASCII art, he typed the title of his upcoming work: SLAYERS OMNI-CALIFRAGILISTIC-FEUDAL-THETA-DEXY! A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. "Damn," he thought to himself, "Now getting the first draft, proofreading it, writing the final draft, and converting it to HTML, VRML, and IYCRTYATCML (If You Can Read This, You Are Too Close Markup Language) could take as long as an entire DAY!" Twoflower headed to the front door, wondering who would dare interrupt him. He opened it and saw... a clown. "Um..." he managed to state. The clown bowed, then spoke with a noble tone, "Greetings, Sir Gagne. I am Dinkles von CheesyPoofs, co-chairman of the Crying Clowns Committee. I have come here to thank you for giving our plight a voice. These crying clowns have garnered the laughs that Fate... oh, cruel Fate! thought necessary to deprive them of. But you, noble sir, have delivered chuckles and laughs to these sad entertainers, and we of the CCC are indebted to you." Twoflower thought about this for a minute. He looked up at Dinkles' face, and then, with a stern yet compassionate demeanor, replied, "That... is a lousy name for a clown." Dinkles von CheesyPoofs shrugged, explaining, "I liked my first idea, but the Beatles and WWF stole 'The Blue Meanie' from me. In any case, please accept this gift on behalf of the CCC." Dinkles handed Twoflower a briefcase (yes, Austin Powers fans, a Fendi briefcase). Twoflower opened it up... and his jaw hit the floor. "Bloody hell!" he hollered. "There must be a million dollars in this thing!" "Twenty-three million, actually," Dinkles corrected. A wide, ear-to-ear grin adorned Twoflower's face. His eyes glazed, and his grip on the briefcase left finger marks. There was but one thought in his mind, throbbing and pulsating and all but begging to be released. "IT'S TIME TO PARTY!" he declared. Twoflower wasted no time. Twenty-three million or not, time waits for no man... at least not in reality. Dr. Who can perform all sorts of nifty tricks with time, but this isn't HIS story, so he can bugger off. Grabbing his keys to the Champaigne Minivan(tm), he darted out the door, leaving a befuddled (and goofy-looking) Dinkles von CheesyPoofs in the doorway. "This," he started as he entered the minivan, "will be the greatest party ever! I'll invite everybody from Improfanfic and Impromanga! There will be gratuitous shaking of groove things and whammy bars! We'll party like it's nineteen-ninety ...well, we'll party like there's no tomorrow! OYA... OMA... ONECH... ah, to heck with it!" Twoflower put the keys in the ignition, then stopped short of turning the motor on. "Wait a moment... where am I going?" he wondered. That was, indeed, the question of the moment. "What I need," he thought out loud, "are some cool party location ideas and some lifeless schmu- ahem... some noble allies to set this party up." Silence echoed throughout the neighborhood as the wheels of Twoflower's head turned round and round. "AHA! I, the mightiest fanfiction author the web has ever known, know just the schmu... allies! And I have some nifty location ideas, too!" The engine of the Champaigne Minivan(tm) roared to life. Twoflower drove off in a flash, which would have looked impressive if not for the fact that he was doing so backwards. In a rare display that would have brought a tear to the eye of Ed Crankshaft, Twoflower and his minivan hit all but one of his street's mailboxes. "I always miss that last one," he cursed to no one in particular. "SOUTHWARD BOUND!" */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* THIS IS THE UNTRUE STORY ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN FANFICTION AUTHORS STOP BEING NICE AND START BEING SUPER-DEFORMED. IMPROFANFIC PARTY Original Idea by Ryuuen Stolen... er.... Adapted by Roe, Twoflower and W4 This chapter brought to you by: The letters Q, Z, and the author W4 */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* If the average web surfer were to perform a Yahoo! search on "Cities that make you feel as if you're walking through a sauna", the first search result you will see is for Cape Cod Irish Village. This goes to prove that the creators of Yahoo! have never set foot in New Orleans during the summer. The days and nights of summer in the French Quarter were downright insufferable. The combination of high temperatures, high humidity, and and the sight of scantily-clad members of the opposite sex passing by every minute or so gave the area a heat index of over 110 degrees. When asked about the stifling weather, one local man replied, "It's enough to drive a man to drink." But then again, when asked what his favorite color was, he again responded, "It's enough to drive a man to drink." Roe, calmly sitting at the Cafe du Monde, didn't let the heat get to him. He had a cafe au lait in his left hand, and a tray of beignets sitting on a plate at his table. And later on, he was going to take the crayons in his pocket and color the outer walls of the Cafe du Monde. Sure, they may CLAIM that it's vandalism, but Roe knew in his heart that it was community service. Kicking up his feet on a nearby empty chair, he happily sighed, "Life doesn't get any better than this." Unfortunately, this triggered the infamous "You said it, so now you're going to step in it!" rule of the cosmos. A madman with short brown hair, a microphone, and a business suit started prancing around the outdoor cafe, shouting, "GET THE POO OFF OF MY BUM!" Roe shook his head and cursed. It just HAD to be Tom Green, didn't it? He watched, too stunned by the awkwardness of the situation, as the so-called comedian stuck his fingers in other people's beignets (which Roe viewed as a cardinal sin, but better them than me, right?), terrorized a little girl by sticking her Barbie doll(tm) up a horse's nose(tm) and generally did everything in his power to take the title of "World's Biggest @$$" away from the current title-holder, Chris Jehrico. All the while, Tom was being followed, reluctantly, by cameramen who muttered that they would rather weld their eyes shut than record the Sultan of Scatology in action. Tom Green began to spin around, spewing God Only Really Knows What around and making a half-hearted reference to "The Blair Witch Project". Roe ducked in time to avoid the projectiles. His meal, however, was not as lucky. After Tom Green's barrage ended, he sadly looked upon his meal. It wasn't just ruined. It was defiled and desecrated, if not downright unholy. Roe glared at the so-called comic, his eyes turning red. The other patrons may have been too touristy or overwhelmed to act, but to... to... do whatever the heck that Tom Green did to Roe's beignets was nothing short of a declaration of war. Muttering that today was a good day to die, he opened a portal to hammerspace and pulled out a War Hammer, complete with Soda Can Launcher. Grabbing a six-pack of Dr. Pepper with his other hand, he loaded the cans into his War Hammer, slowly marching towards Tom Green. Tom Green took one look at Roe and twitched nervously. "Um..." he stuttered, "Are you going to kill a cow with that thing?" Roe shook his head, took aim, and fired. "You ruined my meal, you rotten bastard!" he shouted. Roe's War Hammer added, "BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! And don't forget... BOOM!" Tom Green, covered in Dr. Pepper, had six gaping holes in his chest. Despite the evident injuries, he remained standing. It was evident to Roe that Tom Green's resilience was inversely proportionate to his jokemaking ability. Roe advanced, holding the hammer high, his hands by his right cheek. "Y... you cannot defeat me!" Tom Green spat. "I... am the embodiment of poopie jokes! I... I was trained... by Tbetian six-year-olds who watch nothing... but MTV cartoons!" Roe executed an overhead swing, missing Tom Green by mere inches. Tom leapt out onto the street, where a Champaigne Minivan was speeding towards the Cafe du Monde. "And now... face my ultimate poopie technique, the YEEEAAARRRGGHH!" Tom Green screamed as the Champaigne Minivan smashed into Tom Green and rendered him airborne. The patrons who observed this looked upward and shouted, "FORE!", except two drunken customers who yelled, "SIX!" Roe, satisfied that his opponent was no more, returned his War Hammer into Hammerspace. His expression turned to worry when he and Twoflower, who was stepping out of the Champaigne Minivan, were surrounded by cops. The lead cop looked disparagingly at the two otaku protagonists. "Hmmm..." he muttered in a deep, low voice, "You two all but killed that emm-tee-vee per-son-al-i-tee." Roe and Twoflower gulped as the lead cop tapped his foot, looked upwards, and sighed. "I won't tell if you won't!" he concluded conspiratorially. Roe and Twoflower bowed to the cop. Motioning to Roe, Twoflower ordered, "Get in!" Roe sat in the passenger seat. "Thanks, but I could have taken him," Roe chided as he fastened his seat belt. Twoflower chuckled, "Yeah, whatever. Anyway, I need your help. I'll tell you about it on the way." "On the way to where, boss?" Roe asked. Twoflower explained, "Well, we're going to take the 10 West to the 5 South to the 8 West until we hit the ocean. Any other questions?" Roe thought, then began, "Well, do you know what Chris Rock said about the Champagne Room? I was wondering..." Twoflower glared at Roe. "DON'T... EVEN... GO... THERE," he ominously warned as he shifted gears and drove off. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* W4 looked at her from a distance. She was surrounded by young children and a multitude of men and women. Just thinking about it made him feel faint. However, he resolved to himself that today was the day. He was going to walk up to her, without any uncertainty in his voice, and order a hot dog. She was, after all, a hot dog vendor. Slowly, with no small amount of nervousness, he walked over to the group and stood in line. "Don't worry," he thought to himself. "They're only here for hot dogs, just like me. This is NOT an angry mob bent on my destruction." Minutes later, he found himself face to face with the comely hot dog vendor. She gave him a cheerful smile, tossed her raven-black hair and asked, "May I help you?" From W4's standpoint, time just... stopped. All eyes were upon him, and he began to sweat. "I... I... " he stammered, "...would like..." "Yes?" the hot dog vendor asked as she leaned towards him. From W4's standpoint, his mouth had been superglued shut. People were pointing, gawking and taking pictures. "...would like... like..." he muttered, his voice dying. "Yes?" the hot dog vendor asked once more, almost touching nose to nose. His eyes glassy, he pulled back, almost tripping over the kid behind him. He held his head with both hands, screamed in agony and ran towards the ocean. With a leap completely devoid of any grace or agility, he belly- flopped into the ocean. A group of conveniently-placed diving judges awarded him with a set of scores that almost summed up to one. W4 sat up and wiped the excess sea water from his face. As he stood up, a convenient spotlight beam highlighted him. "O, woe is me," he soliloquized, "for my fear of group situations has overcome me again. Try as I might, the nervousness grips at my soul like... like... like Stone Cold Steve Austin grips the heads of his most hated foes. Oh why, oh why can I not rally my courage and say what is on my mind? Why does a glance from a pretty young lady turn my mind to mush? And why, oh why is there a minivan hurtling towards me?" W4 bug-eyed as the silhouette of the Champaigne Minivan descended towards him. "MINIVAN?!?" he shrieked as he tried to swim seawards. The Champaigne Minivan landed with a large slapping sound. The minivan missed W4 by inches. Roe opened the passenger door, stepped out of the minivan, waded over to the driver's side (making sure not to disturb W4, who was floating face-up and unconscious), opened the driver door, and glared at Twoflower. "When you said 'Hit the Ocean'..." he angrily stated. Twoflower bigsweatted. "Well, at least I didn't hit anybody this time, right?" "Hand over the keys, Knievel!" Roe barked. "After that, help me fish this poor bastard out of the water." */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Thirty minutes later, Roe, Twoflower and W4 sat in a Not-An-Otaku- Meeting-Place In-N-Out Hamburger Restaurant. Roe and Twoflower ate their Triple-Double combo meals, while W4 just held his head in a feeble attempt to stop the restaurant from rotating on its axis. "Wuzza..." W4 stated nonchalantly. "He needs more Dr. Pepper," Roe hypothesized, then turned to Twoflower. "Tell me, do you run into somebody every time you take the wheel?" Twoflower thought for a moment. "Well", he answered, "there WAS that one time..." Roe rolled his eyes. "I'm driving from this point on," he commanded. W4 shook his head. "Oh, Mom," he said with a cough, "You wouldn't believe it. I had this strange dream where a giant minivan..." He stopped, his eyes focusing on a grinning Twoflower and an annoyed Roe. "Hoo boy..." he muttered. "Okay, now that Sleeping Boobie is amongst the living," Twoflower commented, "Now it's time to get down to the business... of PLEASURE!" Roe took a gulp of Dr. Pepper, looking less annoyed. W4 coughed up some seawater into a napkin, discarded it, then attempted to pay attention to Twoflower. "Okay," Twoflower whispered, "Recently, I received a rather generous cash gift. Don't ask me how. Anyway, I want to use it to throw a party." "I'm out," W4 interrupted, trying to stand up. However, his legs weren't back in synch with the rest of his body, so he flopped around. "Never mind. I guess I'm in." "C'mon, Woof," Roe encouraged W4 with a slap on the shoulder, "This isn't just any party. Right, boss?" Twoflower nodded, adjusting his glasses and smiling widely. "This, gentlemen, is going to be the party to end all parties. We're inviting EVERYBODY from the Impro community, and their friends, and even their friends' friends. You. Me. Dan. Jake. Calculus. Puu. Phoebe. Delfina. Omi no Miko. Lusipher. Lawrence Chu. Eslington. Epsilon. Lurker. Lady Chaos. OnIgIrL. BlackMage. DamienRoc. nihility. ravi. Ryuuen. Eisu. Mal. Line-man. Tang-Ho. Rex. Kendra. Josh Lesnick. Action Clay. Colin Woodard. Jen and Jen-chan. Churen. EVERYBODY! Or, at least as many as we can round up. All under one roof for one riotous, Bacchanalian ball to end it all!" W4 gulped. "You mean," he blurted out, "It's going to be a cult suicide thingie?" Twoflower shot an icy stare at W4, then shouted, "2F 2F Boot to da Head!" He leapt up and kicked W4 twice in the cheek, then crashed onto the floor. W4 just blinked. "Um... shouldn't that have... hurt or something?" he asked, confused. Twoflower staggered. "That was just a warning shot!" he barked, pointing a finger at W4. Regaining his seat, Twoflower continued his speech. "No, it is NOT going to be a cult suicide thingie. It's going to be as many of the Impro community as we can possibly round up. We're going to eat, drink, be merry, play fighting games, eat and drink some more, and generally have a heck of a lot of fun! They'll walk in, drive in, fly in, surf in, whatever. And we'll RAISE THE ROOF, BABY!" Roe smirked. "Sounds cool," he observed. W4 shifted in his seat. "Um, I guess I could show up for a while..." he stammered. "Bzzzzzz! WRONG!" Twoflower shouted. "Congrats, you two lunkheads. You're my official stooges! Woof, you get us a place to party. Roe, you get drinks and round up the troops. I'll take care of food and supplies." "Groovy," Roe laughed. W4 paled. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* W4 rubbed his temple. Finding an available house by the beach for rental wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be. It was 100 times worse. The first location he checked out was the House of the Evil Pigs. The snout motif failed to impress him, and he surmised that the gaudy decorations weren't conducive to a party. After that was the House of Ill Repute, which, though there were plenty of ladies there, was also lacking the party environment aura for which he was searching. The House of the Dead was way the hell out of the question, as was the House of Pancakes. W4 sighed. He then thought aloud, "If there were only a way I could just... I dunno... MAKE a copy of my house and plant it on the beach." Inspiration struck. He rushed to a payphone and dialed. If this worked... */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Twoflower had grown accustomed to accessing Hammerspace. That was rather fortunate, for there was no other way he could have gathered all the food necessary for starting the party. As he stood in line at the Bulk-R-Us superstore (in the Express Lane: 1000 items or less; Cash, ATM or Slave Labor only), he took a quick inventory of his findings. "Hmmm... 3 crates of Cheese Puffs, 2 crates of various potato and corn chips, one-and-a-half crates of Cool Ranch Doritos, 1 crate and oversized jug of various dips, a leaning tower of Pizza, a handful of vegetables, a barrel of Chocolate Pocky, a truckload of bread and crackers, a bushel of cookies, and enough napkins and utensils to serve a small phalanx. That will do for starters, but what will happen when the party kicks into overdrive?" The cashier informed Twoflower that his purchase would cost $31415.99. Twoflower produced exact change. "Do you need a... cargo plane for that?" she asked. "Nah," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, as he and his purchases disappeared into Hammerspace. "Thank you and come again!" she shouted into the closing portal. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Roe stood outside the Diesel-and-Dine truck stop, surveying the parked rigs. "Let's see," he muttered as he looked at a clipboard, pencil at the ready. "A tanker full of Coke? Check. A tanker full of Diet Coke? Check, but under protest. 2 tankers full of Coke? Check. 1 tanker of A&W Root Beer? Check. 2 tankers of Dr. Pepper? Check. Check also for 1 of Coors, 1 of Budweiser, 1 of Tequila, 1 of Killian's, 3 kegs of rum, and one more tanker of Jolt for good measure." Roe rushed into the truckstop, emerging one minute later. "Almost forgot," he said with a chuckle. "One bottle of Arrowhead Drinking Water? Check! That's everything!" Roe jumped into the leading rig. He turned on the engine and looked out the windshield. "Oh, look," he noted with a psychotic grin, "A mime! LET'S GUN IT!" */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* W4 sat in a vacant lot with nothing but a small television and a Playstation unit with two memory cards. His car, a 1980 Buick LeSabre (Motto: If you can't land a plane on your car, it just isn't big enough!), was valet-parked at a nearby restaurant. The attendant informed him that, "Dude... your car will be, like, here and stuff... unless it's not... you know?" "This spot is PERFECT!" he exclaimed to no one in particular. "Not only is the beach a stone's throw away, but there are shops, restaurants, supermarkets, arcades, a miniature amusement park, Sea World, bowling alleys and the best San Diego has to offer all around us! NYAR HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR!" "That's BWAHAHAHAHA!" Twoflower scolded as he whacked W4 in the back of the head. "And furthermore, where's the house?!?" W4 rubbed his head, a maniacal grin on his face. "I'm waiting for Roe," he replied. A large HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK blared, knocking Twoflower and W4 off of their feet. "I think that's him," Twoflower commented sarcastically. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and saw Roe and the convoy of party drinks. Focusing on the front of the truck that Roe drove, he blustered, "Is that a MIME in the grill?" W4 laughed maniacally, then activated the Playstation. "This'll knock your socks off," W4 warned. Roe, who, due to lack of rig fleet parking in the Mission Beach area, had to park several blocks away, but he could make out the figures of Twoflower and W4 with a trusty pair of binoculars. "Hey, guys!" he called out. "I'm back with the..." *BAMPF* Roe leapt back, startled. "Where in the flying fudgebunnies did that HOUSE come from?" */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* "You see," W4 explained to Roe and Twoflower, as they sat in the living room of the instant house, "After talking to you two, I got to thinking. I thought my house would be a GREAT place to have the party. There are two floors. The first floor has a garage, a den, two family rooms, a dining room and a restroom. Upstairs, there are three bedrooms and two restrooms. On top of that all, there are four televisions, a piano, several board games, three computers, and... a couple of other surprises. But there were two problems. It wasn't near the beach, and it can't get trashed, since my parents and I are still living in it." Twoflower nodded. "So you saved a copy of your house on a memory card? I didn't know you could do that with a PSX." W4 chuckled. "It's not mine," he confessed. "This belongs to a friend of mine. He installed a mod chip." Roe looked around the house. "This... will do quite nicely... oh, yes," he appraised. Twoflower muttered, "Dreamcasts are better, in my opinion." "BLASPHEMER!" */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Roe posted a message on the Improfanfic message board. Twoflower posted a message on the Impromanga forum. The text read: Hey, minna-san! Twoflower is throwing the mother of all parties this Saturday, starting at 10am! How do you get there? Well, go to America, then take the 10 West to the 5 South to the 8 West. Stop when you approach the ocean. (Don't make the mistake we did and crash into the ocean. And no, I won't tell you how that happened.) Look for the big, flashing sign that reads, "Not The Party Of The Millennium". Can't get there? Email Twoflower, Roe or Woofer so we can get you a plane ticket, boat ticket, UFO ticket, whatever... this party is NOT to be missed! Be there or be dodecahedral! The message created quite a stir. All around the Impro community, preparations went under way. The party staff's email boxes were overloaded within hours. Shiny pants were buffed and waxed. Large quantities of grape jello were mixed and refridgerated. Dolls, plushies and squeaky toys of every shape and size were purchased, cleaned and exorcized. Complex plans, both beneficial and devious, were hatched. And... (Disciples of Gagne, sing along!) ...somewhere, a clown cried. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Compared to agreeing on a set of party rules, their individual efforts had been a cakewalk. It was 4:30 in the morning as Roe, Twoflower and W4 sat, bleary-eyed, in a nearby Denny's. A waitress arrived with their 12th pot of coffee. Twoflower looked at the new pot of coffee, arranging it with a pattern with the other eleven untouched pots of coffee. "Um, we're running out of table space here," he informed the waitress. "Could you get us something that we would actually LIKE to drink?" Roe stopped the waitress and chugged one of the coffee pots. "Just take the empties," he ordered. W4 yawned, then spoke, "Let me get this straight. No anime or impro characters are allowed, since they'll either eat and drink everything or frag the whole lot of us, right?" Twoflower nodded. W4 returned the nod, then continued, "And yet, we're going to allow unlimited access to Hammerspace and Furniturespace at the party?" Twoflower blinked twice. "Um..." he responded, "That's a good question. I'm glad you asked that question." He turned to Roe. "Roe, go ahead and answer Woof's question." Roe, who was gulping down a cup of coffee, executed a spit-take on a very unappreciative waitress. "Why me?" he shouted, flustered. Twoflower shot Roe a dirty look. "All right," Roe sighed, as he turned to W4. "It's like this, W4," he explained. "The girls of Impro want to bring weapons." W4 hand-gestured Roe to go on. Roe bigsweatted. "Well..." he continued, "...so does Lusipher. And NihilPuu. And us admins. And... well, everybody except you, actually." W4 just stared dumbly at Roe. Slowly, he stammered, "W... what... what type of... blankety-blanking blanks need to bring blanking weapons... to... to... a BLANKING BEACH BLANKING PARTY? I agreed to do this to overcome my blanking fear of blanking groups! I didn't say BLANK about facing A BLANKING MOB THAT'S ARMED TO THE BLANKING TEETH!" Roe cringed. Twoflower bigsweatted. "I've never actually heard someone say 'blank' like that," he admitted. "C'mon, Woof... breathe," Roe urged. W4 rubbed his eyes. "Just because that house is a copy doesn't mean I want to see it trashed," he stated. Twoflower thought for a moment. "How about this? Only admins can access Hammerspace and Furniturespace. Anyone else who wants to bring a weapons is restricted to Nerf toys. What do you think?" he proposed. Roe nodded. W4 blurted out, "Groovy. Let's sign it, stamp it, seal it and screw it. I need SLEEP. I have to go to work in... ...three and a half hours." "Waitaminnit," Twoflower interrupted as he looked at the rule sheet. "Most of these rules are labeled as rule #2!" W4 nodded. "We did that on purpose," he mumbled, half-asleep. Roe chortled as he offered, "That way, we don't have to rack our brains trying to figure out what rule someone is breaking." Twoflower knew that he, too, was tired because that made perfect sense to him. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* The day of the party arrived. Its hosts were nervous. Actually, W4 was nervous. Roe and Twoflower were battling each other on Powerstone. Strangely enough, both were playing as Dan Hibiki. Roe looked over at W4. "Um... silly question, boss," he asked, "but isn't Woof supposed to be... breathing or something?" Twoflower lobbed a controller at W4's head. "This is A PARTY, Woof! Not your funeral! If you don't loosen up and enjoy yourself, I'll defenestrate the tar out of you!" he scolded. The blow to the head shook W4 out of his state of panic. "Sorry, guys," he sighed. Roe suggested, "Just... go to your happy place and tell yourself that... HEY! I paused that, Twoflower!" Twoflower nodded. "And I unpaused it. And won. Perfect," he laughed. Roe slowly turned red, a small vein popping in his forehead. "Rival... Schools... NOW!" he demanded. Twoflower leaned back in his seat, chuckling. Roe unplugged the Dreamcast and plugged in the PSX. In no time, they had a "Dan Hibiki vs. Dan Hibiki" match underway. W4 watched this with a bigsweat. "Uh... since when is Dan Hibiki in Rival Schools?" he asked. "Any Capcom fighting game worth a grain of salt has to have Dan Hibiki in it," Twoflower stated with authority. "But what about Darkstalkers 3?" W4 queried, confused. Roe replied, with a chuckle, "Dan's not in that one. Draw your own conclusion, Woof." W4 fought the urge to facefault. That was the only fighting game that he could play with any confidence. *Knock knock* Twoflower looked at his watch. "10am? Whoever it is is 12 hours early, but what the hey," he stated. "W4, get the door. I'm busy scoring a perfect on Twoflower while he looks at his watch," Roe ordered. "HEY!" Twoflower shouted. W4 gulped. "C- coming!" he shouted at the door. Mustering his courage, he opened the door. */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Or, to make a long chibi-story short: ][ TWOFLOWER JOINED THE PARTY AS A STAFF MEMEBER (HEAD HONCHO AND PATRON) ][ ROE AND TWOFLOWER def. TOM GREENE ][ ROE JOINED THE PARTY AS A STAFF MEMBER (DESIGNATED DRIVER AND NUTCASE) ][ W4 JOINED THE PARTY AS A STAFF MEMBER (DESIGNATED DRIVER AND NEUROTIC) */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* */ \* Author's Note: D-flat Yes! Yes! YEEEEEES! It's finally done! And how good it felt! I honestly hope that the future authors have as much fun writing their parts as I did writing the pilot. Lots and lots... and LOTS... of thanks go out to everybody in general for giving me support, suggestions, and laughs. If you're a member of the Impro community, then you deserve a hearty pat on the back. Both the manga and the fanfiction aspects of Impro are blessed with some talented, bright funny authors and artists. Kudos to you all. Specifically, I would like to thank the following people: -Ryuuen, whose manga version of "The Party" was THE reason this fanfiction came to be. Go to http://pixelscapes.com/impromanga/manga/par/ and check it out. Tell Ryuuen that Improfanfic sent you. -Twoflower and Roe, who bent over backwards (and their chiropractors have the x-rays to prove it) to help me with comments, criticism, and suggestions for rules and the party profile format. -ravi, who didn't bend over backwards, but executed some wicked somersaults. He also read the second draft and supplied comments and criticism in addition to weeding out (too many) spelling and grammar errors. -The regulars at #Improfanfic and on the Improfanfic message board, whose enthusiasm overwhelmed, whose jokes amused, and whose suggestions helped make this dream a reality. None of these characters, save W4, are mine. Any and all copyrighted trademarks are copyrighted by their respected owners. Besides, this is a totally non-profit fanfic, and suing me for 50% of nothing is rather pointless anyway. Please send C&C, but no flames, to woofersan@home.com.