Next, on "America's Funniest 'Animals attacking police officers tied up with duct tape' videos"... no, that's not the right one. At the Carnival of Despair, the clowns were-- let's not go there, lest the readers toss their cookies. At the formerly San Diego-located, then flying, then crashlanded and once again San Diego-located Chez Impro, the sun rose to greet another day. Inside the house, the oh so loveable partygoers were still going at it. Partying, that is. What did you think I meant? Outside in the yard, only a few pieces of duct tape and a thoroughly ruined lawn bore evidence of the horrors that had passed the previous day. But the people were gone, the bodies were disposed of (fed to the dragon, actually, who then got repeatedly bopped on the snout with a rolled-up paper by his owner for being a bad boy and eating people), and the garbage was cleaned away. Chris Nichols was treated to such a horrid punishment that it went against the Geneva conventions in ways formerly unheard of. But today was another day. And Chris was still intact. This, kids, is called 'Author skillfully dodging a complex plot that he didn't sign up for and has no intention of writing'. This is a chibi-impro, and has been mentioned before, chibi-impros doesn't bother too much with piddly things like characterisation and plot, when there can be mallets, nookie, jello and other fun things. No, you won't get refunds. You didn't even pay entrance, cheapskate. * * * I M P R O P A R T Y The improbable improvised improhijinks! Part twenty-eight: Madness takes its toll! (Please have correct change) Written by a flock of tarrasques. And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you. REALLY written by Jonatan Streith. Started by W4, the mad author. As if you didn't know. Big, BIG thanks to Eslington, Steven Scougall, Myth, and the severed head of Ricky Martin, for their assistance and prereading. As usual, names have not been changed to protect the innocent. Nothing in this fanfic is supposed to be taken seriously. If something offends you, just ignore it, or assume the author is a walrus. It helps. I swear. The owls are not what they seem. * * * Inside Chez Impro, the party was going full tilt. Zombie Elvis was reluctantly passing out drinks to the partygoers. He had been stopped three times from trying to shamble off to the karaoke machine; no one really wanted to hear what his once-worshipped voice had turned into. Various members of Team K, who gained more and more members for each passing second, lurked about, ready to leap out at passing innocents and force them to play Triple Triad. And in one dark corner, the tormented shell of a once-proud man huddled, nurturing his pitiful existance with the shattered remains of his crushed dreams. Actually, that wasn't right. It was just Chris who was still sulking by himself after having been forced to endure the worst torment known to man (tm); the cheerful theme music still echoed in his head. And he wasn't huddled in a corner, either; he was sitting on a chair in a semi-shaded corner. But never mind the details. "They hate me... they really hate me..." He wiped his face on the sleeve of his aardvark outfit, and nearly blew his nose before catching himself. "They didn't like my plans, they used my own chair against me... and my own fellow inquisitors turned against me..." Sometimes, he figured, it didn't pay to be a villain. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned his head to face none other than Ardweden. "Hi, Chris! What's up?" The lute-wielding harbinger of kawaii giggled, in a kawaii fashion of course. "Planning another evil scheme already?" In response, Chris turned his head away and sulked. "Go away. You don't like me." "Aww," she chided, "you're not still mad, are you?" "Tell him, Ard-sama!" the little Chris-puppet on Ard's left shoulder piped in. "You know best, Ard-sama!" the other puppet agreed. "Hmpf," the inquisitor hmpf'ed. He didn't meet her gaze. "I'll tell you what..." she said, a wicked (but still kawaii) grin on her face. "...I'll hug you and make all the bad things go away, okay?" She put her arms around him in a friendly hug. This caused him to nosebleed a bit. However, it also caused a reflexive action. *GLOMP* "Aigh!" Ardweden shrieked, as this caused a reflexive action on her behalf. However before she could nail him with her lute, the aardvark-clad villain detached from her and bounded off, shouting "I've got my evil demeanor back!" loudly. He was almost run over by a train of partygoers performing a rendition of 'Lord of the Dance', passing by. "Talk about mood swings," Ardweden observed, batting away the sweatdrop hanging on the back of her head. "You really showed him, Ard-sama!" "You're the best, Ard-sama!" "Shut up, the two of you." * * * In the depths of Chez Impro, beneath the basement, beneath even the secret sub-basement, there was a very, very dark tomb. That was because there wasn't any illumination in the room. Dust and cobwebs littered the room, marring and wearing at the ancient scriptures snaking across the stone walls. And in the center of the tomb laid a large, unadorned stone sarcophagus. This casket was originally intended to imprison the evil soul of Phineas Cain McWatson, the late great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granduncle-thrice-removed of Scott Watson. The wicked man had during his lifetime three hundred years ago reigned terror over old Britain, murdering countless with his terrible turkey baster, finally moving to America to find new hunting grounds. There, a local Illuminati brethren managed to force Phineas into submission, execute him, and imprison his remains in a tomb located within his very own house, to sleep and never awaken again. However, this day a new evil inhabited the grave... A lit candle bobbed through the darkness, throwing wicked shadows across the walls. Its carrier hovered over the stone lid and scratched on the surface, as if trying to get the attention of someone inside. "Boss! Hey, boss! Wake up!" Not getting a response, the winged creature settled on the lid. "Jeez... are you going to sleep away all morning, Epsi?" On cue, the coffin opened a crack about four inches across, and an arm with a wet rubber chicken in its hand shot out, thwapping Blade solidly. "THOU SHALT NOT CALL ME EPSI!" The chicken then receded back into the coffin, its owner muttering "Just another ten minutes...". The coffin slammed shut like a coffin. Ten minutes later, the coffin lid fell to the floor, and Epsilon rose. "Aah... a nap makes you a lot of evil. Irritating dust, though." He wiped some of the earthly remains of Phineas McWatson off of his trendy uberlord clothes, and stepped down to the floor. "Now that I've rested, and regained my powers, it is time for me to pursue my [D_E_S_T_I_N_Y]--" "Wow, you can speak in brackets!" Blade enthused. Epsilon waved his hand dismissively. "Merely another of my vast skills as an editor." *THWAP!* "And don't interrupt me again." "No, boss," Blade muttered, reeling. "And what better way to achieve my [D_E_S_T_I_N_Y] than to use... the Seven Puns of Death?" He posed as lightning struck behind him, briefly illuminating his form. "The..." Blade paled, all the blood rushing from his face. "...the Seven Puns of Death?" Epsilon smirked evilly. (Can you really picture him doing anything else?) "Let's go, Blade. It is time." And the halls echoed with evil laughter... * * * Outside the house, near one of the wrecked jets, Jonatan was busy putting his Mad McGuyvering Skeelz to good use, attempting repairs. Or something, at least; he had disassembled a large part of the unit, and was now busy putting the parts together in a way quite unlike anything seen before. Steve (you know, the Mad Scougall) stood by the side, sipping on a can of Coca-Cola and watching the performance. With some luck, there would be a spectacular explosion. Or so he hoped. "So is this some kind of performance art?" Jonatan shot him a indignant glare. "Oh ye of little faith..." He adjusted the last bolt. "There, that should do it. Let's test it." He pushed a few buttons on the machine. It promptly rocketed into the sky and exploded majestically; There was lots of red and yellow, and just the right amount of orange, and it blossomed out into the shape of a huge flower. It would have looked more majestic against a night sky, but none were provided. "..." Jonatan said. "Performance art," Steve stated, as the machine returned to Earth in many many more pieces than before, brutally killing a small tree on their descent. "Care to try again?" Jonatan tossed his wrench on the ground. "No. Now I'm depressed. Let's go and turn this place into a madhouse." "That would be an improvement." *sigh* "Let's go and get some drinks, then." "Coke for me," Steve said, quite unnecessarily. * * * In the secret sub-basement... something rather nasty was happening. "Watch this! Watch this!" Rain quipped, aiming his slingshot at the far wall, and released. The hapless rat flew through the air with a weak "Skweee..." and ended with a *splat*. "Cool, huh? This is the REAL party!" "I wanna try that!" VVerevvolf exclaimed, trying to snatch the slingshot from Rain. Rain just danced out of the way, making 'neener, neener' sounds. "Guys..." Aaron Shattuck said, emerging from a shadowy corner, holding something writhing in his hands. "I caught a big one. Any bets on what color its brain is?" He grinned mischievously, holding up a hacksaw. In his pocket, the room's only sane occupant whimpered. "I wanna go home..." "Quiet, Chippy." * * * *ding dong!* Myth looked up from the magazine she was reading. "Who could that be?" *ding dong!* She shrugged and walked over to the door, as no one else had made any attempts to answer it. Opening it, she was surprised to see a tall man in a concealing trenchcoat and wide hat standing outside. He scowled at her. "Miss... Myth?" Myth looked even more confused. "Yes? Do I know you?" The man scowled even more. "Regulators. I'm regulating steel. Got any steel?" "Come again?" He shook his head. "No." He held out a bowl full of marshmallows. "Take a marshmallow." *blink* *blink* "What?" "JUST TAKE ONE!" the man bellowed, his head temporarily transforming into that of a giant demon. "Eep!" She quickly snatched one of the sugary items from the bowl. The man looked relieved, his head returning to normal. "Good. You've made the right choice. We will not meet again." He turned and left. Contrary to his words, they DID meet again, many years later... but that's another story, and has nothing to do with this one. Myth closed the door. "That was... odd." She looked at the marshmallow. "I think my parents told me not to eat candy strangers gave me... or was it not to accept candy by strangers?" Twoflower tapped her on her shoulder. "Myth, have you seen NeoVid anywhere?" "No, can't say I have..." She held out the marshmallow. "Here, have a yummy marshmallow." "Thanks." He ate it. "If you see him anywhere, tell him I want to see him." "Sure." She turned and walked off towards the living room, which was occupied by... a large, garishly painted box. Judging from the head and feet sticking out of the box, the person trapped inside was Steve. Behind the box, Jonatan was inspecting a carpenter's saw. A few partygoers were sitting around, serving as an audience. "...you sure this is safe?" Steve asked, craning his head. "Oh, hi Myth." "Jon-chan, what are you doing?" Myth asked. He grinned. "Hi, 'neechan. Just a little circus act I felt like putting on." He turned to the wild-haired author. "Don't worry, I've done this hundreds of times," he said reassuringly. Steve sighed, relieved. "Oh, good." "...so I'm probably going to succeed sooner or later," he continued, still grinning. He raised the saw. "You ready?" "Um," ummed Steve, ever so slightly nervous. * * * Meanwhile in Tine Town, three garishly-clad tourists were carried off by the lizards. * * * NeoVid peeked in through the door. "Yo, 2f? You wanna--" Twoflower looked up from his brooding. "Ah, NeoVid. Just the person I was looking for. Come in." NeoVid stepped into the small room, closing the door behind him. "So what's with the Gendo Ikari impressions?" Twoflower blinked and lowered his clasped hands from his mouth. "Never mind that. Take a chair." "Cool!" NeoVid did so. After a spontaneous facefault, Twoflower called out, "I meant sit down! Come back with the chair, you loony..." he added under his breath. After the author avatar returned, he continued. "I want to know about the Impro Inquisition." NeoVid shook his head. "Sorry. I don't know nothing about any Impro Inquisitions." "So you DO know about the Impro Inquisition, then?" Twoflower asked, smirking. "Damn... walked into that one." The logo on NeoVid's shirt changed to 'Stupid, STUPID!'. "Anyway, I really don't know anything about that one." "So what are you up to?" 2f inquiried. "Well..." NeoVid looked thoughtful for a few seconds. "...we were trying to assassinate Woofer, I think..." Twoflower boggled at the confession, but NeoVid continued, "No, wait, that's not right." He snapped his fingers. "Of course! We were planning to usurp Hammerspace to get mallets, then pound W4 flat, and then set him up as a secret character in 'Parappa the Rapper'. And then get lots of royalties for it." *blink* "I'd call you insane, NeoVid, but..." NeoVid nodded, smiling. "...it'd be praise." * * * Meanwhile, in the afterlife... *PLOINK!* "Hey, watch those strings, new guy. Harps ain't cheap." "Sorry... I just had a creepy feeling..." * * * "Hello? Look, I told you not to call me before I got back." Pause. "Uhuh. Yeah... no. Left, THEN right. Then you wiggle it." Pause again. "Yeah. No, it's nice here." Pause. "No, I definitely haven't. Sheesh." Pause. "Okay, bye." He hung up. "Who was that?" Katy asked as Omi no Miko put down the phone. "Oh, my brother just wanted to kill the mailman for high treason." The fangirl of the bishonen dart-throwing assassin shrugged. "No biggie." "..." "So, you fancy some snacks?" "Yes, but..." Katy hesitated, adding some drama to the scene. "...we're out of snacks." "Wh--" Omi began, but trailed off as she saw the snack table. True to the British girl's words, the once-bountiful table was now a wasteland of empty bottles, discarded wrappers and pie plates. In the center, a half-full jar of NeoVid's treacherous salsa ruled supreme. "No... nooo! We're out of snacks!!" Katy edged away slightly. "Wow, this is the first time I've seen you get upset over something non-bishonen-related." "But I'm HUNGRY!" Omi pouted. "Did someone say snacks?" An unfamiliar voice said from a couch. Its owner climbed into a sitting position and peered over its back, revealing the bearded visage of Robin Strickland. "That reminds me, I haven't unpacked the snacks from my trunk." "You have snacks?" Omi would have pounced on Rob, ripped his clothes off and poured jello over him, had he been more bishonen. Since he wasn't, she instead opted for crouching at the end of the couch, big wobbly anime-style eyes locked on the man. "Really?" Somewhat spooked by the attention, Robin removed himself from the couch and elevated to a standing position. "I'll go get them." He walked over to the door and was about to open it when someone knocked. "Huh?" He opened the door. "YeAIIGH!" He was suddenly yanked out of sight, and the door slammed shut. "..." Katy and Omi said in unison. After a few seconds of surprised staring, Katy said, "What do you reckon that was about?" Omi bit her lip thoughtfully. "Maybe it was a landshark." "A what?" Katy shook her head. "No, never mind. You think we should check what happened?" "No, that's not very fun." Omi snapped her fingers. "I know! Let's come up with a cunning plan and torment a bunch of people with it!" Katy rolled her eyes. "Whatever." "And I call no impersonating Squall." * * * In another part of the house, John Evans sneezed. * * * "And then, after we've obtained the Second Largest Pants in Wisconsin," NeoVid happily explained, "we were going to marry off Omi no Miko to Bob Drichsdale in Atlanta, in exchange for a copy of the Necronomicon..." Twoflower clutched his head, as if trying to hold in the massive headache that was building up. Then again, banging his head against the desk didn't do much good either. "Forget it. Forget I asked. Forget I asked ANYTHING." NeoVid looked rather disappointed; he hadn't even gotten to the bit with the nipple clamps. Then he grinned. "Y'know, you need to blow off some steam. Let's go play some Toshinden. You can be Dan." Twoflower looked up and blinked anime-like. "Since when was Dan in Toshinden?" "Weeell... not in YOUR version, but--" NeoVid was interrupted as the door flew open, and the possibly greatest fan of the pink-clad taunting legend, ColdFury, stormed in dramatically. Then the door bounced against the wall and flew back at ColdFury, whacking him in the face. Ouch. Opening the door again and rubbing his sore nose, ColdFury entered less dramatically, and made his announcement. "Something horrible has happened! All our games are gone!" "W_H_A_T?!?" ColdFury rapidly chose to become one with the wall (although not in any way conceived by the ancient Tibetan masters) as the sonic boom threw him across the room. Peeling himself off the obstruction, he repeated, "All our games are gone. Broken. Scavenged..." Manly tears started rolling down his cheeks. "...only little plastic parts left... OYAJIII!" "Heh." The shameless avatar took a smarmy stance, leaning against the desk in a relaxed 'Grovel before me, for I'm about to save the day again' pose . "Don't worry. Watch this." He then held up his right hand like a circus magician, flexed his fingers, and thrust it deep inside the portal to the Dimension of Chaos he wore. "I'm bound to have..." He paused and looked surprised, then reached further into the coat. "I swore I had..." He facepalmed, his shirt changing its legend to 'Baka baka, minna baka'. "Y'know, I just remembered I pawned all my Playstations to buy that copy of Mokona Kombat from some guy. Damn." "Mokona... Kombat?" ColdFury stuttered, trying (and failing) to picture the concept in his head. NeoVid shrugged. "Apparently the guy had some grudge towards the marshmallow of annoyance. Anyway, this means..." He quickly unleashed some Chaos Energy to create a dramatic sunrise behind him. Twoflower and ColdFury quickly put on sunglasses to protect themselves. "...this means I shall have to obtain new Playstations!" And lo, the great Playstation Quest had begun. "Jonatan probably has a few," he added. And lo, the great Playstation Quest had ended prematurely. "Of course," he added again, "I'll have to track him down." And lo, the second great Playstation Quest had begun. NeoVid hmpf'ed. "Look, will you make up your mind?" You first. "NeoVid..." Twoflower clutched at his head again. "Okay, okay..." NeoVid shrugged. "But he started it." Did not. * * * "...so then I said," Myth explained to HottCoffee, "'Sure, but can you do that with your right foot behind your head, your left hand on the ground, and your right pinky-finger in your eye?' And of course he had to try. I tell you, that looked painful." She shook her head. "Guys." "I tell you, one day they'll notice what's going on outside their heads, and then we'll be in trouble. Anyway, what about E--" They turned a corner, and stopped dead. "Is that... Jesse?!?" The girls stared, for in front of them was Jesse... yet it didn't LOOK like Jesse. For one, Jesse was not known to wear tight black clothes or a matching cap. Nor did he tend to paint his face pale white with make-up, with little black wedges under his eyes. But most of all, he was very rarely seen pushing at non-existent walls. Feeling along the length of the invisible barrier, he suddenly grabbed an equally invisible door knob. He struggled with it for a few seconds, but to no avail. Dejected, he wiped the sweat from his pale brow, when he noticed the girls. He waved his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly, but for some reason not a single sound issued from his throat. HottCoffee shook her head in non-understanding. "What are you saying, Jesse?" She took a step forward... "Look!" Myth grabbed her friend by her shirt and pulled her back. She pointed at a thin, irregular line at Jesse's feet. "Can it be...?" HottCoffee's eyes went wide. "God have mercy on his soul. That's... that's a..." Myth nodded. "A mimefield." "But who could be so cruel?" * * * And in another part of the building, Epsilon snickered evilly. "The first pun has begun... now to the next." * * * Jonatan shuffled the deck, and scrutinised the competition; Steve, John, NeoVid and Chaos grimly stared back. Nodding, he cut the deck, and shuffled it. Then shuffled it again a few times for good measure. And cut it. "Y'know," NeoVid said, "I heard a tale of four people who died while another guy shuffled cards." "Eh, shut yer jawbox, ya piking berk," Jonatan retorted. Nevertheless, he swiftly dealt the cards to the players, then picked up his own. John looked quickly over his shoulder, muttered "Two of clubs", and tossed a card onto the table. It was clearly the two of clubs. NeoVid grinned and flicked the queen of hearts onto the pile. "Two of clubs, dammit." Chaos took her jack of clubs, nibbled on it, and spat it out onto the pile. "Inu says two of clubs." "Rrgh..." Jonatan whipped out the ace of diamonds, pounded it against his forehead, and yelled loud enough to draw looks, "You take this two of clubs! You take it and you DIE!" He slammed it down on the pile. Steve looked disgustedly at one of his cards. "Two of clubs? We don't NEED no steenking two of clubs!" He dropped the five of hearts on the pile. John nodded, and collected the five cards, putting them to the side. He nodded again to NeoVid. The mob of 'Lord of the Dance' practicioners stampeded by in the background. "Two of clubs, here to save the day!" NeoVid said in mock-falsetto, tossing the jack of spades across the table. It landed on Steve, who politely redirected it to the center of the table. Jonatan casually placed a few of his cards in his bandanna. "Kill, kill, kill your dad!" Chaos sang, dropping the ace of diamonds on the pile. "Two of clubs!" Jonatan facepalmed. "I... will... have... no... more... of this TWO OF CLUBS!" He reverently dropped the eight of spades on the table. He then pounded his forehead against the tabletop, making the cards he had attached come loose. Myth, having passed by, observed the antics. "What are you doing NOW?" "Playing a game," John laconically stated. "It's fun," Chaos said. "You wanna be dealt in?" She shook her head. "Maybe later. Anyone here got a battering ram?" "Sorry, no," Jonatan said, picking up his cards. "I was going to bring mine, but I couldn't get it through customs. Damn shame, too... they're really useful to pick up dates." "You don't say?" NeoVid replied, making a mental note. He put it in his coat and turned to Myth. "I left mine at the pile by the front door. You can borrow it if you want." "Thanks!" She smiled and departed. "Nice girl," NeoVid mused. "Don't even think about it," Jonatan replied. "So whose turn is it?" "Steve's," Chaos replied. She popped a cherry Pez (Yummy!) into her mouth before continuing. "You played last, so it's Steve's turn now." "How very ordered of you," John observed. "Ah, but you never know..." She winked. "Hmm?" Steve looked up, having taken an opportunity to rummage through his PersonalStorageSpace. "Sorry, But I'll have to leave. I'm out of Anzac biscuits. I'll have to go and refill. That's okay, right?" "Sure it's okay," Jonatan replied, shrugging. "Come back when you want to." As Steve departed, John glanced at the deserted cards. "So does this mean we start over?" "Nah, we just split his cards," NeoVid said. "Or..." At that very moment, Kimberli skated up to the table and landed in the unoccupied chair. "Hey, you guys playing a game? Can I play?" Jonatan grinned. "...or we find another player." He turned to Kimberli. "Sure you can. We're playing 'Two of clubs'. Familiar with that?" "No..." She smiled. "But I'm good at games. So what are the rules?" "Easy... just do like we do..." His grin grew to twice its size. This was the fun part. * * * Robin kicked the unconscious and thoroughly beaten landshark into the bushes. Really, it shouldn't have tried to eat him. Not while he was busy with other duties, such as bringing snacks to the dozens... and dozens... of the party's hungry inhabitants. Although he did get a chance to relieve some pent-up agression. He strolled over to his car, soaking in the heavy thermonuclear radiation all the while. He popped open the trunk of his Behemoth-like car, and looked inside. And looked. And looked. "You know," he said to nobody in particular, "I might have brought too much." However, since Nobody In Particular was busy assisting the shooting of a late part of Senshi Muyo at Indie Madnesse Studios, Robin received no reply. Sighing, he grabbed as much as he could carry, and carried it off to the house. He'd just have to go multiple rounds. As Robin vanished into the house, a cloaked figure detached from the shadows (it's hard to find good, concealing shadows in a parking lot on a bright day, but this individual managed it) and scuttled over to the car. "Well, well... snacks. For the partygoers, hmm? Wouldn't it be BAD if all this went missing..." And High Inquisitor Torquemada laughed evilly as he set out on his newest scheme... * * * Steve had just made a horrible realisation - all the Anzac biscuits were gone. Oh, sure, all the other snacks had gone as well, but he didn't care about them. The only thing that mattered was that he got a fix of Anzac biscuits. Oh, and some Coke of course, but that goes without saying. And the secret stash was no longer where he had left it. In hindsight, perhaps he should have thought twice about hiding them in a closet. Everyone seemed to be in and out of them at this party. In desperation, he started searching through the house for the missing Anzac biscuits. He didn't find them. He did, however, come across the wailing gamers. Remembering that he had never given out his special edition of King of Fighters that had Dan in it (so Twoflower would play it), he retrieved the CD and handed it over to the gamers; but without a Playstation they couldn't do much with it. Shrugging philosophically, he continued on. He passed through the upstairs hall, and heard weird noises coming from behind the closed doors, suggesting that people were busy. He'd have to check those rooms later on, when they were vacated. He poked his head into the attic, in which there was absolutely nobody. He quickly checked the piles of rubble from the previous day's events, but found no glass jars of Anzac biscuits. Steve continued on, not finding the crunchy oatmealy goodness of Anzac biscuits anywhere, and eventually came to the basement door. He stared at it. It didn't have a face, so it couldn't look back. But it did have a sign, upon which was written, "Absolutely not the home of the Impro Inquisition, nope, go away, there's nothing down here except us rats." "Impro Inquisition?" asked Steve. "What about the Impro Inquisition?" asked Ardweden, who coincidentally happened to be passing by. "It rocks!" said one puppet. "But not as much as Ard-sama!" yelled the other. "I... see," said Steve. "This sign is just saying that the Impro Inquisition isn't in the basement, and- what was that noise?" "What noise?" "It sounded like a crunch." "I didn't hear anything." "I have trained my hearing to higher than normal levels in the path of my martial arts training," said Steve solemnly. The image of crashing waves and Ayers Rock (because Mt. Fuji isn't silly enough) appeared behind him as he made this pronouncement, and then disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. "And I distinctly heard something that sounded like a crunch from behind this door." He opened the door, revealing a murky impenetrable blackness beyond. He listened intently, and heard another crunch. "That was definitely the crunch of an Anzac biscuit," he said grimly, and stepped through the door. "I must YEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaa..." This scream was followed by a series of thumping noises and one final thump. Nobody even looked twice at the gaping doorway, even considering the scream that had come from it. They just shrugged it off as the usual background madness of the Party and continued with what they were doing. Ardweden sighed. "Chris must have greased the stairs again." * * * Chris Nichols, or as he was in his current role, High Inquisitor Torquemada of the Impro Inquisition, looked at the small quivering heap that was the latest victim of the greased stairs. "And what do we have here?" he gloated. "Another victim!" "I wasn't expecting that," groaned Steve. "Ow," he added. "NOBODY expects the Impro Inquisition!" bellowed the High Inquisitor, happy that at last someone had provided him a decent feed line. "The Impro Inquisition?" "Yes! The Impro Inquisition! We shall force you heretics to admit to your crimes of writing bad fanfiction! Fetch the rack!" "Don't you mean the Comfy Chair?" Chris shook his head, grinning evilly. "No! I have been shown the light - the Comfy Chair is NOT the penultimate form of torture, but is nigh useless! And therefore I shall use the rack! Followed by digging your spleen out with a blunt spoon!" "No, the Comfy Chair *does* work," said Steve, going into lecture mode. "It's so comfy the torturee doesn't want to get out of the chair. The more they stay in the chair, the more comfy it gets, and the less they'll want to leave. And eventually the torturee dies from starvation, see? You torture with the appearance of comfort. Quite ironic, really." "...I didn't think of that. We must try this," said Chris. "Fetch the Comfy Chair!" Nothing happened. Realizing that all his underlings were off in other parts of the house and not available to obey his commands, he wandered off to fetch the chair on his own. "Uh-oh," uh-ohed Steve. He wasn't sure he could survive the horrors of the Comfy Chair. * * * Jesse the Involuntary Mime looked at the bizarre contraption in front of him: A huge slingshot, loaded with a barrering ram, was aimed at him; the floor in front of him was covered with soap; and behind him, a huge pile of plushies and pillows embroidered with Elder Signs laid. Next to the slingshot, Myth was trying to light a torch, apparently to burn through the restraining rope holding the ram back. On the other side, HottCoffee was readying a camera. Jesse mimed a sweatdrop. "Myth, are you sure this is a good idea?" HottCoffee gestured at Jesse. "I mean, we might hurt him." "Of course this is a good idea! It's the only way we can get him out of that invisible box!" She finally managed to get the torch to catch fire. "Okay, everyone ready?" Jesse mimed that no, he wasn't ready. Unfortunately, Myth didn't look. "Right! Ready... take aim..." She lowered the torch towards the rope... "Hey, what are you doing?" Surprised, everyone turned to look at the unknown speaker, who turned out to be Eslington, munching on a stick of Pocky. He looked quizzically at the scenery. "Esli-kun!" Myth happily exclaimed, skipping over to his side. "I haven't seen you since yesterday!" She snuggled up to him. "Nice to see you too, Myth-chan." He peered somewhat nervously at the torch she held. "Um, why are you carrying that?" "Oh, this? No reason." She handed it over to Coffee, who reluctantly took it. She suddenly smiled wider, a fiery gleam in her eyes. "You know, Esli-kun, there's something I wanted to ask you..." She leaned in and whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened. "Really?" She nodded enthusiastically. "Okay..." "Great! Let's go!" She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off towards the door. "..." HottCoffee said. She turned towards Jesse. "I wonder what they're planning..." Jesse made a set of intricate gestures. HottCoffee's eyes widened. "You're kidding!" Jesse shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't put it past her, but..." She shrugged. "Anyway, I'd better get you out of there today. Ready?" Once again, Jesse mimed a sweatdrop. * * * Outside, Robin stared into the trunk of his car again. "Where the frock did all my food go?" * * * WHO'S WHO, AND WHERE, AT CHEZ IMPRO! Aaron Pinnick: Somewhere Aaron Shattuck: In the sub-basement, torturing rats Anko: Somewhere Ardweden: Outside the Impro Inquisition HQ BlackMage: Somewhere Blade: Somewhere - with Epsilon Calculus: Somewhere Chris: Impro Inquisition HQ ColdFury: Mourning the lost games somewhere Coyote: Somewhere Damien Roc: Somewhere Dan: Somewhere Delfina: Somewhere Epsilon: Somewhere - preparing the Second Pun Eslington: Somewhere - with Myth Eternal Lost Lurker: Somewhere - lurking Fatman: Somewhere H: Somewhere HottCoffee: Trying to free Jesse Jake: In the CU-- wait, wrong Jake. Somewhere Jesse: Trapped in an invisible box Jonatan: Playing cards Kate Malloy: Somewhere Katy: Somewhere - possibly hatching an evil plan Kimberli: Playing cards Illyria: Somewhere Lady Chaos: Playing cards Lawrence: Somewhere - lurking Lusipher: Somewhere Mark Poa: Somewhere Myth: Somewhere - with Eslington NeoVid: Playing cards Nick: Somewhere nihility (Eric): Somewhere Omi no Miko: Somewhere - possibly hatching an evil plan Phoebe: Somewhere Rain: In the sub-basement, torturing rats Rags: Somewhere Random: Somewhere ravi: Somewhere Robin: Outside, near his car Roe: Somewhere Squall: Playing cards Stephica: Somewhere Steve Scougall: Held at the mercy of the Impro Inquisition! Tameran: Somewhere Todd: Somewhere, possibly gone Twoflower: Mourning the lost games somewhere VVerevvolf: In the sub-basement, torturing rats Wang Tu Chun Somewhere W4: Very, very, VERY dead. Yun Cheolsu: Somewhere Chippy: In Aaron's pocket, and hating it Cousin Pete: Dead - Attic Evil Neighbors From Hell: Next door to Chez Impro (maybe) Hardhead Fred: Dead - Attic The Denizens of San Diego: San Diego Chihuahuas: Annoying people everywhere Catguys: Somewhere Iron Chef Chen Kenichi: Kitchen Jess: Somewhere Keith Richards: Digested Leonardo DiCaprio: In Hollywood Mysterious man: Gone Dragon: Digesting his food in the back Mecha Tom Green: Dead and staying that way, we hope Phineas McWatson: Dead for several centuries Quistis: Wuffling in the bar, most probably Ragnarok: Somewhere Ura: Bar Zombie Elvis: Still Dead - Bar * * * Author's notes: Next time, use a THAWED chicken. Author's comments: Big thanks to Steven Scougall, Eslington, and Myth for prereading and support. Additional thanks to Steve for submitting a few scenes, to Robin Strickland for ideas, and to Jesse Ellman for allowing me to mess more than normal with his character. Also thanks to Arthur Monteath-Carr for unknowingly teaching me how to play "Two of clubs". And thanks to YOU, for reading this fic! ^_^ Please send C&C (not the game, I already have it, but thanks anyway) to a99jonst@student.his.se . Flames will be ignored. Flamers will be sacrificed to Malahelicon, patron goddess of bad crossovers. Have a nice day!