This is, perhaps, the most random story… ever. It really has nothing to do with anything… and don't be offended by Fight the Ugly Creatures of Kansas if you're from Kansas. I had sooo much fun writing this! And if you hate the f-word, I highly suggest you :don't: read this. They don't use it in that way, but still.
Fifth season, Joey and Rachel know about MC.
Well, I've started a Mondler LJ community. It's at livejournal dot com slash community slash London(underscore)time .I'm planning on having fic challenges (plus places just to post your fics), icon challenges, and just general discussion, all based on CM. So come and join, should be lots of fun, and if you're not an LJ member, don't worry, registration is free.
Grr! I hate I can't post a goddamn link in here!
Don't own them, by I really want to. :steals Chandler: They wouldn't notice.
To Lauren, AKA greenish orange, for writing all those loverly oneshots.
Ooh hey, btw, dunno if I said this or not, but "Step Back" was MC in TOW The Flashback. Yay!
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"The One Where Rachel Will Kill Chandler"
"I don't want to."
"Come on, it'll be so fun, we never do anything together!"
"That's because we don't like to do the same kind of things."
"Yes we do!"
"What, may I ask?"
Phoebe thought for a moment, and then jumped up and grabbed Chandler's hand, dragging him out of the coffee shop, "Caught you off-guard!"
Chandler sighed in frustration, "Fine, I'll go to your stupid palm-reader, even though I have lots of other stuff to do-"
"Like what, more laundry?" Phoebe snapped as she led him across the street into a small, dingy building that stank of cigarettes mixed with the bitter smell of alcohol. Two chairs covered in old red velvet sat in one corner, looking considerably beaten-up; Chandler stared for a moment at a painting of a half-naked woman with her palms opened towards the heavens. Behind an ancient wooden counter was a sapphire curtain that floated in a draft that could have only come from a room beyond the curtain.
"Well, yeah, more laundry, my sheets are dirty," Chandler said truthfully, fighting a grin as he remembered wistfully how he and a certain neighbor of his had spent the previous afternoon.
"You know, at the pace you and Monica are going with your laundry, we're going to run out of water before I have time to start Operation Fight the Ugly Creatures of Kansas."
Chandler, whose mind had been in the Monica-gutter only a second before, was brought down to Earth with thump, "You want to start the what?"
With a sigh of impatience, Phoebe dropped his hand and hit the little bell on the counter. A high-pitched ding rang throughout the little room.
"I've been talking about it all the time, don't you listen? It's Operation F.U.C.K., the one where we destroy the goblins that reside in the deep hills and canyons of northern Kansas! And to destroy them, we need water, Chandler!"
Her voice had risen and her eyes were now dancing with passion; apparently, Operation F.U.C.K. was very important to her.
"Yeah, now I remember… Operation fuck."
"No, it's F.U.C.K."
"That's what I said: fuck."
"Watch your language, Chandler Bing!" Phoebe hissed, and a look of bewilderment crossed Chandler's features.
From behind the drifting blue curtain came a woman that was as mismatched as the room they stood in; her bleach-blonde hair was knotted and tied into a messy bun; she wore a raggedy gold top with sequins sewed into the collar, and her pants were a vivid neon green. Chandler bit his lip furiously, fighting the urge to make a comment about her choice in clothing.
"Hello, Phoebe… and who is this?" the woman asked, her eyes slightly unfocused. Chandler tasted a tiny bit of blood on his tongue as a few druggie references entered his mind.
To Chandler's surprise, Phoebe did a sort of half-bow, "Chandler Bing, my friend I -"
The woman's eyes lit up and she looked him up and down, interrupting Phoebe, "Yes, I remember… the 'funny' one… tell me, Mr. Bing, why you think I'm a druggie?"
For one of the first times in his life, Chandler was speechless.
The woman nodded, "I thought so… come, children of the empty vastness."
She jerked her head towards the curtain, turned on her heel, and led the way, walking surprisingly quickly.
Chandler turned to Phoebe, dumbfounded, "Who… how did she…?"
Phoebe rolled her eyes at Chandler's stunned look. With a sigh that clear said 'why did I bring you, of all people?' she explained, "That's Madame Wutchanikioumfor-"
"Madame what?"
She glared at him, "Madame Wutchanikioumfor. It's really not that difficult to say, you know," Phoebe sniffed, and continued on, interrupting Chandler before he even began, "She's my physic advisor, like I've told you a million times before. We're here to get our palms read."
"I know that, but-"
"Children, do not keep the spirits waiting!" called Madame Wutchanikioumfor called from the backroom. Chandler raised his eyebrows, but Phoebe looked worried and quickly dragged her rather unwilling friend past the curtain.
----
Oh. My. God.
These three words flew through Chandler's head as he entered the backroom. A single bare bulb hung from a rusty silver chain directly above a small table in the center of the cramped room. Madame Wutchanikioumfor sat on one side of an old chipped table in a chair so ancient Chandler was fairly certain his parents hadn't even been alive when it had been made. Two chairs, each of the same design but newer-looking, rested on the other side of the table. On the table was a glowing crystal ball.
As he and Phoebe approached the chairs, Chandler looked around the room. Every square inch of the walls were plastered with newspaper clippings; one, he saw, was from the previous day's USA Today; he shivered as he saw a clipping about the first moon landing.
Resting in the unexpectedly comfortable chairs, he looked up at Madame Wutchanikioumfor, waiting for her to say something. Instead, she stared right back at him, her bright green eyes (hadn't they been brown just a moment before?) boring holes into his face. Finally, she reached out her right hand, palm up, and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give me your hand, dear."
Chandler obeyed immediately, feeling slightly nervous. He placed his left hand on the table, palm facing up. The physic advisor bent her head over it, inspecting it carefully, her long, sharp fingers poking at it every once in a while. Eventually, she looked up and pointed to the longest line on Chandler's hand, "You have a friend, a woman friend, by the name of Rachel Green?"
He nodded, "What about her?"
With a sad smile in his direction, Madame Wutchanikioumfor replied sorrowfully, "I believe that you will die at her hands."
"I'll- I'll what!"
Chandler made half an effort to get out of his chair, but Phoebe pushed him back down, hissing, "Listen to the rest of it!"
He sent her a frustrated look and placed his hand back on the table. Madame Wutchanikioumfor acted as though nothing and traced a short line near his thumb. "This line here tells me you are happy right now, because of a particular love interest, one who goes by a name I will speak, as you wish me not to…"
Her voice drifted off for a moment and Chandler felt a nervous flush creeping up the back of his neck as Phoebe stared at him in shock. The physic advisor, however, appeared not to notice this and continued on:
"But you are in luck… this relationship with this woman will last, and you will remain happy, for I see…"
Madame Wutchanikioumfor frowned, bent closer to his hand, and then nodded in understanding.
"Fields of daffodils and bunnies in your future."
"What?" The word was out of Chandler's mouth before he could stop it. Then, three other words followed. "Crazy. You're crazy."
He stood, this time not stopped by Phoebe; Madame Wutchanikioumfor's head snapped up, "You are leaving so soon?"
An insane notion to yell came into Chandler's head as he nodded frantically, rushing out of the backroom, his head spinning. How had she known about Monica? And what the hell did she mean by fields of daffodils, bunnies, and the fact that he'd die at Rachel's hands? He pushed the sapphire curtain to the side, striding into the dimly lit room with the painting of the naked woman.
The woman must have been partly fraud to say Rachel would kill him; that was just ridiculous. He didn't live in a soap opera, after all.
But what really bothered him, what had made him jump up and leave the room, was not the fact that she'd predicted his death, but the fact that she'd told him, quite plainly (well, minus the whole 'bunnies and daffodils' part), that he and Monica would work out. They'd last.
A grin appeared on Chandler's boyish features as he heard Phoebe approach him from the backroom. Yes, it was rather stunning to be told he was going to be killed by one of his best friends. In fact, it was almost believable compared to the news that he, apparently, would be spending the rest of his life with Monica Geller- and didn't mind that idea one bit.
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I warned you it was random! But no, you did not listen.
A shout-out to Corina's story, "Consider the Bunnies", was in there… -grins- ooh yay!
So yeah… so go to London time, and also check out livejournal dot com slash community slash (underscore)thewritersblok. And then review.