Author

Author's Note: Um. So starts the sequel. Not long-awaited, not anticipated, probably not appreciated, but, oh, here it is. Have fun, dear readers.

Maybe I'm Twisted, 2
by "Twisted" Rey

Chapter 1 - New Time, New Place
"Dude, where's my house?"

The night was calm, and peaceful, the air was mostly still, with a slight breeze gusting through every once in a while. Quite like the night when Buttercup had taken it upon herself to recreate the Rowdyruff Boys. But this night was different. In more than one aspect, indeed.

Blossom, Bubbles, and Boomer reclined on the floor. Transfixed by the television, they were peaceful, as was the Professor in the next room, calmly doing his work. But it was a completely different story on the couch.

Butch was sandwiched between Brick and Buttercup, in the crack between the pillows. As if it wasn't bad enough to be crammed between two 'lovebirds,', they were carrying a heated argument out over him.

"Pineapple!" snapped Brick, snubbing his non-existent nose, eyes narrowed like a cat's, as if he were looking for a fight.

"BEEF!" Buttercup stomped on the couch, now standing up on the couch precariously, attempting to maintain her balance.

"You know what?" Butch muttered defiantly, thoroughly sick of their arguing, "I'd like spaghetti."

There was a deadly silence in the room, except for the rambling of the television. Brick and Buttercup, both incensed, turned their eyes from each other down to him. Butch crossed his arms rebelliously, keeping his eyes on the screen.

After a while of glaring at each other in silence, anger got the better of Buttercup. "Beef," she said mutinously, as if daring Brick to take up her unspoken challenge.

"Pineapple!" Brick roared, jumping at her, stepping on Butch in the process. They tussled on the couch, using it - and Butch - as a wrestling mat. He was battered and beaten quiet violently, and one of the two fighters even came upon the notion to grab his hair and yank. After a few moments, his temper wore down.

"Get the F_CK off me!" Butch screamed, forcefully grabbing the both of them and throwing them on the floor. He shot off the couch and up the stairs, the green trail lingering for but hardly an instant before fading away.

Buttercup, tangled in a heap with Brick, could only look up dazedly as the Professor came rushing into the TV room.

"What, what is it? What happened here?" He said worriedly, looking down at them.

Absently, Blossom replied, "Buttercup an' Brick were messing around and they made him upset."

The Professor frowned slightly. "Oh. Well... okay," he said, and spun on his heel quickly to return to his work. It's probably nothing serious.

"Argh. I'm mad. I shouldn't be so mad, but I'm mad anyway. I'm mad at them. Why do they have to fight? I want spaghetti," Butch glared at the mirror on the closet in the boys' room.

Their room had been set up just down the hall from the girls', but it was nothing like theirs. Like the girls would have fanatically collected more stuffed toys, the boys accumulated their own type of junk. Books on the art of war and tactics, computer games for the PC downstairs, model fighter jets, Pokémon... Enough to keep them occupied, at least, and out of trouble. It was furnished quite like the girls' room as well, though the boys had their own seperate beds. When the Professor had been asked why, he had simply said because boys sleep better that way, and they had agreed on that point.

A bookshelf stood by Brick's bed, Butch and Boomer sharing a nightstand. Posters covered much of the walls. Brick preferred pictures of medieval weapons, swords of all types, maces, axes, daggers, spears. Boomer's section of the wall had been plastered with pictures of wizards and dragons and mythical creatures. Butch strolled to his own posters and pictures; running his hand almost lovingly over the enlarged photograph of the AK-47 and the M5, gazing up at the tanks and fighter jets with pride.

After a while, he returned to his bed. His anger had been put off for those few moments and now it returned in full force. How dare they! How... how... He yawned. Perhaps this was a bad time to get angry. He knew he was getting tired, and he could feel it, too, so he went to get washed up in the bathroom across from their door.

Washed up and in his green pajamas, Butch muttered as he switched off the light, crawling into bed early. He wasn't that hungry, anyway, so they could enjoy their pizza. Or whatever they were having for dinner.

What seemed like ages and ages later, Butch woke up from his dead sleep. He slowly cracked open an eye, bringing a hand up to rub the other one.

"Hunnh..." He grumbled to himself, sitting up slowly. "Hey Brick, I -"

Butch stopped dead. Something was wrong, very wrong.

His brothers weren't there. Their beds weren't there. This wasn't his room. And if he was right, this wasn't his house, either. He hovered out of bed, and was relieved to see he could still fly. He looked down at his hands. They... they looked old, somehow. Leaving his bed unmade, he streaked out of the room, looking for his own bathroom. And more importantly, a mirror.

He found it quite easily, and, gazing into the mirror, what he saw was not Butch.

Rather, not the Butch he knew, not the Butch he was. Staring back from that reflection was a tall, lanky young man, with scruffy black hair and large green eyes, and his face was flushed. He wore just a pair of pajama pants.

Butch stared for a few moments more, and screamed.

His voice, too, came out very different indeed. It was deeper, and more mature-sounding. Not that he would ever be mature, though. And it had an intimidating ring to it. The kind of voice that no one would want to disagree with.

Closing his mouth quickly, he lifted a hand to feel his chin. Stubble. Alright, well... Something was going on here, but he knew he had to deal with it. Calmly, if at all possible. He began to wash up, grabbing the tube of toothpaste and squeezing it onto the toothbrush. As he brushed, frenzied thoughts rushed through his head. What was going on here?

He rinsed, and spat into the sink, before washing his face. He was about to leave the bathroom and get changed - when he found the closet - but remember the stubble on his chin.

What came next was indescribable, but Butch exited the bathroom with several cuts on his face. He needed to get the hang of that shaving thing, definitely.

Once dressed, he found the stairs down to the first floor - apparently there were only two rooms on the second floor, his bedroom and the bathroom - and hovered downstairs. He moved through the living room slowly, orientating himself, and entered the small, but workable kitchen. Just as he began to make breakfast, still thinking hard, the phone - he had a phone in the kitchen? - began to ring. Setting down the toast he had buttered next to his fried eggs, he streaked for the phone and picked it up before the second ring was over.

"Hello?" He said, slightly nervous.

The voice that replied was very, very familiar. "Hey Butch, my man! Sup? This's Brick, if you haven't realized. How's the single life?"

Brick? Maybe he's like me! Lost... like me... "Um... it's okay. How's Buttercup?"

There was a silence on the other end of the line. "...Jeez, have you been drinking again? We lost contact with her a few years back. If you will recall."

Butch's heart sank. "Oh, um, yeah. I don't know, I'm feeling kinda woozy. Hangover," He fabricated. "Remind me about our history."

He could almost imagine the bemused expression on Brick's face. "What you going on about? ..Well, if you insist. We're in the UK, in case you've forgotten that too," Brick said sarcastically. As he couldn't see Butch's mouth drop open, he continued. "And... dunno where Blossom is. Who cares? Boomer's in the states, still. Working there. Yeah, that's about it. Hey, and in case you've forgotten your job as well, you're a cop, a'ight? Now enough of that. You free over there? I'm bored sh_tless here."

"Um... Um, yeah," Butch said, attempting to swallow his stomach, which was trying to climb up his throat. "What you want to come over for?"

"Bring my new girlfriend, show her off to you, poor single dope. Tall, willowy blonde chick, you remember Bubbles, don't you?"

This time, Butch couldn't swallow his shock. "Wha - what? Bubbles?" But... I like Bubbles! ..and... wait... Buttercup... ...

There was an audible sigh. "Yeah, Bubbles. We'll be over in a bit, okay?" Click.

Butch frowned, hanging up the phone. But before he could return to his breakfast, which was already getting cold, the phone rang again. With an even deeper frown and a growl surfacing in his throat, he answered.

"Yo," he said deeply.

The voice that replied was unfamiliar, with a slight British twang to it. "Hey, Butch. It's me, Robin." Robin? "I understand it's a weekend and sh_t, so I won't be bothering you much, but we got a job coming up soon. Sure hope you're up to it, we're going for the Smiths." Without bothering to wait for an answer, the other line went dead.

Butch slammed the phone back down, and bumped his head against the cupboard, sighing. Before he could do anything to fix his problem, he had to get used to this new life. And it looked like it was going to be dead difficult getting used to this.

Rey: Um... so how was it? For a sequel beginning? Hm? Hm? HMMM?! Reviews, puh-leez. I beg of you.