Four Feathers by DJ666
Aha! My triumphant return to ff.net! *no one cares* Um, anyway, one day (post-Meteor) ma main man Vinny is surfing the net when he stumbles across a Yuffentine on FF.net.and proceeds to go on a quest to kill the kid who wrote it.
Content: Swearing, I think. Some crude humor. No sex.yet (BWAHAHAHA!!!).
Disclaimer: I am God, and therefor DO own these characters.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Chapter One: When Cheese Goes Bad
"Just a sec!" yelled Yuffie to whoever was knocking at the door of her humble abode. She tried desperately to get her chin into her attacker's elbow, to slip out of the headlock, but to no avail - the fist came down swiftly onto her noggin.
"Noogies!" cried Godo, grinding his knuckles against his daughter's cranium with unnecessary force. He laughed aloud like a two-year-old before releasing the girl and standing briskly. "I win again, Yuffie. Again! Why is it that you could only beat me the once, in the pagoda?"
The teen muttered darkly. "Because Chekhov had you rustier than that nail I tried to poison you with last month."
"What?"
"Nuthin'," Yuffie insisted. She groaned lightly, rubbing her back. "You know, traditional sumo does not include noogies."
"Yeah, but what's the fun of running around in a humongous thong without getting to doubly humiliate your offspring?" Godo pointed out. "Just be glad we didn't do this in public." The other grimaced at the memory of the time they *had* grappled in public. She'd ended up breathless, bloody, sweaty, and rather overexposed.
Pulling the material of his belt out of his butt, Godo sprang from the room with surprising quickness. His daughter, still shaking her head to clear it from the residual nooginess, strode slowly to the door. She slid it open to find -
"Vinnie?"
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Vincent Valentine stood hesitantly before the Kisaragi Mansion. He was hungry, he was thirsty, he was hot, he was tired, and he had a wedgie that threatened to protrude from his lips if it advanced any further up his rectum. He had trekked a considerable distance across the continent to come here, and now he hadn't the courage to venture within.
"Come on!" wheedled Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve. "OPEN THEY DOOR!!" Bob yelled, obviously distraught.
Vincent's eye twitched. Must . . . endure . . . incest-bred hicks . . .
"Vince, open the door!"
"All RIGHT!" he snarled, whipping about with Death Penalty clutched with a white-knuckle grip in his human hand. "If you don't both SHUT UP, I SWEAR I will TEAR your scrotums from your groins and use them to SMOTHER you while you CHOKE on your own testicles. I am REALLY in a BAD MOOD right now so just QUIT IT. I am TRYING to reach Yuffie, but can NOT simply call her on a WHIM as YOU would have me do." He spoke with the voice of the devil himself:
"CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALM DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWN!"
"Oh," Bob said. "Yeah," said Steve. There was dangerous glint in Vincent's eyes. The glint of a man driven to the edge of insanity in an '84 Dodge pickup and then dragged back by a pair of muscle-bound bimbos name Bob and Steve. "She's not coming," Bob pointed out.
"Yeah," said Steve.
Bob and Steve collectively became somewhat akin to red Jell-O as Death Penalty flashed to life. Vincent found himself standing before Yuffie's door with two piles of a gelatinous dessert and an empty rifle. He felt something warm dripping down his face, and wiped it off with his cloak - blood tends not to show up on scarlet cloth. Then, he knocked.
"Just a sec!" he heard from within, accompanied by several grunts, shouts, and what sounded conspicuously like 'cookies'.
Ooh! Cookies! thought Vincent. His culinary fantasies were abruptly dashed when the door slid open. He could not smell any cookies; he could smell sweat, what may have been some very bad cheese, and maybe some blood; what he saw captivated him.
Yuffie, standing in her doorway, coated in sweat, her hair tactfully disheveled and her lithe figure wrapped in a tasteful two-piece sumo outfit.
"Vinnie?" she inquired, puzzled by his presence.
"Hello, Yuffie," he greeted her, cool and calm, as always.
"Ew! What's that smell?" The ninja pinched her nostrils shut. "Something smells like a dead body!"
Vincent kicked Bob's corpse out of sight. "I am not sure," he lied quietly. "Might I come in, away from the stink?"
"Sure," Yuffie said, turning away from the door and leaving at open for her companion to enter. The dark-robed rifleman holstered his weapon and swept himself within, shutting the portal behind him in a single swift turn. He lowered his gaze to the floor and followed Yuffie's smooth, tanned legs wherever they would take him.
It ended up being the kitchen. His guide knelt before a Wutaian table and opened a small jar. "Cookie?" she offered.
I knew it! Vincent thought privately, with some satisfaction. He silently plucked the pastry from his hostess' outstretched hand and consumed it voraciously. "May I have a drink?" he inquired. Yuffie nodded: "Sure. Just watch out when you open the fridge . . . I think the cheese went bad."
Vincent realized with sudden panic that the stench of the Steve steaks that he'd left smoking outside the residence had stuck to him like dingleberries on a bison's butt hair. He frowned, irked greatly by this unfortunate turn of events, and decided to simply go with the flow. "That is some very stinky cheese," he agreed as he plucked a beer or six from the refrigerator. Using his metal claw, he tore apart the tin cans and drained the fluid within.
"Thirsty?" Yuffie asked sarcastically.
Vincent nodded, grabbing one of The Cat Lady's feline fellas and drinking its blood. "Dude, that's cold," Yuffie remarked. The gunman agreed, licking his lips. "I know. I was always sure that cats were warm-blooded, but it chills so fast anyway. It feels so good when you've just come in from a long journey."
"A long journey?" asked Godo, dropping down from the ceiling in front of Vincent. The cloaked visitor grabbed the man by his neck and put his foot down his throat. When he realized it was Yuffie's father, he tried to shove it down farther, but to no avail; Godo popped it off, swallowed it, and replaced it. With what appeared to be a vibrating dildo.
"DAD, WHERE'D YOU GET THAT?!" shouted Yuffie in alarm. She grabbed the improvised prosthesis and put it - in a safe place. Every inch of exposed flesh (which, when one is wearing a female fundoshi, accounts for approximately 98.274% of one's body) blushed a furious red, instantly reminding Vincent of the mutilated carrion sitting in the hedges of the Kisaragis' house.
"So," began Godo once again, duct-taping a gargantuan carrot to his hip, "you were talking about a long journey?"
"Yeah," Yuffie jumped in, "what long journey? Why are you here?"
Vincent sat down in a chair, pondering his precarious predicament while squeezing the drops of Steve and Bob's blood into his mouth. He licked his lips, considering seriously. He began to reminisce . . .
***** ***** ***** *****
*****
"Whoa," said Bob. "She is HOT!"
"Yeah!" said Steve.
They were agonizing over a 56k modem that connected like a 28.8 due to the excessive crapiness of the Windows v1.2 that Bob had dragged onto the scaffolding surrounding the yet-to-be-built Strife Mansion, a kind of harem filled with women bearing bosoms the size of a guy's head when he sees the size of those bosoms.
The building was being constructed with four wings, splayed out like an X on the premises. Surrounding the entrance was a garden full of beautiful foliage that was just coming into season as the spring rolled around. In the back of the house was a considerably large circular in-ground pool. Leading up to the house, through the garden, was a long road leading from Midgar's Main Street and into the governor's house. When viewed from a helicopter, several perceptive psychoanalysts had noticed, the Mansion looked like a man with a schmuck like a sonuvabitch.
Bob and Steve were reclining in the genital region of the governor. I mean, the governor's mansion. Their lunch break had crept up on them like a stoned monkey on a mango. Bob, in his considerable wisdom, had had the foresight to bring some kind of entertainment during those boring periods from nine to five when you've got nothing to do. They were doing what bored guys do best, which I shall tastefully call (in order to cater to the needs of our more sensitive readers) "whacking off to a video of a sixteen-year- old Yuffie shoving whatever happens to be lying around (fruit, cookies, her webcam, her girlfriend's *spare* hand [0_o]) into a certain bodily orifice before pulling it out, relocating it to Wutai's second most popular tourist attraction, and licking it clean afterwards". Bob was enjoying this very much. "This is awesome!" said Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve. They continued with their carnal delights.
Now, it happens that they are on a scaffold. And scaffolding tends to be pretty flimsy. And the Strife Mansion was not exactly, as we say, "able to withstand a light breeze from the mouth of a wailing two-year-old". So as the boys were doin' somethin' a-shockin', that scaffold went a-rockin'. The scaffold crushed Cloud Strife's groin-to-be.
In a catastrophe of remarkable anatomical physics, the scaffold struck Strife square in the balls. This caused his legs to buckle, as wings one and two, nearest the impact, collapsed. The connecting piece in the center of it all, Cloud's muscular torso, hit the deck as its supports fell out from under it. The arms flailed about unsteadily before dropping like hot potatoes. And by fabulous chance, at that moment a black hole flung out a gamma ray, through the sun, which picked up large amounts of heat energy and several unhealthy quantities of plasma. This energy death ray-ball of doom hurtled toward the earth, bits of it flinging off into space before it was small enough to destroy one significantly large object: Cloud Strife's swimming pool. In half a second, four hundred billion gallons of water became a rather immense cloud of steam.
Vincent was head of the building project. He had said, Cloud, I neither require nor desire an occupation as your slave labor. Cloud hadn't listened. Vincent was at work every day. He was standing by when Bob and Steve's jack-off extravaganza destroyed the mansion-in-building. He was crushed, by a voluminous marble pillar.
"That's gotta hurt," said Bob.
"Yeah," said Steve.
With outstanding pain, Vincent was wrenched from beneath the obelisk. He stood up, brushed himself off, and at once got to work:
"How did that just happen?" he asked, not angry at all. He was a man who had once said, "It's not so much what you're doing as the idiotic way that you're doing it." He got angry at idiots. So he was not angry until he knew, for sure, that idiocy had caused this problem.
At which point he would go completely insane, tearing the culprits to shreds with his razor-sharp teeth and talons, consuming them still-alive and writhing, forcing them into his gullet, making them feel themselves being digested by his stomach acids. And all that good stuff.
"Sorry about that," said Bob.
"Yeah," said Steve.
"You caused this incident?" Vincent inquired softly. Bob and Steve nodded slowly. "We did," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "Show me," requested the shadowy foreman. He, Bob and Steve navigated through the rubble to find Bob's PC. It was showing Yuffie. And what appeared to be several midgets, a donkey, and a humanoid figure wearing a novelty penis costume. Vincent covered his face as his eyes started tearing, and as he turned away in disgust he managed to upset the computer and smash it on the ground.
Must wash eyes, cleanse eyes, thought Vincent. Can't use holy water - holy water burns. Wait . . . must burn out eyes! No! Must burn out idiots' eyes!
The gunman spun about, facing Bob and Steve. "We're really sorry," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "I don't care," said Vincent. He sat them down, told them to pull up their pants, as their ass-cracks were showing. A passerby helpfully warned the pair, "Hold onto yer hard hats, boys."
Vincent, pacing back and forth, addressed the two morons without looking at them. "Let me get this straight. You were both, when you were supposed to be checking the structural integrity of the joints of wings one and two with the main body, masturbating, while watching a recording of one of my . . . friends (Vincent shuddered imperceptibly) engaged in some private, personal and illicit activities. Due to the extremities of your pleasure, you caused your scaffold to topple into the weak wall which you were assigned to fix, thus causing the destruction of nearly a year's work. Is that right?"
Bob and Steve were smiling broadly, bobbing their heads up and down. Vincent wondered how they could have smoked that much hashish in the time frame of his tiny oration. "That's right!" said Bob, gleeful. "Yeah!" said Steve. And then Bob practically exploded.
"YOU KNOW YUFFIE KISARAGI???"
"YEAH?" said Steve.
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I do know her. Why do you ask?"
"Because she's like, the most famous Wutaian porn star EVER!" explained Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. Bob continued: "She's our favorite model in the entire catalogue. Haven't you seen any of her work?" "Yeah?" said Steve.
"No, I have not - " began Vincent. However, he was abruptly interrupted by Bob. The worker began listing some rather interesting pornographic films which apparently starred the young girl whom his foreman had had the displeasure of meeting in person. "She was in Good Will Humping, Shaving Ryan's Privates, Edward Penishands, Freed Willies, Dikes in Debauchery, Who's Sucking Gilbert's Grapes?, The Dickless Horseman, The Blair Bitch 2: Book of Horny Widows - "
"That is enough," Vincent insisted, coming dangerously close to blushing for the first time in his life. "I have a few, if you'd like to watch," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "No thank you," replied the foreman. "I'd rather not watch any of Miss Kasaragi's sexual exploits, considering that it was they that caused the collapsed of our beloved mansion-in-progress."
"About that," interrupted Bob. "I was wondering, considering that you know the Clitsucking Kisaragi herself - " Vincent swallowed hard, a light sweat beading on his brow. " - if we repaired what we did, in say, TWO DAYS, could you take us and a few friends to meet her?"
"Yeah?" said Bob.
Vincent considered this. He could derive certain and immediate pleasure from messily eviscerating these morons where they sat and hanging their bloody corpses from two stakes in front of Cloud's mansion as a kind of welcome-home gift. Or, he could let these idiots go on with their stupid plan and derive certainly no pleasure from, in the unlikely event that they succeeded, dragging them across a continent or two to Wutai . . . and then, ostensibly, back.
Vincent was tired. Vincent had just been struck by a pillar. Vincent was very pissed off. Vincent said, "Fine. If you can rebuild the mansion in two days, I'll take you to - "
"And our friends!" said Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve.
"Right, you and your friends to meet Miss Kisaragi." Bob and Steve did a secret handshake. Then, they left, jumped into a car, and sped away. A minute later, they came back, grabbed the broken computer, dumped it in their trunk, and sped away once again.
I'm an idiot, thought Vincent.
That night, Bob and Steve posted a message online: TO ANYONE WHO HAS SEEN YUFFIE KISARAGI NAKED IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM - SEE HER AGAIN, IN PERSON. COME TO THE SITE OF THE STRIFE MANSION FOR A DAY OF FUN AND BUILDING. The message went out.
The next day, everyone who'd seen Yuffie Kisaragi in naked in any way, shape or form showed up at the site. All four million, two hundred fifty- six thousand, nine hundred ninety-one of them.
Reports claim that Tifa Lockheart, now Tifa Strife, was among those present.
Cloud came with Marlene. Marlene had an ice cream cone. Before that ice cream had melted, the mansion was done. Cloud was very happy. Marlene was not. Her ice cream had melted.
Vincent was horrified. He had to take these idiots to see Yuffie.
It was slow going. One by one, they all died. Except Bob and Steve. "Boy, this is hard," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. They got to Yuffie's house. And Vincent shot them.
***** ***** ***** *****
*****
Yuffie drummed her manicured nails on her table. For the last forty-five minutes, she and her father had sat there, watching Vincent lick his cape and ponder something deeply. When he came to, he looked about himself, realized what was going on, and asked:
"Got anything else to drink?"
"No," said Godo. "You emptied our fridge. You drank all our rainwater. You drank the koi pond, and the fish in it, too."
"Oh. I am sorry."
"I'm sure."
"So . . ." said Yuffie tentatively, "why is it again that you're here? You said you came on a long journey?" Gawd, she thought, he's even more out of it than usual.
Vincent's eyes shifted rapidly from side to side. Finally, he sighed deeply and announced, "Red was attacked by a Gi sympathizer. He was in the hospital for a day and can't remember anything about it. But he's up and about now. I just - thought you might like to know."
"Oh," said Godo. "I'll send him a fruit basket."
"No, that wouldn't be a good idea," said Vincent quickly. Yuffie cocked an eyebrow. "He was knocked out with a pineapple, you see. So whenever he catches sight of fruit, he goes temporarily insane and kills people."
"That's so not cool," murmured Yuffie. "And that cheese is really stinking."
"Yes," agreed Godo, "I think we need to get rid of that."
Vincent realized that he was seriously stinking up the Kisaragi household with dead-body stench, so he rushed to the refrigerator, grabbed the cheese, and said, "Not to worry. Soon the smell shall be gone." Then he flew from the house, and roughly placed the cheese (and himself) in the Wutai River. He returned, dripping wet but nodding calmly.
"Now it'll smell all right in this town."
********** ************ **************** ***************** **************** *********
Well, that's chapter one. Please R&R. Some perceptive readers might notice that it's a play on Mark Twain's "The Invalid's Story", where two guys think that the stench of some cheese is actually the stench of a decaying corpse - except I switched it around. That last line is actually, to a certain extent, a reference to the movie Yojimbo with Toshiro Mifune, when he says, "Now it'll be quiet in this town."
I just realized that the evil fanfic that makes Vincent go on the quest in the story still hasn't appeared. Whoops.
Aha! My triumphant return to ff.net! *no one cares* Um, anyway, one day (post-Meteor) ma main man Vinny is surfing the net when he stumbles across a Yuffentine on FF.net.and proceeds to go on a quest to kill the kid who wrote it.
Content: Swearing, I think. Some crude humor. No sex.yet (BWAHAHAHA!!!).
Disclaimer: I am God, and therefor DO own these characters.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Chapter One: When Cheese Goes Bad
"Just a sec!" yelled Yuffie to whoever was knocking at the door of her humble abode. She tried desperately to get her chin into her attacker's elbow, to slip out of the headlock, but to no avail - the fist came down swiftly onto her noggin.
"Noogies!" cried Godo, grinding his knuckles against his daughter's cranium with unnecessary force. He laughed aloud like a two-year-old before releasing the girl and standing briskly. "I win again, Yuffie. Again! Why is it that you could only beat me the once, in the pagoda?"
The teen muttered darkly. "Because Chekhov had you rustier than that nail I tried to poison you with last month."
"What?"
"Nuthin'," Yuffie insisted. She groaned lightly, rubbing her back. "You know, traditional sumo does not include noogies."
"Yeah, but what's the fun of running around in a humongous thong without getting to doubly humiliate your offspring?" Godo pointed out. "Just be glad we didn't do this in public." The other grimaced at the memory of the time they *had* grappled in public. She'd ended up breathless, bloody, sweaty, and rather overexposed.
Pulling the material of his belt out of his butt, Godo sprang from the room with surprising quickness. His daughter, still shaking her head to clear it from the residual nooginess, strode slowly to the door. She slid it open to find -
"Vinnie?"
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Vincent Valentine stood hesitantly before the Kisaragi Mansion. He was hungry, he was thirsty, he was hot, he was tired, and he had a wedgie that threatened to protrude from his lips if it advanced any further up his rectum. He had trekked a considerable distance across the continent to come here, and now he hadn't the courage to venture within.
"Come on!" wheedled Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve. "OPEN THEY DOOR!!" Bob yelled, obviously distraught.
Vincent's eye twitched. Must . . . endure . . . incest-bred hicks . . .
"Vince, open the door!"
"All RIGHT!" he snarled, whipping about with Death Penalty clutched with a white-knuckle grip in his human hand. "If you don't both SHUT UP, I SWEAR I will TEAR your scrotums from your groins and use them to SMOTHER you while you CHOKE on your own testicles. I am REALLY in a BAD MOOD right now so just QUIT IT. I am TRYING to reach Yuffie, but can NOT simply call her on a WHIM as YOU would have me do." He spoke with the voice of the devil himself:
"CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALM DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWN!"
"Oh," Bob said. "Yeah," said Steve. There was dangerous glint in Vincent's eyes. The glint of a man driven to the edge of insanity in an '84 Dodge pickup and then dragged back by a pair of muscle-bound bimbos name Bob and Steve. "She's not coming," Bob pointed out.
"Yeah," said Steve.
Bob and Steve collectively became somewhat akin to red Jell-O as Death Penalty flashed to life. Vincent found himself standing before Yuffie's door with two piles of a gelatinous dessert and an empty rifle. He felt something warm dripping down his face, and wiped it off with his cloak - blood tends not to show up on scarlet cloth. Then, he knocked.
"Just a sec!" he heard from within, accompanied by several grunts, shouts, and what sounded conspicuously like 'cookies'.
Ooh! Cookies! thought Vincent. His culinary fantasies were abruptly dashed when the door slid open. He could not smell any cookies; he could smell sweat, what may have been some very bad cheese, and maybe some blood; what he saw captivated him.
Yuffie, standing in her doorway, coated in sweat, her hair tactfully disheveled and her lithe figure wrapped in a tasteful two-piece sumo outfit.
"Vinnie?" she inquired, puzzled by his presence.
"Hello, Yuffie," he greeted her, cool and calm, as always.
"Ew! What's that smell?" The ninja pinched her nostrils shut. "Something smells like a dead body!"
Vincent kicked Bob's corpse out of sight. "I am not sure," he lied quietly. "Might I come in, away from the stink?"
"Sure," Yuffie said, turning away from the door and leaving at open for her companion to enter. The dark-robed rifleman holstered his weapon and swept himself within, shutting the portal behind him in a single swift turn. He lowered his gaze to the floor and followed Yuffie's smooth, tanned legs wherever they would take him.
It ended up being the kitchen. His guide knelt before a Wutaian table and opened a small jar. "Cookie?" she offered.
I knew it! Vincent thought privately, with some satisfaction. He silently plucked the pastry from his hostess' outstretched hand and consumed it voraciously. "May I have a drink?" he inquired. Yuffie nodded: "Sure. Just watch out when you open the fridge . . . I think the cheese went bad."
Vincent realized with sudden panic that the stench of the Steve steaks that he'd left smoking outside the residence had stuck to him like dingleberries on a bison's butt hair. He frowned, irked greatly by this unfortunate turn of events, and decided to simply go with the flow. "That is some very stinky cheese," he agreed as he plucked a beer or six from the refrigerator. Using his metal claw, he tore apart the tin cans and drained the fluid within.
"Thirsty?" Yuffie asked sarcastically.
Vincent nodded, grabbing one of The Cat Lady's feline fellas and drinking its blood. "Dude, that's cold," Yuffie remarked. The gunman agreed, licking his lips. "I know. I was always sure that cats were warm-blooded, but it chills so fast anyway. It feels so good when you've just come in from a long journey."
"A long journey?" asked Godo, dropping down from the ceiling in front of Vincent. The cloaked visitor grabbed the man by his neck and put his foot down his throat. When he realized it was Yuffie's father, he tried to shove it down farther, but to no avail; Godo popped it off, swallowed it, and replaced it. With what appeared to be a vibrating dildo.
"DAD, WHERE'D YOU GET THAT?!" shouted Yuffie in alarm. She grabbed the improvised prosthesis and put it - in a safe place. Every inch of exposed flesh (which, when one is wearing a female fundoshi, accounts for approximately 98.274% of one's body) blushed a furious red, instantly reminding Vincent of the mutilated carrion sitting in the hedges of the Kisaragis' house.
"So," began Godo once again, duct-taping a gargantuan carrot to his hip, "you were talking about a long journey?"
"Yeah," Yuffie jumped in, "what long journey? Why are you here?"
Vincent sat down in a chair, pondering his precarious predicament while squeezing the drops of Steve and Bob's blood into his mouth. He licked his lips, considering seriously. He began to reminisce . . .
***** ***** ***** *****
*****
"Whoa," said Bob. "She is HOT!"
"Yeah!" said Steve.
They were agonizing over a 56k modem that connected like a 28.8 due to the excessive crapiness of the Windows v1.2 that Bob had dragged onto the scaffolding surrounding the yet-to-be-built Strife Mansion, a kind of harem filled with women bearing bosoms the size of a guy's head when he sees the size of those bosoms.
The building was being constructed with four wings, splayed out like an X on the premises. Surrounding the entrance was a garden full of beautiful foliage that was just coming into season as the spring rolled around. In the back of the house was a considerably large circular in-ground pool. Leading up to the house, through the garden, was a long road leading from Midgar's Main Street and into the governor's house. When viewed from a helicopter, several perceptive psychoanalysts had noticed, the Mansion looked like a man with a schmuck like a sonuvabitch.
Bob and Steve were reclining in the genital region of the governor. I mean, the governor's mansion. Their lunch break had crept up on them like a stoned monkey on a mango. Bob, in his considerable wisdom, had had the foresight to bring some kind of entertainment during those boring periods from nine to five when you've got nothing to do. They were doing what bored guys do best, which I shall tastefully call (in order to cater to the needs of our more sensitive readers) "whacking off to a video of a sixteen-year- old Yuffie shoving whatever happens to be lying around (fruit, cookies, her webcam, her girlfriend's *spare* hand [0_o]) into a certain bodily orifice before pulling it out, relocating it to Wutai's second most popular tourist attraction, and licking it clean afterwards". Bob was enjoying this very much. "This is awesome!" said Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve. They continued with their carnal delights.
Now, it happens that they are on a scaffold. And scaffolding tends to be pretty flimsy. And the Strife Mansion was not exactly, as we say, "able to withstand a light breeze from the mouth of a wailing two-year-old". So as the boys were doin' somethin' a-shockin', that scaffold went a-rockin'. The scaffold crushed Cloud Strife's groin-to-be.
In a catastrophe of remarkable anatomical physics, the scaffold struck Strife square in the balls. This caused his legs to buckle, as wings one and two, nearest the impact, collapsed. The connecting piece in the center of it all, Cloud's muscular torso, hit the deck as its supports fell out from under it. The arms flailed about unsteadily before dropping like hot potatoes. And by fabulous chance, at that moment a black hole flung out a gamma ray, through the sun, which picked up large amounts of heat energy and several unhealthy quantities of plasma. This energy death ray-ball of doom hurtled toward the earth, bits of it flinging off into space before it was small enough to destroy one significantly large object: Cloud Strife's swimming pool. In half a second, four hundred billion gallons of water became a rather immense cloud of steam.
Vincent was head of the building project. He had said, Cloud, I neither require nor desire an occupation as your slave labor. Cloud hadn't listened. Vincent was at work every day. He was standing by when Bob and Steve's jack-off extravaganza destroyed the mansion-in-building. He was crushed, by a voluminous marble pillar.
"That's gotta hurt," said Bob.
"Yeah," said Steve.
With outstanding pain, Vincent was wrenched from beneath the obelisk. He stood up, brushed himself off, and at once got to work:
"How did that just happen?" he asked, not angry at all. He was a man who had once said, "It's not so much what you're doing as the idiotic way that you're doing it." He got angry at idiots. So he was not angry until he knew, for sure, that idiocy had caused this problem.
At which point he would go completely insane, tearing the culprits to shreds with his razor-sharp teeth and talons, consuming them still-alive and writhing, forcing them into his gullet, making them feel themselves being digested by his stomach acids. And all that good stuff.
"Sorry about that," said Bob.
"Yeah," said Steve.
"You caused this incident?" Vincent inquired softly. Bob and Steve nodded slowly. "We did," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "Show me," requested the shadowy foreman. He, Bob and Steve navigated through the rubble to find Bob's PC. It was showing Yuffie. And what appeared to be several midgets, a donkey, and a humanoid figure wearing a novelty penis costume. Vincent covered his face as his eyes started tearing, and as he turned away in disgust he managed to upset the computer and smash it on the ground.
Must wash eyes, cleanse eyes, thought Vincent. Can't use holy water - holy water burns. Wait . . . must burn out eyes! No! Must burn out idiots' eyes!
The gunman spun about, facing Bob and Steve. "We're really sorry," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "I don't care," said Vincent. He sat them down, told them to pull up their pants, as their ass-cracks were showing. A passerby helpfully warned the pair, "Hold onto yer hard hats, boys."
Vincent, pacing back and forth, addressed the two morons without looking at them. "Let me get this straight. You were both, when you were supposed to be checking the structural integrity of the joints of wings one and two with the main body, masturbating, while watching a recording of one of my . . . friends (Vincent shuddered imperceptibly) engaged in some private, personal and illicit activities. Due to the extremities of your pleasure, you caused your scaffold to topple into the weak wall which you were assigned to fix, thus causing the destruction of nearly a year's work. Is that right?"
Bob and Steve were smiling broadly, bobbing their heads up and down. Vincent wondered how they could have smoked that much hashish in the time frame of his tiny oration. "That's right!" said Bob, gleeful. "Yeah!" said Steve. And then Bob practically exploded.
"YOU KNOW YUFFIE KISARAGI???"
"YEAH?" said Steve.
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I do know her. Why do you ask?"
"Because she's like, the most famous Wutaian porn star EVER!" explained Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. Bob continued: "She's our favorite model in the entire catalogue. Haven't you seen any of her work?" "Yeah?" said Steve.
"No, I have not - " began Vincent. However, he was abruptly interrupted by Bob. The worker began listing some rather interesting pornographic films which apparently starred the young girl whom his foreman had had the displeasure of meeting in person. "She was in Good Will Humping, Shaving Ryan's Privates, Edward Penishands, Freed Willies, Dikes in Debauchery, Who's Sucking Gilbert's Grapes?, The Dickless Horseman, The Blair Bitch 2: Book of Horny Widows - "
"That is enough," Vincent insisted, coming dangerously close to blushing for the first time in his life. "I have a few, if you'd like to watch," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "No thank you," replied the foreman. "I'd rather not watch any of Miss Kasaragi's sexual exploits, considering that it was they that caused the collapsed of our beloved mansion-in-progress."
"About that," interrupted Bob. "I was wondering, considering that you know the Clitsucking Kisaragi herself - " Vincent swallowed hard, a light sweat beading on his brow. " - if we repaired what we did, in say, TWO DAYS, could you take us and a few friends to meet her?"
"Yeah?" said Bob.
Vincent considered this. He could derive certain and immediate pleasure from messily eviscerating these morons where they sat and hanging their bloody corpses from two stakes in front of Cloud's mansion as a kind of welcome-home gift. Or, he could let these idiots go on with their stupid plan and derive certainly no pleasure from, in the unlikely event that they succeeded, dragging them across a continent or two to Wutai . . . and then, ostensibly, back.
Vincent was tired. Vincent had just been struck by a pillar. Vincent was very pissed off. Vincent said, "Fine. If you can rebuild the mansion in two days, I'll take you to - "
"And our friends!" said Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve.
"Right, you and your friends to meet Miss Kisaragi." Bob and Steve did a secret handshake. Then, they left, jumped into a car, and sped away. A minute later, they came back, grabbed the broken computer, dumped it in their trunk, and sped away once again.
I'm an idiot, thought Vincent.
That night, Bob and Steve posted a message online: TO ANYONE WHO HAS SEEN YUFFIE KISARAGI NAKED IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM - SEE HER AGAIN, IN PERSON. COME TO THE SITE OF THE STRIFE MANSION FOR A DAY OF FUN AND BUILDING. The message went out.
The next day, everyone who'd seen Yuffie Kisaragi in naked in any way, shape or form showed up at the site. All four million, two hundred fifty- six thousand, nine hundred ninety-one of them.
Reports claim that Tifa Lockheart, now Tifa Strife, was among those present.
Cloud came with Marlene. Marlene had an ice cream cone. Before that ice cream had melted, the mansion was done. Cloud was very happy. Marlene was not. Her ice cream had melted.
Vincent was horrified. He had to take these idiots to see Yuffie.
It was slow going. One by one, they all died. Except Bob and Steve. "Boy, this is hard," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. They got to Yuffie's house. And Vincent shot them.
***** ***** ***** *****
*****
Yuffie drummed her manicured nails on her table. For the last forty-five minutes, she and her father had sat there, watching Vincent lick his cape and ponder something deeply. When he came to, he looked about himself, realized what was going on, and asked:
"Got anything else to drink?"
"No," said Godo. "You emptied our fridge. You drank all our rainwater. You drank the koi pond, and the fish in it, too."
"Oh. I am sorry."
"I'm sure."
"So . . ." said Yuffie tentatively, "why is it again that you're here? You said you came on a long journey?" Gawd, she thought, he's even more out of it than usual.
Vincent's eyes shifted rapidly from side to side. Finally, he sighed deeply and announced, "Red was attacked by a Gi sympathizer. He was in the hospital for a day and can't remember anything about it. But he's up and about now. I just - thought you might like to know."
"Oh," said Godo. "I'll send him a fruit basket."
"No, that wouldn't be a good idea," said Vincent quickly. Yuffie cocked an eyebrow. "He was knocked out with a pineapple, you see. So whenever he catches sight of fruit, he goes temporarily insane and kills people."
"That's so not cool," murmured Yuffie. "And that cheese is really stinking."
"Yes," agreed Godo, "I think we need to get rid of that."
Vincent realized that he was seriously stinking up the Kisaragi household with dead-body stench, so he rushed to the refrigerator, grabbed the cheese, and said, "Not to worry. Soon the smell shall be gone." Then he flew from the house, and roughly placed the cheese (and himself) in the Wutai River. He returned, dripping wet but nodding calmly.
"Now it'll smell all right in this town."
********** ************ **************** ***************** **************** *********
Well, that's chapter one. Please R&R. Some perceptive readers might notice that it's a play on Mark Twain's "The Invalid's Story", where two guys think that the stench of some cheese is actually the stench of a decaying corpse - except I switched it around. That last line is actually, to a certain extent, a reference to the movie Yojimbo with Toshiro Mifune, when he says, "Now it'll be quiet in this town."
I just realized that the evil fanfic that makes Vincent go on the quest in the story still hasn't appeared. Whoops.
