Invasion
Chapter Two: The Preporation
The atmosphere was silent, heavy. No one would-nor could-say a word. You see, if one of our Greaser comrades were to 'lose his cool', then, well...
"EVERYBODY RUN!"
What followed could only be described as epic chaos, limbs flying through the air and feet carrying their owners in uneven circles about the Curtis home. Objects were knocked aside, glass shattering and digging into the carpet. For reasons unknown, Sodapop and Two-Bit wrestled about the ground, clawing at each other like starving animals, driving their shoes where-the-sun-don't-shine.
Why this panic, your asking yourselves, why this utter chaos? What is this Mary Sue that brings these don't-mess-wit-me Greaser fellows running for the invisible hills? Why, the explanation, you see, would be best left for the wide-and-wonderful Wikipedia:
Mary Sue, sometimes shortened simply to Sue, is a pejorative term used to describe a fictional charactorwho plays a major role in the plot and is particularly characterized by overly idealized and hackneyed mannerisms, lacking noteworthy flaws, and primarily functioning as wish-fulfillment fantasies for their authors or readers. Perhaps the single underlying feature of all characters described as "Mary Sues" is that they are too ostentatious for the audience's taste, or that the author seems to favor the character too highly. The author may seem to push how exceptional and wonderful the "Mary Sue" character is on his or her audience, sometimes leading the audience to dislike or even resent the character fairly quickly; such a character could be described as an "author's pet".
Sing it, sister.
A Mary Sue is possibly the deadliest of Original Charactors. They are to Tulsa, Oklahoma what the Chupicabra is to Mexico. No, they do not kill sheep. They kill....
Souls.
But more on that later.
Let us drift back into said chaos, shall we? This time, I'd bring your ear plugs.
"Ohmigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigod!!!" Steve shrieked, waving his ever-handy wrench throughout the air in some kind of awkward chicken dance/potty jig. The wrench flew through the air and hit Ponyboy across the noggin, sending him sprawling to the ground in a muddled heap. It was Soda's turn to shriek, bitch slapping his buddy across the cheek like nobodies-buisness, "Oh my God, you killed Pony!"
(You bastard!)
The uproar became to much for dear Darrel, who then cupped his hands together and unleashed a furious bellow fit for the manliest of men, shaking the very boundries of the home. Johnny nearly fainted, he did.
Silence insued.
Darrel silenced himself, as well, squaring his shoulders and sizing up his comrads.
"Look at you," he groweled, "running around this place like chickens without a head. You should be ashamed."
They hung their heads in shame.
Darrel breathed out like an angry bull, "This is not something to mess around with. This is a crisis. This is an invasion. We must prepare ourselves, we must fight. We must defend. We are men!"
"YEAH!" The boys cheered, pumping their fist in the air.
"But how, Darry?" Ponyboy inquired.
"Check your pants, genius." Steve sniffed.
"No!" he interjected, "I mean, how will we defend?"
Darry sighed in a way that might've fit an old war movie, shuffling his feet towards the television, "I knew this day would come,"
The boyz watched intently as Darrel flipped a complicated code into the touch screen (I'd compare it to the IPhone, but they weren't invented yet...) and up! it went, the television I mean. It left behind a trap key pad, to which Darrel continued his rampage of code-punching. A horrible buzzing sound shook the home, bouncing our little Greasers on their bums. A metallic door swished up word and, there you have it.
The badly painted East wall of the Curtis home was replaced with a gleaming sheet of metal, knicks and knacks of strange weapons and thick volumes and butterfly nets and lassos held up by tin bars.
"Dude..." Steve gawked uselessly.
"Darry..." Soda studdered, "Your...your..."
"That's right," Darrel preclaimed, flipping out an equally shining badge, "I'm a Sueslayer."
The reaction was like so:
:O :O :O :O :O :/
"W-w-w-w-why didn't you tell us?" asked Ponyboy.
"Yeah! Come outta the closet!" Two-Bit offered.
(crickets a'chirping)
"That's not important," Darrel said heroicly, puffing out his chest, "what matters now is--"
"Yeah, yeah," Dally interupted, "gimme the gun."
Darry slumped his shoulders, bitterly unlatching the big-rig.
And so the war begins...
