2. Beautiful Sight Melons
i. I Got Lost In Your Orbs
"No, you can't sell my jewelry," mumbled Ozai as he emerged from his stupor. His hazy vision came into focus on the sky above and the ring of trees in his periphery. Aye, the heavens were still tinged violet, a troubling sign, and he continued to lay supine as if waiting for his cognitive jelly (brain) and memories to return to him.
The peasant suddenly invaded his serene view of the apocalyptic sky, appendages of grasping (hands) on his hips. "Welcome back," he greeted him. Forsooth, his vocalizations conveyed attempted friendliness, albeit he repressed it behind a layer of hostility. "You wouldn't stop talking in your sleep. It was pretty funny, actually."
Ozai pushed himself into a sitting position and incredulously studied his limbs. Frantically, he felt his hair to check that it was as flawless as ever, and it indeed remained as neat as a rad skateboard trick and as soft as the gentle flute from Celine Dion's hit song "My Heart Will Go On." Inquired he, "You didn't… restrain me?"
"I can't spare the supplies," spake the peasant.
"You lie," accused Ozai. "A plebeian such as yourself must live a barbaric life in which such supplies are necessary in the struggle for survival."
He merely narrowed his eyes in distaste. "You can stop calling me plebeian, and I'm not a barbarian either. I have a name, you know."
"I suggest you free me then, if you would prefer me to cease my barrage of insults," bargained he.
"We're tracking down those turtles and finding my son, then I'm taking you to the north pole to put you back in their jail."
"Why, you eater of broken meats! I take no order from the likes of you," burst out he.
"Lord help me," muttered the peasant under his breath.
Ozai glowered, his glabella (a real term for the space betwixt the eyebrows) taking on the shape of a pair of buttocks, as it had done during his encounter with his traitorous firstborn on the day of the eclipse (seriously).
"We need to get moving," insisted the proletarian lowlife, shouldering his pack. "I think it would really be in your best interest to cooperate with me. You've got no money or supplies, not to mention you're easily recognizable. Yes, I intend to take you back to a prison, but if you travel with me, at least you'll live."
Unsteadily, he rose to his feet. "I doubt any of us are likely to live," spake he. The peasant tossed him a small bag, which he was too slow to catch. Ozai, at least in his current state, would have belonged to the seven percent of humans who would've failed to land on a planet at light speed.
The peasant crossly began on his journey, leaving Ozai to chase after him.
"Truly, you lack the understanding of the world's dire situation," persisted he. "You've witnessed the changing of hues in the sky, from whence the sound of heavy metal guitars originates. You know that these turtles are not part of our universe, and that the vortex that destroyed the prison was no ordinary occurrence."
"Yes, I'm well aware that strange things are happening," responded the plebeian. "I'm not going to let that stop me from rescuing my son from the clutches of those masking-wearing mutants."
Exasperated, Ozai pleaded with him. "The gods are at war! The fabric of our universe has been ripped, and outsiders from other worlds are spilling in! Do you not comprehend that we all shall perish if this continues?"
"Maybe I believe that our Lord Ben 10 will prevail over all, okay?" spat the peasant. "Why don't you? Have you no faith?" Before he could answer, he spake again. "It wouldn't surprise me." He shook his head in disapproval.
"I do have faith in our Lord; alas, The Shaper of Destiny has more power in this present time, I do hate to admit. Lord Ben 10's work was largely completed after he created the multiverse. But I am not here to argue theology. I only aim to instill a dose of healthy fear in you, for Wenchicus Thoticus strives to attain dominion o'er the powers of creation which rightfully belong to Ben 10."
"Well, maybe I just want to see my children again before we all die. Wenchicus Thoticus can fuck right off." The peasant gestured dramatically in annoyance, and then his tone unexpectedly softened. "Don't you want to see your kids? If everything's going to end?"
"Please, I know not even your name, and yet you ask me such personal questions." Several minutes of this argumentative perambulation had elapsed before the two strode abreast, Ozai catching up to his irksome companion.
"I'm Hakoda," spake the plebeian. "And I wish I could say that it's nice to meet you," added he quietly.
"Hakoda. Pagoda. Hakuna matata. Hacky sak. Hackneyed. Hacker. Old hack. Haken. Hackberry. Hackberry tea," mused he. "All right. I've got it."
Aye, Hakoda shot him a look that essentially translated to all right then, you fucking weirdo. "If you can find the trail of confetti, tell me, so we can both get this over with as soon as possible."
"Say, where did you bring me?" inquired Ozai. Forsooth, this was no longer the barren desert; nay, lush green trees sprouted from muddy ground, and the sounds of nature, essentially all the woodlands creatures trying to get laid, filled the peaceful, perfectly temperate air.
"We had to escape the sandstorm," responded he. "What were you doing in the middle of the desert? Why did they put you in a prison in the Earth Kingdom?"
"So the citizens would not be haunted by my unearthly wails and cries for vengeance drifting down from the tower," replied he ardently. "Aye, there were some who believed me to be a princess in a tower, although my hair — it is regrettably not of the proper length for a valiant knight to rescue me. And that is why I am here, in this vile land of freedom-loathing rock and stone."
Hakoda glanced at him surreptitiously. His luscious hair sparkled and shone in the sunlight, cascading majestically down his back. "Er… Okay then," spake he, and fixed his vision globes (eyes) on the trail extending before them. The whilom tyrant had thus far proven to be less problematic than he had anticipated, aside from his bombardment of disparagements; nevertheless, he knew not to let down his guard.
"Behold!" ejaculated (utilized here as an archaic alternative for "exclaimed") Ozai. "Confetti appears o'er yonder." He, too, desired to kick some turtle arse, purely out of spite, for such was the way of villains.
And when Hakoda's gaze followed that confident finger, forsooth, rainbow confetti did dust the forest bushes and floated on the gentle breeze.
"They can't be far," shouted he. "Come on!"
He began on the perilous plight of crashing through thick undergrowth, tracking those fluttering strips of tissues paper with the urgency of a teenager slamming shut a laptop when his parents walk in on him watching pornography. "Ouchie," vocalized Ozai from somewhere behind him. "Oof, ow, my pinky toe!"
Hakoda once more seized him by the beard, averse to permitting this prisoner to impede on their progress. Had so much not been on the line, certainly, he would have sighed, face-palmed, and rolled his eyes, as one is wont to do when faced with a bothersome traveling companion.
"Unhand me, thou venom-eyed nut-hook, I command you!" demanded Ozai, suddenly sounding much more like the royal pain in the arse that he was. "Know you not the physics of confetti, O Ignorant One? It may drift on gusts long after it was initially scattered, for it is lighter than a leaf!"
He halted in his tracks, drained, and released his compatriot's hircine whiskers. "You know, you're probably right," admitted he reluctantly, his energy and drive sapping as swiftly as it had come. "They have a huge head start." Because I wasted so much time on you when I didn't have to, only because I thought it would be right to make sure you wouldn't walk free… thought he bitterly.
A sadistic smile crept upon his companion's countenance, which only threatened to transform Hakoda's sorrowful disappointment into rage. Fie, fie, was this an infuriating man!
"Look, buddy," started he. "If you want food, shelter, and to not get lynched by an angry mob, you'll cooperate with me. I doubt that with the life you've lived, you know how to hunt or survive in the wild, and you've already proven yourself incapable of acting like a normal human being when it comes to interacting with other people."
For the first time, he stared deep into Ozai's eyes. Those golden spheres (eyes) reeked of cruelty and intimidation and the righteous battle to see the world in flames, yet behind that was something other. Aye, those orbs encompassed more than a simple, purely iniquitous desire for slaughter; a contemplative, perspicacious intelligence resided within the globular soul portals of this loathed man. And forsooth, as Hakoda internalized this knowledge, he found himself noticing that those face balls were indeed ocular organs of unusual beauty, as if they possessed a portion of the sun's golden light. Such was the breathtaking intensity of these spheroid sensory perceptors that they paralysed him under their warm — yet so unbearably callous and cold — gaze.
Likewise, Ozai stared into the insolent peasant's eyne, those circles of seeing exuding a flicker of fear 'fore matching his own sight melons' radiant boldness. This plebeian so desired to extend kindness to him, though his oculi revealed that he was indeed a proud and assertive man. Studying the Hakoda's globes, he realized how pleasant and soothing he thought their colour; aye, those rounds were as serene and nurturing as the seas from whence he hailed. The darker flecks in his soul pools resembled the oceanic wildlife, shifting and swimming in the sunlight filtering through the trees above.
Finally, Hakoda spake, in order to terminate this mounting tension betwixt them. No longer could he meet that controlled yet furiously fiery stare. "Well, what do you think?"
The words snapped Ozai from his trance. "I, uh, what?" stammered he. "Apologies, could you perhaps repeat the question, in a way of sorts, I suppose I got, uh, lost in your orbs (eyes)." As soon as the confession left his soup coolers (mouth), he prayed that Wenchicus Thoticus would strike him dead on the spot. His visage burned with the mortification that he had disclosed to a mere peasant something that sounded so gay (but it definitely wasn't gay at all).
"Okay, then," saith Hakoda, with that same what a fucking weirdo expression. "You'll cooperate with me, even if it's just for your own selfish reasons?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," stuttered he. "All righty. Okay. Can do."
"Let's get moving, then."
ii. Anakin Is A Furry
"It would appear that my droid has left with the ship," observed Anakin in disbelief. Forsooth, where his trusty shuttle had lain, naught was to be seen. Obviously, C3PO would dare not execute any task without his master's orders, so it had to be that little shit… R2D2. Otherwise, mayhap Wenchicus Thoticus had reclaimed the ship and returned it to its original universe, without its owner.
Aye, The Shaper of Destiny was a wrathful god.
Cruella sighed dramatically. "I've been here already for days, and not so much as a bicycle have I seen! These people are horribly primitive."
"Ah, so this planet is inhabited," noted Bellatrix. "This shall make world domination more difficult… but it's just so much more fun when there are plenty of subhumans to subjugate. Say, are they natives, or did they, too, originate from the clouds?"
"They appear to be native," confirmed Cruella. "They have settlement. Shall we be on our way to town?"
"Yes, let's go," saith Anakin. Cross as he was that his ship had vanished, the prospect of another round of slaughter undeniably excited him. Looming over the clearing of the slain yellow beasts, he admired the threesome's handiwork. Down, boy, he told his albino asparagus (penis).
Bellatrix removed the broomstick from its sash fastened to her back, and gestured grandly to her two new partners in crime. "Where is this village, Cruella, my dear?" questioned she as she sat down on the rickety stick (not a penis). "Come aboard."
"Past the mountain o'er yonder," replied Cruella. Nestling close to Bellatrix on the broomstick, she provided Anakin had ample room to join them.
"What does this do — AAH FUCK!" howled Anakin. The broomstick lurched forwards and he grabbed desperately at Cruella's shoulders. Bellatrix merely loosed her wicked cackle again as the trio streaked 'cross the indigo sky and towards the sun setting behind that craggy, unforgiving mountain. Shortly, Cruella's distinctive guffaw joined the cacophony of abominable laughter, whilst Anakin could only scream. Aye, he was accustomed to literally (literally literally) impossibly swift motion, but this craft was simply preposterous!
"Are you sure this is safe!" screeched he; alas the women ignored him and continued with their giggles of ghastliness. They soared o'er the obscuring peak in practically no time at all, Bellatrix coaxing the broom in a spiraling twirl. Anakin feverishly grabbed at his belt to ensure that his lightsaber had not slipped free. Bellatrix then descended into the town sharply; surely, had she learned to fly a ship, she would have been of the ninety-three percent of humans capable of landing it at light speed.
Grateful for the journey's end, Anakin stumbled from the broomstick, each individual on his grasping team (finger) sore from clinging so tightly to the accursed piece of wood (not a penis) for dear life. In a single deft movement, Bellatrix slipped the broomstick through the sash that ran diagonally across her torso. "We inspire chaos!" cried she triumphantly, for the townspeople fled into the surrounding wilderness whilst shrieking and bawling.
"Wait," spake Anakin. "They flee not from us."
Bellatrix dodged the spinning blue ball hurtling towards her without an instant to spare, lest she would have been disemboweled. A second sphere careened through the air, higher up, and uncurled to reveal a red fiend gliding betwixt two dilapidated structures.
Anakin sensed that this would be no easy slaughter. He unsheathed his lightsaber once more, and Cruella unleashed her fire-breathing canine from its round container. That spinning blue ball launched itself upon him not quite as fast as light, but nonetheless impressively quick, assuming that this was the creature's natural, unaided speed.
Anakin swung his saber at this spherical foe, on the course for hitting a home run. Alack! The blurry blue beast evaded his strike effortlessly, spinning about and leaping whilst remaining curled up. Cruella, meanwhile, hollered commands at her dog of the flame; it leapt upon the dreadlocked red glider, and crunched down upon its skull with an incinerating gnash of its teeth. Bellatrix cast haphazard spells at this pair of adversaries; nay, her aim was not true.
The red rival crushed, the trio collectively faced down that blue ball. For an instant, the enigmatic adversary broke its attack position to reveal that it was merely a hedgehog whose two eyes somehow had merged in the centre of its countenance. Galvanized by the true nature of his foe, Anakin backflipped excessively in pursuit of the agile spheroid. Cruella's canine slave expelled geysers of flame that narrowly missed the hedgehog, but this growing inferno entrapped it within the area. At last, Bellatrix landed a paralysing curse upon it, providing Anakin the extra split second that he required in order to defeat this foul fiend. He cleanly severed its legs — ridiculously oversized sneakers and all — from the rest of its body, and henceforth, this hedgehog would never "go fast" again.
Anakin licked his lips as the blue creature writhed in agony before him. Cruella and Bellatrix strode up to his side, and Cruella choked her canid firebreather vigourously, then sealed it within its minuscule cage. She brayed softly, a precursor to her full-blown evil laugh, and Anakin spake, "Cruella, do you happen to have any more of those traps?"
"What do you speak of? These Pokeballs?" She displayed the red and white device. "I need one for my Arcanine, and I do wish to acquire more Pokemon in the future, to do my bidding and submit to me when I desire to indulge in my abusive fantasies. However, I do possess some extras…"
"Can we keep it?" asked Anakin. Why, that blue hedgehog's suffering was in sooth such a delightful sight, and he pointed eagerly at the object of his desires.
"Hem," considered Bellatrix.
"Haw," spake Cruella.
"Well?" prompted Anakin.
"Why, I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to enjoy the company of a concubine," decreed Cruella.
"Excuse me — I — when did I ever imply —" stammered Anakin.
"We've all got our depraved personal lives, Anakin. It's part of being a villain," Bellatrix reassured him. "Whether it's child abuse, animal abuse, domestic abuse, or horrific sexual deviance, you must embrace it."
"Really?" spake Anakin. These people — they understood him, which, on one hand, had him totally shook, for he had been struggling to conceal his secrets for so long. Yet they had no judgment in their tones, only gentle encouragement. Aye, Anakin was new to villainy, and these women — he grew more certain with every passing moment — would guide him on his quest.
He no longer had to hide it: he was a furry.
Triumphantly, Anakin raised his hands to the violet heavens above. He could shout it to the world, as his shame was disappearing, carried off on the blustery winds of this strange new land. Freed he was from the expectations of the Jedi, who sought to deny him the simple act of copulatory sex, and free he was from the expectations of Padme, the single partner to whom he was bound, and this single partner boring — a typical, and might he add, vanilla, woman.
"I'm a furry!" howled Anakin to the skies. Aye, t'was as if a weight had been lifted, and with two supportive partners in crime, he could peradventure even live out his dream of attaining a harem. He attempted an evil laugh, although it emerged from his throat resembling more of a hacking cough mixed with the screams of a young man being beaten to death with a fish (specifically, a tilapia).
"No, more like this," saith Bellatrix, and she demonstrated a proper cackle for him. He mimicked her vocalizations as best he could; alas, spake she, "Worry not about it now — we'll work on it later."
"Now," instructed Cruella, presenting him with a Pokeball, "go forth and capture that hedgehog within this cage."
Anakin gripped the Pokeball; aye, it fit perfectly in his hand. With skill that would have inspired envy in Ash Ketchum himself, he tossed the orb of captivity at the suffering blue hedgehog. In a blinding flash of light, that Pokeball sprung open, and the hedgehog melded into the brilliant white-yellow coruscation, shrinking until the Pokeball snapped shut.
He bent to retrieve the now entrapped hedgehog, and carefully, he placed it deep within the pocket of his robe. Sincerely, he desired that it would not fall out if Bellatrix continued with her haphazard, airborne method of transportation.
From a village building that burned in the flames of Cruella's Arcanine, emerged a small ratty peasant. Aye, this child had no sense of stealth, although obviously he had intended to slip away unnoticed by the conniving triad.
"Avast! You there!" commanded Bellatrix.
The plebeian boy whimpered fearfully, frozen in a slav squat, as they encroached upon him menacingly.
"Pray, boy, do tell me where the nearest centre of power lies," barked she.
"It lies to the east," sniveled he, "Several daywalks from this humble abode of mine, you shall find two twin lakes, whereupon dwells the leaders of this kingdom within the great walled city."
"Yes, yes, good," crowed Bellatrix. The tension ran from the boy's countenance; alas, Cruella did not let him walk free untouched: she delivered a swift kick to the poor defenceless child. Bellatrix readied her broomstick, and the three soared off through the darkening sky in search of this great walled city.