Chapter 3-A Cat, a Giant Robot, and a Plane Trip

"Wynter?" Someone poked her. "Wynter?" Another prod. "Wynter-"

The furious girl sat upright, grabbed the metal lunchbox at her side that she kept for these occasions, and whacked her poker in the face.

"Ow. That's not nice."

"It sure isn't!" Wynter screeched. "Why are you trying to wake me up at this ungodly hour? Normal people sleep at 2:00am, unless you're a vampire or Mrs Hemming from next door!"

Alucard moved into view. "But I am a vampire."

"I stand corrected. What do you want?"

"Well…I couldn't sleep in your parent's bedroom, because-"

"But my mom and dad are on holidays."

"Yeah, but your cousin is looking after you, yes? Well, his pet gerbils are keeping up enough of a racket with Walter and him snoring too."

"Okay, but why can't you crash in my brother's room? He's on camp." Wynter grumbled as she turned on the lamp. She had a bad feeling about where he would have to sleep for the rest of the night.

"Because the stink in there actually rivals the stench of Walter's burritos."

Wynter walked to her door, opened it, and sniffed the air. "Yeah, I can smell that," she choked, parts of her dying.

"And I can't bunk with Integra or the Police Girl, because, well…"

"They're girls?" she suggested.

"No. Because I have an awful crush on Integra and it'll be REALLY awkward." Alucard admitted. "I'm writing a poem for her. Do you want to hear?"

"NoI'msorryIcan't!" Wynter shuffled away from him, holding up a clove of garlic.

"Do you really keep some of that in your bedroom?"

"Yes, along with several stakes, a hunting knife, 20 toothpicks and a jumbo box of 'Man-size' Kleenex which I got from Safeway. I'm allergic to dust mites, grass, trees, pollen, and coconut. What? I get paranoid!"

Alucard looked like he was debating whether to run off screaming or to stay. "Uh, alright then. I just wanted to ask…if I could stay in your room."

Wynter sighed again, and grabbed an inflatable mattress, a sleeping bag, and a golf-club.

"Any funny business…" she warned.

"You keep a golf-club in your closet?"

"Oh, I keep worse."

Wynter half crawled, half fell through the door. Seras picked her up, and Integra took her bag. "So how was ballet?" she asked.

Wynter groaned in pain. "Not great. I had class with 19-year olds."

"Why?" inquired Integra as they dragged her into the living room, which was attached to the kitchen. An appalling smell wafted in. Walter was making dinner. "Aren't you only 13?"

"It's an open class for seniors." Explained Wynter as they opened the windows. "As long as you're a senior, you can attend the class. So I was doing pointe work with a bunch of people twice my size. At least I beat my record. I managed to do 74 continuous fouettes around the room."

Alucard waltzed in. Wynter's cat, Meowla, went up and mewed a question. She then began to wind around his legs, seeming to say, "PAT ME! PAT ME!"

The No-Life King reached down.

Meowla suddenly expanded to twice her size. The enraged feline shut her jaws with an audible snap on the unsuspecting vampire's hand.

The yell that followed probably broke a world record.

Alucard was spinning around in circles, shaking his hand. Meowla had latched onto his hand with a set of teeth and all four paws (and claws). Wynter was shielding her head with her lunchbox. Integra, and Seras clung to each other, shrilling as vases and whatnot that had been knocked out of their places flew all over the place. Walter and Louis were running around like headless chickens, trying to recapture Milo, Louis's gerbil.

Now, when you have a bad poetry spouting vampire, an escaped gerbil, an angry cat, screaming girls, a tired-as-hell dancer, a terrible cook and an angsty teenager in one room, it is never good.

In fact, it would be one of the best recipes for disaster one has ever seen.

The result was a massive mess that would take over two hours to clean up.

"Schrodinger!" barked the Major.

"Ja, mein Father?"

"Bring ze pickles!"

Schrodinger's ears drooped. He had expected to have a more interesting task. As a result of a direct order from the Major, none of the troops were to leave their new headquarters until Dok had finished building the massive cyborg that would hopefully enable them to enslave the world.

Suddenly, the Dok pranced into the room, singing at the top of his lungs. Rip glared and slapped him. "I'm ze vone vho does ze singing!"

Dok didn't seem to notice. "Major, Major~" he sang to the tune of Jingle Bells. "I've completed ze machine!"

"Excellent!" the fat man clapped his hands together, his pudgy face lighting up. "Show me!"

The Dok lead the way, skipping towards a door as the Major followed, with some difficulty.

Millennium's troops held their breath as a glow appeared from underneath the closed door of the lab.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang! as the door was blown off its hinges.

The blackened face of the Dok appeared. "I think I vill need to fix it."

All of the soldiers' faces were perfect replicas of the 'You don't say?' meme face.

Poor, poor Maxwell. He was sitting on a plane between Anderson and Yumiko. On one side, one of the most hideous covers of Bad Romance was screeched out. On the other, two insane nuns dressed in skimpy cheerleading outfits and toting blue and white pom-poms were hollering like a bag of cats being hit by a metal baseball bat.

Now, usually, the sight of Heinkel or Yumiko wearing such slutty costumes would have set Maxwell's heart racing faster than Anderson on coffee. (Never give him that stuff. Ever.) However, this time, he was completely put off, because:

The yelling

The horrendous singing

He was air-sick.

Yep. The respected, revered, fearsome, and handsome (in his eyes) director of the special Vatican Section XIII Iscariot, was feeling a bit upset in the tummy.

"Everyone please fasten their seat-belts. We have hit a spot of turbulence." The intercom crackled to life as the pilot's voice filtered through.

With the first bump, Maxwell's face began to turn a nasty and unnatural shade of green. He moaned, clutching his stomach with one hand. With the other, he scrabbled desperately for the sick-bag. He opened it just in time.

"ABLARGGGHHHHH!"

"ROMA-ROMA-A-A!"

"GIMME A 'C' !"

"BLEARGHHHHHHH !"

"GAGA OOH-LA-LA-LA !"

"GIMME AN 'R'!"

"GRAEARGHHHHH!"

"WANT YOUR BAD ROMANCE!"

"Maxwell, are you okay?"

"BARFFFFGGHHHH!"

Back at Wynter's house, Integra was shrieking like a possessed banshee. "I BROKE A NAIL!" she howled, tearing at her hair. "MY LIFE IS OVER!"

Seras was doing her best to comfort her. Alucard was unsure of whether to pat her on the back or recite poetry. Wynter was passed out on the couch after having a certain nosferatu drop a 6 kilo furry eating machine on her head. Louis was still looking for Milo. Walter was fixing Integra a cup of tea in the kitchen. Meowla was sitting on the top of the treadmill, looking smug.

"You," Alucard intoned, shaking a finger at the offending cat. "This is your entire fault!"

Meowla turned and stalked off.

"Okay Integra, how about this? You go have a shower, change and freshen up yourself. Then, me and Wynter will give you a complete makeover, and make you look picture perfect!" Seras pleaded in a desperate attempt to shut her up.

"Really?" Integra instantly perked up.

"Yes, really," Seras said, exasperated, and then realised what she had said. Oh god…what have I done?