Chapter 3: A Violent Introduction to a Broken-Down Flat.

A/N I am EXTREMELY sorry for not updating for... well... like... a long time, due to unforseen circumstances. But anyways, here's another chapter.

They arrived at the place where he was probably to spend the night in ten minutes later. It wasn't a grand place, not even close. It was the type of place that had paint peeling off the walls, broken windows, fans that started and stopped abruptly and without warning, and lights that flickered on and off of their own accord.

"Er... how many people... live... in this place?" asked Cyan, who was still catching his breath from a long trip alternating between being dragged by the arm and occasionally the ear, and trying desperately to catch up to his guide through milling crowds.

"Let me see..." she murmured, ticking them off on her fingers. "One... two... three... ten... fifteen... sixteen, I think. That's if you don't count the dog."

"What?" asked Cyan again, blinking. "That flat looks like it can fit no more than five people."

"It's surprisingly large inside." she said, mischievously. Something about her voice made Cyan think she was hiding something. "We outnumber them by three."

"What?"

"It's a very... amusing place to stay."

"What?"
"You'll have worlds of fun."

"What?"

"Do you enjoy food fights?"

"What?"

"Never mind, just go in already." she said, grabbing him by the arm (again) and forcibly throwing him through the open door into the living room. "And be careful."

"Be careful?" Cyan asked, definitely not liking where this conversation was going. "Be careful about what?"

"Behind you!"

"GAH!" he yelped, jumping into the air and doing a one-hundred-eighty degree turn in a rare show of agility for someone who usually stays at home in front of a clipboard and a book. "Who's-"

"Trespasser. Eliminate." said the girl with ridiculously long black hair and red eyes that looked like those of a vampire. She was holding something in her hand that glinted in the sunlight. Without even staying to see what it was, Cyan turned and high-tailed it out of the apartment flat, all pretences of keeping his dignity intact gone.

Chelsea watched him dash out of the apartment flat as if a ravenous danger beast was chasing him, and drew her own conclusions about his plight. Meanwhile, the country boy in question had caught his breath and was pressed against the wall, staring at the doorway.

"Eliminate." the girl said again, and threw an egg at him.

Cyan yelped and jumped to one side, only to be met with two more. One slammed into his glasses, knocking them off his head, and the other into his stomach, which hurt a lot more than he expected. He keeled over and began to grope for his glasses, his (already poor) vision hampered further by the egg yolk dripping down over his forehead.

Sensing weakness, the girl immediately began a vicious attack. Cyan was battered by a barrage of edible goods that would have made god himself envious (well, maybe not.) - some baking powder, a bag of flour, two bags of sugar, a bucket of what looked like pancake mix, some vinegar, a half-eaten hamburger, three more eggs, some yoghurt, and, last but not least, a prolonged battering using a surprisingly large drumstick.

Cyan promptly fell to the floor, out cold for the second time in a day.

He awoke some half an hour later. He was inside a small room, in a bed, with a new set of clothes, no trace of baking products on him, and utterly confused as to where in the name of heaven he was. He sat up, not without a moan, and put his glasses on. The room immediately swam into focus.

The girl that had lead him to this god forsaken place was sitting on a sofa towards the other end of the room, folding a paper airplane, not feeling a bit of guilt for indirectly subjecting him to this ruthless beating.

"You could have helped me, you know." Cyan grumbled, rubbing his head where the hamburger had hit him. The girl looked up, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"You didn't ask." she said, nonchalantly, as if watching an acquaintance being subjected to a brutal attack using kitchen goods was perfectly normal for her.

"You could have at least warned me." Cyan pressed on, thoroughly enraged.

"Couldn't have."

"Why?"

"I wasn't expecting it either."

"Liar." Cyan said, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You totally knew that was going to happen."

"Did not."

"Did too."

Cyan threw a pillow at her. Chelsea ducked under it, and threw it back. What ensued would be the most painful pillow fight Cyan had ever been involved in.

The room had a total of five pillows in it - two on the bed, two on the couch, and one on the swivel chair. The two sides began amassing their strength: Cyan had immediately laid claim to the two pillows on the bed, and dove for the one on the chair. Chelsea had immediately lunged forward and grabbed both bed pillows before Cyan could stop her, having already pushed off the bed and towards the chair. So far - Cyan: 1, Chelsea: 2.

Cyan, not wanting to be beaten, made a rush for the couch, while Chelsea did too, turning the deciding factor in the arms race to a dash for the two remaining weapons - both of which were situated in one place of immense strategic value - the couch. Whoever gets there first will not only have a advantage in the amount of available armaments, but also a height advantage where he - or she - could rain devastation onto the rest of the room.

"Race you!"

"Game on!"

The two both made a spectacular dive for the couch. Cyan landed short, and got a face-full of carpet dust and dandruff. Chelsea missed too, though admittedly she got a little closer. Cyan: 1, Chelsea: 2.

Chelsea got up and lunged for the couch, but Cyan reached out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her back down. The two then began the first engagement in a prolonged battle that would last for (what seemed like) hours. Chelsea had on her one pillow, the other had been left on the bed in favour of a head start for the couch dash. Cyan, too, had his only pillow with him. They were evenly matched, weapons wise.

After a few quick clashes in which feathers inside the pillows started flying everywhere, like dandelion seeds being blown by a curious child, it became apparent that Cyan had gotten the upper hand. Chelsea was being driven backwards by a flurry of feathers and pillow swinging through the air like the grim reaper's scythe itself.

Of course, Cyan had forgot one important detail. Backwards was where she wanted to go - she had her back to the couch. But the boy realised that too late, and Chelsea gained the couch, along with the two pillows on it. Cyan: 1, Chelsea: 4. Won the arms race by a landslide.

"Damn." Cyan said, adjusting his grip on his one remaining pillow.

Chelsea responded by beginning her bombardment. Cyan quickly put distance between him and the couch, but Chelsea was a very accurate sharpshooter with these pillows (which, I might remind you, are surprisingly heavy when you try to throw them.), and made sure his retreat did not go unmolested. Those pillows pack a real punch when thrown right. Especially when the zips hit you.

Cyan dove behind the chair and used it for cover. Chelsea had stopped throwing and was restocking her pillow supply. Cyan couldn't risk diving for one of the cushions on the floor because Chelsea was watching him like a hawk, with a nice, large pillow on hand.

"Damn." he muttered again. He was in a very very bad position.

Chelsea had again regained the high ground, and was waiting for him to emerge from behind the chair. Cyan, in a (rare) moment of inspiration, decided to use the chair as a mobile shield to allow him to close the distance and engage in close-quarters, where Chelsea's numerical advantage in weapons would be of no consequence.

When he had moved close enough, he began the engagement. Chelsea had already turned to couch around, as to have a buffer against any attacks while she could attack from above. Cyan quickly got up on the chair, nullifying the height advantage. They scuffled, with Cyan eventually being able to clamber over the sofa top and slipping off the chair, pulling the sofa down and making Chelsea fall off. Mission accomplished, height advantage nullified, fighting on level ground, close quarters combat condition established.

Chelsea immediately sprang to her feet and slapped Cyan hard across the face with a pillow she picked off the ground, following up with a swipe at his arm and an overhead bash. Cyan, meanwhile, was vigorously trying to bash her head in with his pillow, which was met with moderate success.

After a prolonged engagement, Chelsea managed to land a blow to Cyan's face, knocking his glasses askew. Forced to fight blindly, Cyan quickly retreated, trying to reposition his glasses as he fended off Chelsea's attacks with his arm. Chelsea was surprisingly adept at landing blows with the zipper on the cushions, making them a lot more hurtful than just a normal attack. Cyan would swear she had somehow stuck metal plates into the pillows later.

"How do you manage that?" asked Cyan, rubbing his arm where large red marks had began to form.

"Experience.." Chelsea said, landing another blow to his arm.

"Experience, my ass." Cyan muttered, slamming a pillow into her face. "There's definitely more than that to it."

"What do you reckon it is?" she asked, tauntingly, as she sprang away from his follow up attack, throwing a lollipop-less lollipop stick into the trash.

"I think you're cheating." said Cyan, deciding that the blunt way was the best way as he tried unsuccessfully to crush Chelsea's skull with a pillow. "Even using the metal on the zipper couldn't possibly have hurt that much."

"And how might I be cheating?" she continued to taunt him as another metallic-feeling blow on his arm. Cyan was getting really annoyed now, but he could do absolutely nothing about it. Until he figured out how she was managing to make pillow attacks feel like a hammer was in them, he would have to just take the beating and move on.

"I think you've put mallets in the pillows." Cyan grumbled as he tried again to behead her with his cushion, which, of course, failed, like all of his previous attempts.

"Those would be too obvious." said Chelsea, slapping his glasses askew again.

"Rocks, then?"

"Those would be too heavy."

"Some sort of danger beast tendons?"

"Ew."

"Chicken bones?" asked Cyan, having already exhausted his imagination trying to think up plausible explanations to the power of the pillows. He was now spouting nonsense for the sake of it, and for keeping a conversation going, the only reason being that when they were engaged in conversation, the viciousness of the combat tended to go down.

"No... Akame would kill me if I touched her meat."

"Akame? Who's that?"

"The girl who assaulted you with kitchen goods a few hours ago."

"A few hours ago? How long was I out for?" asked Cyan, surprised. Apparently, he had been unconscious for a surprisingly long time. That drumstick was savage. He turned to look at he clock to see for himself how long his bout in unconscious-land-filled-with-pain had been. However, before he had time to actually look at the clock, he was almost sent back there by a savage blow to the back of his head.
"I hate you." Cyan groaned, as he picked himself off the floor, rubbing the back of his head, where, unbeknownst to him, a large, red mark was forming. "That was a dirty trick."

"Nothing's dirty except your imagination." Chelsea said, juggling three pillows with her hands in a kind of showing-off way designed to irritate him.
"What?!" Cyan asked, taking a rapid one-two-three steps back before taking another one for good measure. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." she said, laughing at his reaction to her previous comment. Her twinkling eyes spoke volumes about how amusing that was for her.
Cyan groaned again. This was becoming a very tedious experience for him. Sighing, he took a step forward and prepared to engage in combat, hoping to take his mind off that totally embarrassing reaction to her previous jab at his imagination. However, before either of the two sides could engage once again in combat, a loud, male voice called from downstairs.

"Dinner is ready! Chelsea, bring your fiancé! We're having meat tonight, again, you lot are carnivorous, and..." the voice rambled on, groaning and complaining about the choice of food.

Silence.

"Wait... what did he call me?" asked Cyan, blinking, rubbing his eyes, and twisting his earphones around his finger.

Chelsea ignored his question and kicked him down the stairs.

A/N Well... same old thing I always say... hope you liked it... please review... yada yada yada...