Announcement: Going by the advice of J, the next update will take place in the category "Cartoons Disney". So please watch out for it there.

I also have another note for you before we begin. Reading back over the last chapter, I'm still satisfied with it, but I can see how others might not be. A certain writing partner of mine expressed general apathy towards last chapter; however, I insisted she listen while I read it back to her, and lo and behold, she ended up clutching the edge of the desk for support during recurring fits of laughter. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, the last chapter isn't funny if you skim through it, but it's (according to her) hilarious when you peruse it. If you do go back and peruse it and still think it's a steaming pile, I concede defeat.

What else… oh yeah, the story.


John Smith was rather looking forward to a run through the woods. The women in the hotel acted strangely. They seemed drunk, every last one of them, brushing past him in the hallways as though he was invisible. Either that or their abundance of contact was intentional, which didn't make sense. A good nature walk would help him to unwind; he was quite excited.

Then again, he thought as he watched Kocoum enter the woods ahead with a quiver of arrows, I could also use a shower.

Hercules was sprawled mournfully across his bed when John entered the room. "Er, hello."

"Meathead. They think I'm dumb."

John ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, come now, they didn't say that."

"But that's what they meant." Hercules clambered to his feet. "Do I actually come off as dumb?"

"No." Hercules didn't look away; John spoke before he could check himself. "I think you just seem so happy all the time, people assume you're…"

"I'm what? Dumb?"

John sighed. "Not dumb. Naïve, perhaps."

Hercules shook his head incredulously. "I can't believe it. Everyone in Greece—"

"Aha, and there's your problem. You're a celebrity in Greece, aren't you? How are you expected to keep a level head?"

"But I wasn't always a celebrity. When I went to school—"

"You'll find that rarely anybody knows your history right away."

Hercules paused, then shrugged petulantly. "You're making fun of me. That's fine."

"No, I'm not." John sighed. "I don't see why you're so upset, man. It's five percent of the score."

"It's not just the contest. Honestly," Hercules leaned in conspiratorially, and John followed suit. "I don't need this. I already have a spin-off show."

"Then why are you…"

"I owed them a favour. Don't worry about it. What I mean is, I don't want to come off as dumb the rest of my life."

John thought about once again protesting the word "dumb", but saved himself the effort. "Listen, odds are you're already married, or otherwise taken, so why the crisis?" He paused. "You're only 20."

"Yeah, so?"

"You've got years. I've got ten years on you, and that chap Phoebus, 15 at least. You have time. In fact, what we're doing here right now, talking like this, this is helping."

"It is?"

"Yes." John stood and stretched. "Conversation is indeed the best means of broadening the mind. I suggest you go out and try it with as many people as possible. I'll be in the shower."

"Wait… you're married, right?"

John shrugged. "Unrequited love, I'm afraid."

Hercules frowned. "That happens?"

"With frightening frequency. Good afternoon."

As the bathroom door slammed shut, Hercules shook his head. "I thought I had problems."

---

Gaston was waiting for Adam by the doorway. Adam ignored him and reached for the handle, but Gaston thrust his hand forward to rest on the door, blocking his path.

"Think you did well out there, did ya?"

Adam elected not to respond; he stared at Gaston's hand on the door expectantly, hands on hips.

"Three out of five. A bit middling, isn't it? Well," Gaston leaned in and lowered his voice; his breath was gag-worthy. "Five percent isn't much, junior. Watch your back."

"What's going on here?" Simba padded over to the two, glaring at Gaston.

Gaston kept his eyes trained on Adam's face as he answered. "We're just having a conversation."

"Well, I'd like to get into my room, if you don't mind."

"Why don't you run along, kitty?"

Simba was unimpressed. "What was your score again? One out of five? For arrogance? Can't imagine what they meant…"

"Well, women often don't know how to react when faced with a specimen of such perfection."

With Gaston distracted, Adam managed to sneak his key card into the slot and gently nudge the door open. Gaston fell like a tree into the room and sprang to his feet, teeth bared.

"You'll pay for that," he hissed, but as he cocked his fist Simba's almighty roar disarmed him. He retreated down the hallway, eyes never leaving Adam's face. "We're not through."

Simba chuckled cockily before noticing the pitiable redness of Adam's cheeks. "Hey, don't worry about him. He's a jerk."

Slowly, Adam met his gaze. "I guess I ought to thank you," he offered.

Something in Adam's voice indicated to Simba that the predominant sentiment wasn't of gratitude. He frowned. "Don't mention it?"

"It's just, I could've… Once… I just…" He seemed to be trying to force words out through a gag.

"You could've…?"

"I'm going for a walk," Adam announced. He hesitated, looked back at Simba, and seemed to be struggling to add something more, but he turned and marched off to the stairwell. Simba stared after him, utterly perplexed.

A click that sounded like a door handle caught Simba's attention, and he turned in time to catch Aladdin peering out a barely open door. Aladdin jumped a bit at being caught, but instead of retreating, he calmly joined Simba in the hall.

"I wonder why that douche has it out for Adam."

Simba cocked his head, the feline equivalent to a shrug. "I guess he knows nobody else would take it from him."

Absentmindedly, Aladdin brushed at his shaggy black hair. "Yeah. He tried it with me."

"Did he?"

Aladdin nodded solemnly, and then laughed. "He called me a skinny, sickly spawn of a whore, and said he'd done you-know-what with my mother. I told him I wouldn't know anything about that, I have a girlfriend and therefore have no need to visit a brothel."

Simba guffawed. "What'd he say?"

"Nothing. He stammered and turned red. I didn't have time to wait for his comeback, so I guess we'll never know."

---

Shang decided he liked his roommate. Upon returning from a run through the grounds, intending on settling in to his daily meditation, he found Quasi arranging a simple shrine on his desk. He regarded the items with interest – a small engraving of a veiled woman, and a rectangular wooden cross onto which was attached a tiny, rather dead-looking man – and delighted that, as the two of them clearly had the same idea, the room would remain silent for as long as they needed.

After arranging his own shrine with effigies of his ancestors, Shang crossed his legs, sat high on his tailbone, and began to clear his mind….

A shuffling sound from the other end of the room distracted him, but he blocked it out. Perhaps it was somebody walking by; they would be gone in a second.

When they didn't, in fact, leave, Shang decided the noise was instead his roommate having some slight sinus problems. Surely that would clear up in a minute.

Was he – gods above, was he crying? For a moment, Shang indulged his curiosity and focused his full attention on Quasi. No, he wasn't crying; he was intoning.

Inwardly, Shang grimaced. Intoning had never suited him; in fact, it rubbed him quite the wrong way. He rearranged his position and tried to visualize his mantra: Peace, Serenity.

"Ave Maria, gratia plena…"

Peace, Serenity.

"Dominus tecum."

Peace. Serenity.

"Benedictum tu in mulierbus…"

Peace. Serenity?

"…Et benedictus fructus ventris tui…"

Peace! Serenity!

"Iesus."

Peace shut up Serenity you babbling fool.

"Sancta Maria, Mater Dei…"

"Does it end?" The words had left Shang's mouth before he could catch them. Quasi didn't seem to notice; his head was bowed, face hidden behind clasped hands, and he rocked slightly on his knees.

"…Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora moris nostrae. Amen."

He seemed to have finished. Shang shook himself and turned back towards the shrine.

"Ave Maria…"

"See you later, Quasi," Shang tossed as he strode out of the room.

"Gratia plena…" The door slammed, cutting off the rest of the chant.

As Shang strode through the lobby, he nearly plowed into a rather despondent-looking Adam. "Pardon me."

"No, please the fault is mine." Adam seemed to remember something; he tapped Shang lightly on the arm to secure his attention. "Quasi's full name, eh? Poor chap."

"Yes. What was it, I've forgotten."

"Why, Quasimodo. How cruel."

Shang shrugged. "A mouthful, I suppose."

"No; what it means."

"What does it mean?"

"The Latin?" Adam's eyes widened. "Surely you know at least some Latin?"

"Some… Latin?" What little remained of Shang's patience snapped. "Why would I know Latin? I'm from China. Do I expect you to know Mandarin?! Tell me, if you like, but be straight about it!"

Adam pursed his lips. "'Half-formed'."

"Oh. That is cruel." A spot of awkwardness descended. "Well, I was just going to…"

"Right. Yes."

Shang and Phoebus' paths crossed soon after; Phoebus, looking flushed and invigorated, was walking back through the lobby after a workout. The two soldiers paused and shared a conversation that seemed to consist mainly of hand gestures and knowing nods. Adam liked Phoebus' easygoing nature and smiled gingerly as he passed.

"Hi."

Pheobus startled and seemed bemused to see Adam standing there. "Uh, hi." An awkward pause. "How's it going, there?"

"Oh, fine."

Phoebus opened his mouth, seemed to realize he had nothing to say, offered a short and pained smile, and darted back towards his room.

---

Eric hadn't realized the hotel had a pool; he hadn't thought to ask, never having seen a swimming pool before. The Evafta Hotel was a rather high-end one, and the pool was accordingly gorgeous. It took time to get used to the surprising taste of chlorine, but Eric privately admitted to himself that he preferred the pool to the sea. Ariel would never have to know.

He liked diving, and in the sea, one had precious little opportunity to practice. It wasn't often that one's boat caught on fire, necessitating a quick radial escape. Eric was sure he had perfected a smooth, taught body position and delighted in repetition, unhindered by a conveniently empty pool.

"AAAaaaAAAaaaAaAaAaAAAAAAA!"

Eric looked up in time to watch his roommate dive not off the low springboard, as Eric had, but the five-meter competitive diving platform. Tarzan somersaulted three times in the air before slicing into the water, stiff as an arrow, with nary a "plop" to signify his entrance.

Without a backwards glance, Eric swam towards the ladder, duly humbled for the day.

This is obviously just a filler chapter. Tune in next time, not in "Misc Misc. Movies", but it "Cartoons Disney".

~Curlz