Words fail me, like my abysmally dismal proficiency in derivatives and options pricing. And so I haven't much to say except for these:
1- A thousand apologies to those who were following this series eons ago. This latest Slice is long overdue, what with work and then grad school being the merciless taskmasters that they are. This piece had lain in the archives, gathering dust and sucking on mothballs until one night when Sleep and Reason took flight, we decided to dangle our prison keys and open the old folders.
2- And the Third Slice is dedicated to Kydasam, Writer, Friend, and Mentor unto us who were both humbled and inspired by her love for life, peerless command of the written word, and the things that make the keyboard worth pounding on- among them, her love for her fellow writers. Live on, Kyda!
Warning: This particular Slice has been rated for Substance Abuse (coughs). And by that, I'm referring to the substance of the fic. Or lack thereof. (winks)
A Splice of Life
Third Slice- A Brew Screwed (part 1 of 3)As concocted by: nikoru sanzo
"Would you like me to compute for its velocity, trajectory, and its potential as a plague that'll wipe out all of Rome?"
Carl made no secret of his disapproval even as Van Helsing wiped his nose. The hunter grinned cheekily and forced an apology. "I'm sorry, Carl. But a sneeze is like Evil. It comes when you least expect it and the results are never, shall we say, pretty?"
The friar turned a valve on the Bunsen burner. He walked over to a small tray and used a pair of tongs to pick up from it a limp greenish strip. He eyed his friend suspiciously. "I thought you could sense these things. Evil and an opportunity for mayhem being top on the list. Don't make excuses about not anticipating a sneeze. Good heavens! The least you could do is to cover your mouth. Your bandanna is as useless as your sense of propriety!"
Van Helsing sat on the worktable and took off his hat. He stared ahead, a frown crossing his face. He suddenly leaned close to Carl and whispered in mock agitation, "Then I have lost the source of my power! Carl, help me! I can no longer sense Evil! I can no longer tell what barbs Jinette shall use on me. Will it be the 'I wish you a week in Hell for that'? Or 'Go clean the Holy Latrines'? Help me, Carl! If I can no longer sense Evil, how will I know where you'll be sneaking off with another tavern wench and…!"
Carl's mouth gaped and it was a pure reflex of self- preservation that got him to drop the tongs and attempt to put a stop on the other man's lamenting. Van Helsing laughed and effortlessly fought off the friar's hands. He slid down from the worktable and put on his hat.
Carl was furious and panting. Only visions of being sent out in the field as a replacement hunter (a frightful but just punishment) kept him from skewering Van Helsing with a nearby mop. He glared at the hunter and was answered with a very smug grin.
Carl picked up the tongs and began searing the strange greenish sliver over the Bunsen burner. "Good morning to you as well! I've much work to do, so go away and break something priceless."
Not one to give up, Van Helsing peered over Carl's shoulder. "What are you doing? What's that thing you're torturing this time? Is it Jinette's tongue, rendered harmless and incapable of convincing all men to lose their will to live?"
The friar put the tongs down and bowed his head. He gave out a defeated sigh. "By the holy toes of some bogus saint in a Reliquary! You are impossible, Van Helsing! This is a piece of troll skin I'm working on. I'm trying to study its regenerative properties and see why it's not impervious to fire and acid."
Van Helsing stepped back and rubbed his chin. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the troll skin. "Have you tried subjecting it to one of Jinette's lectures? Just place that thing a few hundred feet from the Cardinal and watch the troll skin burst into flames as Jinette rebukes it for being a godless wicked unrepentant skin of a troll."
Carl resignedly shook his head and resumed his experiment. The troll skin began to sizzle at its edge that was being exposed to the flame. Carl looked pleased and bobbed the tongs over the burner. He turned to Van Helsing and thrust the smoking troll skin at the latter's face. "Here, smell this! It's positively horrifying."
Van Helsing attempted to evade it, but the troll skin had already done its damage. "Good God, Carl! That was vile! What are you trying to…?"
The hunter stopped. He opened his mouth, as if expecting something, and twitched his nose. He blinked a few times and shook his head. A look of absolute horror appeared on his face.
Tragedy. A sneeze that should've broken forth but had the audacity to shun its calling. Van Helsing tried to pick at his ear, annoyed at the tingling sensation lingering somewhere behind his nose. It bothered him greatly, and though he tried to comfort himself with the thought that it will eventually go away, he was sorely mistaken.
Van Helsing, as a special kind of man in any way one looked at it, was different from all men. Hence, it did not go away.
Carl shrugged his shoulders. "Well, judging from your reaction, I'd say the idea of making a potion from it is out of the question." The friar turned his back on Van Helsing and continued singeing parts of the troll skin.
Van Helsing pondered his situation while fighting the urge to pick at his ear with a tojo. He was never the kind to sneeze with a hushed embarrassed pfft or the "gentlemanly" and forgivable achoo that one would attribute to the more civilized members of the human race. No, Van Helsing considered himself a cut above the rest. He was standing next to Carl's worktable as the friar was examining the flammability of a piece of a bugbear skin over a Bunsen burner.
Van Helsing had drawn himself to his full height, inhaled as deeply as he could, elated with the feel of the air gushing into him. And then, with one fell swoop, he sneezed, or rather- roared. The blast was attended by a stomp on the floor and Van Helsing's fists connecting with Carl's worktable, echoed by the friar's surprised squeak when the Bunsen burner rattled and its flames quickly engulfed the bugbear skin he was holding above it.
Well, he didn't get a dressing-down from Carl. There were far more important matters to attend to. Such as the monk whose robe was set on fire after a startled Carl accidentally tossed the burning piece of bugbear skin at him. Then there was the matter of the "flaming" monk running for his dear life and causing a dreadful commotion. The poor man managed to pull off his robes before crashing into a miniature catapult and unwittingly activating the said contraption. The small catapult then released its arsenal- three large casks full of pigswill.
Even as the barrels of stinking and rotting pig food sailed above their heads, the fearful inevitability was plastered upon the horrified faces of those who watched and waited for its landing.
Why they would be experimenting with catapults and barrels of pigswill in a confined room was beyond him. "Crazy geniuses!" Van Helsing snorted, then sneezed.
The casks and their frightful contents didn't land on anyone. But they landed bottom-sides up in the loading tank connected through a pipe to of one of Carl's contraptions, a gattling gun that had been modified to dispense dangerous chemicals instead of bullets.
Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, for the sickening goopy sound of the pig food pouring into the loading tube didn't sound threatening at all. It was no secret that a week ago, Carl was advised by Cardinal Jinette not to put a trigger on the thing for as long as possible.
Everyone knew the Cardinal disliked accidents.
"You would be pleased to hear that I've made a few more adjustments with this." Carl walked up to the large weapon and patted its side.
Although the others desperately believed that Carl had listened to the Cardinal's earlier admonitions on being more careful with the gattling gun, Van Helsing's instincts were screaming for him to get out of the room immediately. "And what would those adjustments be?" the monster hunter asked, and then sneezed.
Carl rubbed his chin as he contemplated the intimidating piece of weaponry beside him. "Well, I got this most wonderful idea when the Cardinal told me to delay putting a trigger on it. Really, His Eminence has no faith in my safety standards! "
Van Helsing coughed, then sneezed. The harmless sloshing sounds coming from the barrels of pigswill emptying themselves into the weapon was becoming strangely foreboding to him.
The friar beamed and ran his hands over the entire length of the loading tube. "As you can see, a considerable amount of time is wasted in loading the projectile then aiming and pulling the trigger. By removing the necessity for a trigger, I have eliminated a few nanoseconds from the process! But I'm not finished yet… Say, where is Van Helsing?"
Shoulders were shrugged as no one could vouch for the hunter's sudden disappearance. The gurgling sound of the emptying barrels stopped. An ominous click came from the gattling gun.
Carl suddenly paled but he felt he owed everyone an explanation. He squeaked nervously, "When a sufficient amount of the chemical, say an entire barrel of anything, has been loaded into the inner chamber, a sensory lever is pushed down by the weight of the chemicals and activates the trigger mechanism for the gun and-"
And in the sacred grounds of the Vatican, all hell broke loose.
To Be Continued…
