Chapter Nine: Martinelli's Sparkling Vampire Cider

UNNAMED P.A. (O.S.)

Sir, we already did chapter nine.

AUTHOR (O.S.)

(mutters random colorful curses)

Chapter Ten: See Above

I stopped at the entrance of the strip club on the outskirts of early 21st century Seattle, puzzled at the sudden change in the story's point of view. Shrugging, I trudged onward into the den of sin, gripping my trusted Improbability Cannon by my side.

"Is that a fashion statement or are you just happy to see me?" one of the girls asked as I walked in the door. Too snarky, I decided. Her attire and makeup made her look like one of the Jersey Shore girls, which was a red flag to just STAY AWAY.

"Neither," I snarled.

"Sheez," she remarked with a huff as she turned away. "Somebody sure pissed in his cornflakes..."

There was a cough beside me and I turned to face Strowbridge. "I think you need to adjust that compass. If Seattle had an armpit, this would be it."

"It was either that or watch underage teens make out on the deck of a flying pirate ship," I retorted.

"Still, when I said booze and hookers, this wasn't what I had in mind."

"I'm sure the author has a reason for it," I replied. "Otherwise there would be no reason to give this chapter such a ridiculous title. Or put it into the god-damned first person perspective. My psychic jaw is already aching from the introspective dialog."

"You have one?" Strowbridge asked.

"I do now," I replied.

"This is bull-BEEPing-shit," Strowbridge remarked some time later as we walked around the bar. "Not one single pair of titties to be found in this whole place. What good is a strip club where they don't take the damn outfits off?" He paused. "What the BEEP? Who the BEEP is BEEPing censoring me?"

"Keeps the fic rating at a teen level," I muttered.

"The author is a fruity man whore," Strowbridge proclaimed.

I silently waited for a thunderbolt to strike him down from on high, but none were forthcoming. Apparently the author was attempting to stay away from Deus Ex Machinas. Good for him.

"So anyway," I ventured, "what do you suppose the author has in store for us this time?"

"I dunno," Strowbridge replied in a sullen tone, "but this place sucks donkey balls."

"Getting to use the more creative swear words and insults now?" I asked.

"Yeah, since the BEEPing author is too BEEPing chickenBEEP to use manly words like BEEP."

It had been easy to forget just how much Strowbridge liked the word BEEP. He practically used it as punctuation. Interspersed it along with any number of descriptive adjectives for any number of occasions. "Frak and kriff just don't have the same ring," I agreed.

We stepped out of the club and into the gloomy drizzle of a Seattle evening. What a depressing city. Three months of sunny weather out of the whole year? Who the hell in their right minds would choose to live in such a place?

The unasked question was answered for me as we continued down a dark alley. There was a blur in front of us and suddenly we found ourselves face to face with a person I would normally have described as a lean, pasty-faced teenager. In another life, I might have assumed he was a sci-fi fan who had escaped from his parent's basement, but given the chapter title, first person tense, and setting I quickly realized that we were starting a god-damned Twilight crossover.

Dear Finagle, why?

"I have no quarrel with you," I said in as close to a Jedi's tone as I could muster, while waving my hand in front of the pseudo-vampire's face. "We are wanderers from another universe merely passing through."

"Huh?" The vampire's face was twisted up in obvious confusion.

I unslung the phallic cannon from my shoulder. The vampire's frown deepened.

"We're like sliders," I explained. "Ever watch that show?"

"Dude, so like I don't even, like, know what you're, like, talking about," the vampire said.

Great. A vampire that talks like a Valley Girl. Could this day get any better? part of my brain began to wonder. Wait-stop that thought-

There was a loud bang and a clatter of feet from behind us in the alleyway. A tall, handsome man with pale skin and short-cropped hair, in his arms carrying a pregnant, dark-haired woman with lightly blushed cheeks, was running at full tilt around the corner. A swarm of dogs-no, wolves with foam dripping from their teeth, was chasing after them followed in turn by an army of vampires.

What? Did I just describe him as handsome? Oh, for the love of Jove. Even the prose was going purple. I wanted to puke, but barely managed to restrain myself.

"You don't look very good," Strowbridge observed from beside me.

"This has all the makings of a horrible Twilight fanfic," I choked out. "We have to do something to stop it. And the author - he's gone mad. Mad I tell you!"

Edward and Bella chose that moment to crash into myself and Strowbridge. The world slowed before my eyes, and thinking quickly, as we went down in a heap, I clutched the Improbability Cannon tightly to my chest in the hope that it would not be damaged. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in this universe.

Behind us, the wolves stopped, turned, and formed into a wall. On the other side of the werewall, the vampires came to a screeching halt (literally). I could almost smell rubber sneakers burning, they stopped so fast.

"Edward," Bella coughed out the name, with a trickle of blood escaping her lips, "it's happening now. Promise me you'll protect our child?"

I palmed my face as I climbed to my feet. Strowbridge, who had just finished doing the same, gave me a sympathetic sigh.

"I promise," he said in a congested voice, then stood and looked around. "Is anyone here a doctor?"

"Look, you idiot," I brushed the dust off my tweed jacket, "you're in the middle of a dark alley in Seattle. We're surrounded by werewolves and vampires. Any doctor with two brain cells would have run long ago. Any doctor who was dumb enough to stick around I'm sure wouldn't want to see whatever sort of unholy abomination is inside her."

The comment earned me a fist to the face. Whatever people said about the Twilight vampires, there was one thing for sure: they were surprisingly strong. One moment I was standing there, facing a pissed-off Edward, the next moment I was blinking to clear stars from my vision clear on the other side of the alley as I lay slumped against a wall. Ow. That hurt.

I managed to stand up, running a hand over my formerly perfect nose, just in time to see Bella's stomach distorting. As I walked back over to where Strowbridge was (he had wisely backed far away from the emo couple), he laughed quietly.

"Guess you just found another thing to add to your list of What Not to Do."

"Whatever," I replied sourly.

We both turned to watch the unfolding delivery. Edward was kneeling down in between Bella's legs, apparently waiting for the baby to magically emerge. Her stomach became more distressed, with shapes beginning to move underneath the surface.

"Where have I seen that before?" Strowbridge asked from beside me.

Suddenly her skin tore, and a black shape shot out of her belly, latching on to Edward's face.

"Alien," I replied as I armed the Improbability Cannon. "Time to go."

"Wait," Strowbridge placed his hand over the trigger guard. As he did, I saw Edward pull the xenomorph off his face. What? Was he smiling?

"Aww... a hug already! That's daddy's little girl!" The black thing thrashed about in his hands, its tongue-mouth lashing and snapping at his face. "So strong, too! Bella, what should we name her?"

Unable to stand it anymore, I pulled the trigger. As the world dissolved around me, my stomach relieved itself of the can of Chef Boydaree I'd had for lunch earlier. There was only so much emo I could handle.