Chapter 10
The chapter in which we make new friends…and keep the old
The eight remaining contestants on Vampire Island study each other gravely. They've got an important decision to make. They must send one of their own to be strung up and dangled and possibly eliminated from existence.
"I'll go first," Rosalie says with determination.
Jasper gives his sister a level look, and says, "Do you understand what you'll be faced with?"
Rosalie nods stoically, but Alice jumps to her and clings onto her arm, pleading, "No, Rose, don't! It's suicide!"
"Then by all means, let's send her," Alucard interjects.
"Anywhere will be better than staying here, being forced to cooperate with him," Rosalie says vicously as she glares through narrowed eyes at the Nosferatu.
"It is true; we are going to have to all work together from now on," Integra states. "Since Ms. Hale and my vampire seem to be the least cohesive of our members, I think she is our best choice. Can we all agree?"
Everyone either nods or says 'yes' quietly, and Alice keeps her affectionate hands tightly clenched around Rosalie's arm. Edward walks over and wraps his hand around the back of Rosalie's golden hair and presses his lips to her forehead.
He pulls his lips back slightly and whispers, "Give Bella all of my love."
Rosalie's throat becomes choked with emotion for the first time in several decades, so she simply nods silently.
"Don't worry, Rosie, we'll be coming for you soon," Jasper consoles, and then turns and takes a step back to the television. "Our decision is made," he announces. "We're sending--"
"Tut tut," says the Major crisply. "You vill vait until ve haff a proper Tribal Council. The rules, Herr Whitlock, the rules."
"Whitlock?" Seras asks.
Keeping his eyes trained on the camera, Jasper explains in a murmur, "That was my human name and the name I kept until I joined the Cullens and adopted the surname Hale in order to pose as Rosalie's natural brother. How the fuck does he know my real name?"
"You vould be surprised at the things I know Herr Whitlock-Hale. Now about the Tribal Council, ve need a host, no?"
"The beach sort of ate our host, jerk," the tiniest vampire says spitefully to the enormous television screen above her.
"Ah, so it did. Vell, this vill not do. Herr Probst, Herr Probst," the maniac on the television calls. "You haff a job to do. Come." The Major sticks two pudgy fingers in his mouth and whistles, as if calling a dog.
Alucard chuckles under his breath. "He's gone completely bonkers. Walter, it looks like we did him some permanent damage after all."
But as he's speaking, there's a sifting, muffled sound behind them. Nine heads turn. In the exact same spot where their trusty host had disappeared, grains of sand are mounding up. It's as if hundreds of invisible ants are madly working to build their hill. The sand continues to push up and up, and suddenly five thin cylinders of sand, only inches long, burst through and begin flailing.
In a commanding whisper, Jasper tells the remaining Surivors, "Take position in a wide circle around the disturbance. At my signal, we attack."
They move to stand in a circle around the growing mound just as another set of tiny cylinders punch through, right next to the first set. Both sets the bust all the way out and appear to be legs on two flat crab-like creatures with thick, oversized tails trailing behind their bodies. The tails stay stuck in the sand. The crab things fall flat on the sand and begin pressing down.
"Now?" Alice asks.
"Not yet," Jasper answers, examining the sand all around them. "They're so small. There must be more. And we've go to know what's at the end of that tail first. I'm keeping my eye on those two. The rest of you watch the sand around you and sound the alert at any activity."
Everyone else looks around at the surrounding sand, and as they do, the two visible crabs jump away from each other and press into the sand again to hoist a pair of elbows up and out of the sandy pit. Wait……elbows? Did I just say elbows? Why, these aren't crabs at all! They are sand-caked hands and arms! And a beige, grainy head has popped up between them. A further push of the crabby like hands reveals a sandy camp shirt under the head.
"Mr. Probst?" Sera asks cautiously, with a note of hope.
The sandman makes no reply, but shimmies the rest of his body on the surface to the beach, and the telltale lumps of sand-laden cargo pockets on its shorts reveal that is, in fact, Jeff Probst.
The contestants all make another visual inspection of the surrounding beach, confirm that there are no more disturbances anywhere, and then watch Jeff as he rises to standing.
"Mr. Probst?" Seras repeats, but this time with concern. He doesn't look good. He doesn't look good at all.
The male vampires still tower over him, but the little fella seems to have added an inch or two of girth all around his body. And he's a monotone beige color from being caked with so much sand. He looks as if he's had a thick layer of sand paper adhered to every square inch of his body. He brings his hand up to wipe sand away from his eyes and opens them in slits, looking around at each of the contestants in turn.
"Are…are you oka-" Seras is cut off mid question by a horrible hacking noise.
A hole has opened at the bottom of the globe of sand that is the Survivor host's head, and he is coughing and spitting out sand. He bends over and rests his hands on his bent knees while his body violently convulses, racked with choking out the sand.
No one makes a move to help him. They don't know what the hell is going on around here and aren't about to be pulled into any trap. They all stand tensed and ready to jump on whatever requires jumping onto at a signal from Jasper. Of course, none of them happen to know exactly what that signal is – there hasn't been a lot of time to iron out the small details – but they're just kind of assuming that they'll know it when they see it.
Jeff's hacking eases and he begins to straighten, but before he's completely upright, a gurgle bubbles up his sternum, through his throat and out his mouth. He retches out a dark green, disgustingly pungent goo. Most of it hurls out of him and onto the beach, but a long, wet string stays connected from the ground all the way up to his lip.
Everyone watches the moist line of residual vomit, waiting for it to snap and drop to the sand. But it doesn't snap. It stays, long and green and glistening in the sunlight. Jeff doesn't seem to notice. He appears to be trying to steady himself after his spasms, breathing slowly in and out and not moving. The sight is disgusting and slimy and repulsive, yet no one can look away from this veritable miracle of phlegmatic resiliency.
Jeff regains his bearings. Oh goody - he'll stand up, the vile string of retch will snap, and this story can move on. Except he doesn't stand up. He purses his lips around the wet segment of his upchuck and starts sucking. At last the string finally snaps – but at the bottom, just an inch or so above the ground. The rest of it is being pulled slowly but surely, inch by inch, back into Jeff's mouth. He slurps, and he sucks in the slime, and the eight remaining Survivors stare on in horror at what they are witnessing. Each and every one of them can smell the sour, acrid substance and know very well what it must taste like. They cringe while they watch their previously sane host willingly suck it into his mouth.
He slurps the last bit, snaps his head up straight and smacks his lips together. "Mmm, yummy," he says quite sincerely.
Something clearly ain't right with Jeff.
"Ah, yes. I see it verked," the Major cackles with delighted satisfaction. "It verked, und you haff your host. Now onto the vote!"
"Vote?" Jeff says in an exaggerated fashion. "Vote? Ah yes – the vote! He wipes away a bit of sand and reaches into the breast pocket of his camp shirt and pulls out a stack of cards and a Sharpie. "Anyone got an urn?" he asks, looking around expectantly.
"I-I think I saw one over by where we were set up for Musical Chairs," Alice replies helpfully.
"Groovy," Jeff says and take steps towards the urn that is indeed wedged into the sand by the chairs. "Welp, follow me, and we'll get this vote party rolling."
"Um, d-don't you want to clean up or something first?" Alice tentatively suggests.
Jeff stops dead and spins around to face her. "Clean up? Clean up? What're you talking 'bout, toots?"
"I – I – uh," Alice stutters as she tries to think of a way to politely tell Probst that he's a mess.
He looks down at himself and says, "Oh, this. Sorry, sugar pop, ain't no way to clean this up." He holds out one arm and takes the opposite hand to it and begins swiping quickly back on his forearm. A few shavings of sand fall off, but the rest stays. He holds his arms out as if presenting himself and says with a proud smile, "This is me now. I'm all sand, baby."
"A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," Major laughs from the screen. "Und so you meet my latest creation – the sand zombie. He is harmless to all but the smallest fly, but he is one-hundred percent loyal, und he has personality to boot."
"But he is not indestructible," Alucard says, swiftly stepping over to him and grabbing him into a chokehold.
"Not indestructible…" the Major concedes
"Holy Hell!" Alucard shouts as an electric jolt zaps through him, and he tosses Jeff away.
"…but very resistant," the Major finishes.
Jeff stumbles from Alucard's force, but stays on his feet and gives an innocent shrug of his shoulders as if to apologize for his apparently innate defensive ability to shock his predators.
"You can figure out soon enough how to destroy him, but it serves no purpose other than to entertain me. He can do you no harm, und if you destroy him, the game vill still go on. I just think it's more fun vith him around."
"Why thank ya, Major. That's awfully sweet," Jeff beams.
"Stuff it, Probst," the Major responds.
Alucard has recovered from the surprise of the shock and takes a silent step behind the new zombie. He's going to finish him off this time. But he's stopped when a pellet zings through the air and smacks him between the eyes. The pellet bores into his skull, releasing a cascade of blood from the resulting hole. As Alucard's eyes flick in the direction from where the bullet had come, one of them is taken out by a second, perfectly aimed pellet.
The eyeball explodes from the impact and the empty socket gushes more blood. Alucard opens his mouth, but before a sound can be uttered, his other eye is blasted away. The impact of the latest bullet causes him to take a step back, and now he throws his blood-drenched head back and opens his mouth wide, baring his sharp teeth, and belts out a maniacal laugh. Another bullet zings into his open mouth and halts the laugh for a brief moment as it pierces the back of his throat. The laughing resumes, but now it is a wet, gurgling that pushes gelatinous black and red clots out over his lips with each iteration.
"Aw, gross," Sand-Probst mutters as he backs away.
Walter whips out his wires and wraps them around the Sand zombie's ankles and wrists, binding him. Jeff wriggles and squirms, but he's effectively trapped.
Bullets riddle Alucard's chest, and his shoulders shake in hilarity at every new wound while he continues his wheezing, splattering laughter.
Jasper looks to Walter, Integra and Seras, and with a nod toward the incapacitated Sand-Probst says, "Keep an eye on him in case he's got some tricks up his sleeve. The rest of you, follow me." He leads Edward, Rosalie and Alice to the edge of the forest. The lone sniper is perched at the top of a palm tree, firing away.
The sniper turns his fire on them, but the bullets merely ping off their stone flesh. Rosalie, Edward and Alice spread out on the ground, and Jasper begins climbing, but before he's more than five feet off the ground, he sees a two-foot missile streaking down toward him, he drops from the tree, but as soon as he touches the ground, the missile slams down on him and explodes with such force that it blows a deep pit into the earth, a pit that sucks down the bits that Jasper has been blown into.
"Jasper!" Alice shouts and kneels down next to the hole. "I can't even see him!" she shouts to Edward and Rosalie.
"Ali-" Edward warns too late, just before another missile drives into Alice's back and sends her shooting down to Jasper.
"You mother fucker," Rosalie hisses and dodges a third missile that drives all the way into the earth. She grabs the trunk of the palm tree in which the sniper has roosted and begins violently shaking it. The hulking tree sways back and forth. The burst of fronds at the top – where the sniper sits – waves several feet in one direction, and then snaps back and speeds in the other. The gunman clings stubbornly to the branches, but his firing has come to an abrupt halt.
Everyone on the beach can hear the dull but massive tearing sound as the tree's roots snap underground. The tree moves more easily in Rosalie's infuriated hands, and at any moment it will be free of the earth, and the sniper will be a mere plaything at her mercy. But just before the last root rips, the sniper, with bulky weapons strapped to him, uses the momentum of the swaying tree to leap into the air. He flips in a perfectly formed somersault, and then straightens up and grasps onto the fronds of another tree, about thirty feet away from his point of origin.
It was a nice move, but the in-air flip was overkill. It was the act of a highly-skilled show off, and the cockiness of the move is not lost on Integra. She looks toward the tree in which the gymnast is hidden through narrowed, suspicious eyes. While Alucard pulls himself back together, the rest of the Hellsings and their prisoner have been watching the action in the trees. The Hellsings shrewdly assess the enemy and contemplate their next move while Sand-Probst, who's been quite docile since being lassoed, merely gawks.
The sniper had to abandon his remaining missiles, and they now fly haphazardly from the tree that Rosalie pries loose and clunk harmlessly to the ground. Rosalie turns the tree sideways and prepares to toss it at the assailant, but he clicks yet another weapon and shoots out a long, U-shaped bit that dips down in front of Rosalie and then swoops up and hooks around her neck like a collar. The force of it lifts her into the air and slams her into a tree that bends all the way back and nearly snaps. The device's sharp ends pierce into the tree trunk and hold Rosalie, trapping her with her feet dangling several inches above the ground. She thrashes to get free, but this sniper knows what he's doing, and the u-shaped device holds her tight.
She begins kicking with her heels at the tree trunk, and it's already starting to splinter. She's going to get free one way or another. Meanwhile, Edward, has stealthily climbed up into the canopy of trees and snuck up behind the lone gunman. He's very close and about to jump onto his back, but a piercing, terrified scream issues forth from the television that causes him to freeze in place.
"Edward!" It's the voice of his beloved, and she's in peril
Edward stays in position in the trees but his head snaps toward the television. The screen is up the tree line and angled so that Edward can make out the vision of the Major with a chainsaw, standing directly next to Bella.
"Yes, dear, that vas good. Danke schön," the Major says and stuffs the buff back into her mouth. "Herr Cullen, I recommend you come down from there now und leave my soldier unscathed, unless of course you vould like to see me cut your wife into bite sized morsels, and then make a shish kebob of her.
Bella's upside down eyes open wide, and she pleads with them. Edward can't deny those eyes. He never could. He drops from the tree and stands in front of the television.
"Very good," the Major praises. He continues looking up at a monitor, or more likely a set of monitors, that apparently show him what is going on at the beach. Rosalie is still struggling at the tree, there is no sign of Jasper and Alice, Alcuard is still putting himself together, and Walter, Integra and Seras stand weaponless. The coast looks clear enough to the Major, so he sticks two fingers in his mouth and blows out his loud dog whistle.
The sniper drops from the tree and lands easily on both feet like a video game hero. He's at least a couple inches over six foot and a solid two-hundred plus pounds. He wears a pair of dark blue cargo pants and a tight, black t-shirt. All around him – over his muscular back, around his thick thighs, across his tight waist - are strapped holsters to hold all types of weaponry and ammunition. He stands ready for anything with the muscles of his arms tensed and flexed, slightly bent at the elbows. His fingers twitch with readiness outside the fingerless black leather gloves that protect both hands.
Rosalie pauses in her struggle to take in the newcomer. He's not what she expected. A swatch of light brown hair falls over his right eye as he tilts his head forward and looks toward the group of Hellsings.
"Mr. Kennedy," Integra says authoritatively. "I thought that was you."
"Sir Integra," he says with a respectful nod.
"L-Leon?" Seras says, not at all steadily.
His eyes are slow to travel from Integra to Seras, and even when they reach her, he can't quite look into her baby blues. "Miss Victoria," he says in a soft, almost regretful tone.
"You know him, too?" Edward turns and grumbles incredulously.
"He did some mercenary work for us," Integra answers, not removing her gaze from Leon Kennedy and continuing in a scolding tone, "Now it appears he's lowered his standards and will hire himself out to anyone, even low-life Nazi scum."
Leon clenches his jaw and lowers his eyes shamefully to the sand.
A new note of bitterness creeps into Integra's voice as she says, "I suppose Mr. Mercer has joined you?" A powerful image rushes through Integra's thoughts, and Edward can't but be cognizant of it. It's a flash of a tall, lean young man, with disorganized dirty-blond hair, wearing casual, rumpled clothes. He's holding onto the curved handle of a long, thin sword that gleams as the young man leaps and turns in the air, swinging the weapon at his opponent. But Integra's not thinking of the opponent. She's only thinking of the young man with the oddly-glowing green eyes.
"No," Leon states firmly, but his eyes betray him and flick toward the television.
"Vat are you looking at?" the Major states irritably.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," Kennedy answers insolently.
"I'm sure I needn't remind you of our arrangement, minion," the Major says in a threatening tone.
Leon appears to bite back a remark before responding through gritted teeth. "Let's just get on with this…der Führer," he adds disdainfully under his breath.
Integra's throat appears to have gone dry. She takes an arid swallow and, looking directly at Leon, says in a harsh whisper, "They have him?"
Kennedy gives a slight nod.
Seras oddly seems relieved at this news. "Is that why you're doing this, Leon? They're forcing you to help them to save Zohall?" she asks hopefully.
He doesn't answer, but looks significantly at Integra. She returns his look and seems to read something in his eyes. Something that leads her to believe that if they can just get through this next vote, he will help them.
Alcuard makes an odd spluttering noise, and Integra's attention snaps to him. He's almost back to normal, but still has a few weeping sores in his throat and an eyeball that doesn't seem to want to stay in its socket. Sand-Probst nervously watches his rejuvenation and seems to want to make a break for it, but Walter holds tightly to his leash.
"Why is it taking my vampire so long to recuperate?" Integra demands.
The man on the TV answers, "Ah, yes, they said it vouldn't vork, but I knew it vould. The bullets were forged of stones from the grave of Saint Guinefort."
"Saint Guinefort?" Integra says doubtfully. "I've never heard of him."
The Major shrugs. "It does not matter. The bullets clearly have some holy value if they slowed your vampire's healing powers. I shall make sure to tell that to Paladin Anderson when I see him next," he says and chuckles. "The important thing is, vat vill you order your vampire to do once he is fully recovered? Vill he be attacking my men, und vill I be severing and burning limbs here in retaliation? Tell me, Herr Integra, shall I fire this baby up?" Major asks with a loving caress of his chain saw.
Integra glances again toward Leon Kennedy, who with a subtle nod confirms that he is, in fact, on her side. "I shall order him to vote for Rosalie Hale at the next Tribal Council," she answers.
The Major cackles, "Excellent, excellent."
Rosalie has missed all of this as she's been preoccupied at the tree. She finally kicks the last splinters apart at the base and is free. Sort of. Her neck is still attached to the trunk, so she bends forward with the twenty foot palm precariously balanced on her back, the bulk of it protruding out past her head. Even with all her strength and grace, keeping the awkward load in check is no easy task. She takes slow, calculated steps toward Leon.
Edward redirects her. "Rosalie, no! The Major has a chainsaw ready to go if any harm comes to this man. Go join the others."
"A chainsaw won't even put a scratch on Emmett," Rosalie chides from her hunched position.
"Come on, Rose, you've already seen that these are no ordinary weapons. These guys aren't messing around. Now please, for once in your life stop being obstinate and do what I ask. For Emmett."
Rosalie releases a frustrated growl, and gingerly turns the palm to face the group of Hellsings on the beach. Being called off her prey is bad enough, but now she's forcibly aware of how ridiculous she must look as she ambles toward the group like some kind of bikinied lumberjack.
By the time she reaches them, Alucard has completely healed. "Oh, you poor thing," he says in overly done sympathy. "Here, have a seat." He grasps the palm trunk, pulls it upright and jams the splintered end into the sand, forcing Rosalie to slam down onto her pretentious bum. It's no accident that she's landed directly in the slimy green pile of Sand-Probst's expulsion.
Edward becomes aware of Alice and Jasper's murderous thoughts as they've reassembled themselves and are now near the top of their hole. He rushes over just as they emerge and says, "Calm down. Don't do anything. If we touch the gunman, the Major stands ready to dismember Bella and the rest."
As Alice and Jasper climb out, Jasper argues, "We're not just going to surrender. No war was ever won by surrendering!"
Edward lowers his voice, so that only they can hear. "It won't be a surrender. The Hellsings know the gunman, used to work with him. He's being forced to work for the Major, but once we get this first vote over with, he'll help us. I can already see the plan formed in his mind."
"It's just a trick, Edward. He obviously knows that you'll be scanning his thoughts," Jasper counters.
"No," Edward answers with solid conviction. "They have his friend, too, just like our family. He wants to save him. And Integra trusts him. She agrees with me. Now, I know you led armies of men and newborn vampires, but you have to admit that Sir Hellsing has more experience dealing with this kind of enemy. I think we need to go with her gut on this one. We play nice for this vote, and then escape and rescue the others."
Jasper doesn't like it, but he doesn't see a better alternative at the moment. Taking down the gunman and Probst isn't going to get them anywhere. They have no idea where the television transmission is coming from and would still be helpless to save their loved ones.
Edward stares hard at Jasper, sees his resignation, and says, "Good. Let's join the others and do this."
The eight contestants reconvene on the beach, right where they started their discussion of the vote. Only now they are joined by a sand zombie and have a heavily-armed guest.
Jeff lifts his tied hands as far as his bonds will allow and looks expectantly at Walter, waiting for him to release his wires.
"Forgive me, sir, but given the circumstances, I think it best to keep you bound for now," Walter says.
Jeff responds with a wide, condescending smirk. Surely the Major isn't going to allow his latest pride and joy to be treated this way.
"Ya. That is a good idea. He is still new und ve haven't vorked out all the kinks," the Major ruminates aloud from the television.
Sand-Probst shoots an appalled glare at his boss, but there's nothing he can do about it. Luckily, he still holds the white cards and Sharpie in his hands; it'll make this process easier. He turns the cards upward and says sulkily, "Fine. Everyone take a card and pass the pen around."
"Vait un minute," the Major requests. "Oh, cameraman…"
Oh, yeah, they all think as they remember the cameraman who had disappeared into the forest earlier. But that's not who the Major is talking about, and there's still no sign of him. Instead, Leon Kennedy begins patting around at his various pockets and holsters. "Son of a bitch, I know it's in here somewhere," he mutters. "Aha!" he says as he claps a hand on a big side pocket halfway down his right leg. He reaches in and pulls out a video camera.
He looks up and sees the nonplused expressions on the eight faces observing him and shrugs as he explains, "Hey, this is all that I was hired to do. You guys started it with all that shooting crap."
Leon begins nonchalantly filming, and the Major says, "Carry on."
Within a few minutes, Jeff is holding all eight cards back in his hands. He maneuvers his thick, sandy fingers to flip the cards one by one and read them off.
"First vote: Rosalie," he says and flicks that card in the sand. It's amazing how he sounds just like the old Jeff again as he reads the votes.
"Next vote: Ms. Hale." Flick.
He twists the next one up for all to see as he reads: "alucarD."
And the next: "Rose :(
"Rosalie. That's four votes Rosalie, one vote Alucard. Eight contestants left, so five votes will constitute a majority," he explains, once again helping the mathematically challenged.
He turns the card again and says, "And the fifth contestant voted out on Survivor: Vampire Island is Rosalie."
Rosalie still sits in the sand with her neck attached to the tree, but she holds her head of proudly, accepting her fate. Everyone looks at her, wondering how in the hell she's going to fit on the little boat for ousted contestants with that enormous tree attached to her, when suddenly the sand beneath her shifts. Rosalie's eyes open wide and she bend her legs up and makes an attempt to stand. The sand shifts again, and half her body, along with several inches of the tree trunk, is pulled downward. She's sunken in to her shoulders, and the calves of her legs have been thrown straight upward.
"Rose!" Alice shouts, and before anyone else reacts, Rosalie disappears. So does the tree.
The humans and the Cullens gasp while Jeff giggles. Alucard makes very little reaction. He's caught between delight at having her gone, regret at missing his last opportunity to rip her to shreds and wariness about what this could mean for the rest of them. A few seconds later, the tall, thin tree shoots up from the sand a good fifty feet in the air, seems to hang suspended in air for a few seconds, and then slowly leans sideways and descends to the earth with a powerful crash as it lands.
"You bastard!" Alice screams, turning toward the television. "What have you done to her?"
"Sir Hellsing," Edward asks, remaining calm with his eyes riveted on the spot where Rosalie had disappeared. "Is there anyway this sand zombie process could work on a vampire? Surely she's immune to it."
"I would think she'd be impervious; I've never known a vampire to be transformed into anything other than a vampire. But I don't know what kind of experiments this nutjob may have done. I don't know what he's capable of," Integra admits.
"When she emerges," Jasper says soberly, "we are going to have to treat her with the highest level of caution. She may still look like our Rose, but we are going to have to assume that he's done something to her until we have hard evidence to the contrary."
The sand remains still as they all watch in dreadful anticipation. But nothing happens.
"Vat are you looking at," the Major asks with poorly concealed laughter in his voice. "She is not coming back. Ve only need one host."
Jeff grins with the satisfaction that comes with job security. The others whip their heads toward the television screen, now expecting to see Rosalie strung up like the others.
"She is not coming here, either. You voted her out. She has been eliminated entirely. She no longer factors into this game," the Major explains. There is something very ominous in the way he said 'eliminated,' and the seven remaining contestants stare at the television with numb disbelief.
The stakes have just been raised.
.
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End Notes:
Leon Kennedy is from the Resident Evil series. (Ladies – if you're not familiar with Mr. Kennedy, do yourselves a favor and google up some images ;))
Zohall Mercer, an original character created by the incredible EZB. I'm afraid that I will not do justice to these gentlemen here, so to get a full dose of Zohall and Leon, read EZB's epic adventure, The Hellsing War Chronicles, which can be found either on his profile or in my favorites.
Full credit for the alucarD goes to geophf. Also, I originally read the image of Rosalie uprooting a tree in the inspired, My Sister Rosalie by geophf
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Author's Note:
Special thanks to these authors/readers/reviewers for the extra time they took to look over parts of this chapter for me and make helpful suggestions for improvement: System Aurora, EZB (so lovely to have you back!) and Master of the Boot. They are not only smart and highly creative, but also tremendously fun to "work" with!
I am tickled to death to tell you that Metropolis Kid has once again been inspired to write a one-shot that is tangential to this story. It's called One Froggy Twi-Night and can be found at his profile or on my favorites. If you enjoy laughing and like seeing Edward in uncomfortable positions, you should definitely check it out.
For another original and humorous take on Edward, check out another new addition to my favorites, Rainbow Zebra: An Ode to Vampire Bella by Master of the Boot. He wrote this one-shot as a gift to someone very close to my heart (we'll call her 'Little LiLa') and came up with an alternate version of Twilight that even - or maybe especially - die-hard anti-Twilighters can appreciate.
There, those stories should keep you busy enough that you won't even notice the long gaps between my updates…but thanks for being good to me anyways and always coming back for more. I look forward to your reviews with more eager anticipation than most psycho-therapists would probably consider to be healthy. Oh, and the poll results are available at my profile (for those of you who don't trust me *ahem* O_o). Thanks for voting!
-LiLa