Before I continue I would like to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews, and gods know that I am trying to make the sequel just as good. Every word is a drop of blood. I didn't expect such a response, and now I feel obligated to do more. I am such a wishy-washy! But, my logic is if I can pull this off I will be free of guilt for the rest of the year. Hope it's some good! Answer to someone's question: The assignment was a Valentine's love thing. You had to write a poem, a love recipe, and more useless stuff. I also got more ideas from (man, English just eats this stuff up!) another English assignment where we had to write some poem… I can't remember what the guidelines were.
Disclaimer: I didn't create any characters except Desmaria and Iggie. TP did.
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Chapter 2: Mad Mage and Pie
Kel sat patiently by Neal's bed and administered the healer's best hangover remedy. Somehow, though, she didn't feel sorry for her friend, no matter how much he moaned.
"Drink it all," she said wickedly.
"This is your revenge, isn't it, for that song."
"Mmm hmm."
"Come on, half of that stuff was true," Neal said.
"Yeah, the part about me blacking both your eyes," she said furiously, and threw the pillow at his face before leaving the room. Neal's hoarse laugh turned into a pounding headache as he lay back down on the pillows.
***
Neal was out of whack for a few days before he could get back to his regular schedule, and the classes were as boring as ever. On unrelated topic, one afternoon Kel returned to find an envelope on her pillow. She was now doubly cautious of things such as this, so when she opened the letter to reveal an anonymous poem, she wasn't suprised at all.
It read:
This poem is devoted now
To my lovely Kel
But before I start to get mushy
I've got some insults I'd like to tell
At the ball,
You danced with a pig
And now your ego's
Blown up twice as big
I just can't believe
You danced with him- oh!
I suppress an urge
To call you a bimbo
You're magnificent and fantastic
You'll save all our souls
You're amazing and wonderful
You smell like egg rolls
Now I walk up to your door
This one nervous dude
But you say "Go away,
I'm not in the mood."
Your sexy looks
Got this one goon
You make half the court
Fall over in a swoon
Well you know
That lovin' you is easy- ack!
I just saw you kissing someone
Like you're on aphrodisiac
I'll proclaim my amour
Honest and true
So long as you won't
Neck with Neal too
What I'd really like to say
That you're sexy, good or bad
You often make me think of
Machismo I wish I had
Any time you want me
Just give my door a knockey
We'll have a lot of fun
Playing tonsil-hockey
Kel had no idea who it was from, and somehow she didn't want to know. She had math next, which cheered her up, as math was her favorite subject. The last assignment was to do a pie chart, and justify in your report that your chart was accurate. Her presentation was on which birdseed her starlings preferred, she knew it was kind of lame but it was the only thing she could think of. When Neal went swaggering up to the front, she recognized the same look on his face as when he went up to sing that idiotic song.
"My pie chart was on love," he said. "Now here you can see six percent romance, three percent beauty, one percent attraction, and ninety percent... ahem."
Everybody burst out laughing.
"Yeah, now we know how your mind works, Neal!" yelled Seaver.
***
Meanwhile...
"This is going to be the best ever!" said the Cook's helper, Desmaria.
"Shush," said Cook, but secretly he was very proud. This roast pig was the finest ever! Glazed in honey-mustard sauce, cooked to a golden brown with a roast apple in its mouth, this was the Cook's pride. "Now Des, you must wheel this cart down the hall towards the waiter's room, where she will serve their Majesties. Now chop chop!"
Desmaria quickly rolled the pig down the hall, holding her chin high. What a pig!
***
Meanwhile again...
"Okay, Ig, you must pull the switch when I say go. No! Not now! Good. This is going to be the most advanced simulacrum ever and we need no mess-ups!" Master Numair fiddled with gadgets and doo-bobs before adjusting the settings to his satisfaction.
"Yes, Master," said Iggie, his latest apprentice. Ig had a fine Gift, but was prone to trouble. "I wanna call him Frank. I had an uncle named Frank, he was really nice."
"For crying out loud, Iggie, it's a simulacrum. It doesn't need a name."
"But-" he protested.
"Fine. Call it Aberja if you want, just press the button. Go!"
Iggie pressed the button, as a flash of magic went through the shape on the table. Lightning flashed outside the window, as the shape came to life.
"Master! Master! It's alive!" cried Iggie. The shape on the table moaned.
"My creation! Why do I have a sudden desire to laugh evilly? Mua ha ha ha ha!!" Numair's dark-silhouetted form contrasted to the sickly green light radiating from the contorting form on the table.
Daine opened the door.
"Numair! It's almost ten-o-clock!" she said, exasperated. "Get out of your workroom, right now."
"But Daine-"
"No buts. You need your beauty rest."
"Man, so do you," Iggie muttered under his breath.
"Okay," Numair said sullenly, and opened the door.
***
Back in the Kitchens...
Desmaria proudly pushed the pig cart, not noticing the small stone that caught under one wheel....
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Bet you guys are gonna kill me for that one, eh? Please don't flame me, I know this one wasn't the greatest but you guys are all clamoring for more and I didn't know what to do. Don't expect any more poems or songs, I have no more ideas on that one. I kept having morbid and depressing ideas like "You love someone else, that I just can't abide, please excuse me now, while I commit suicide." I will write one more chapter but it won't be too long, and if you're nice I might just tell you who wrote the poem.... heh heh heh.... All credits to Mary Shelley for writing Frankenstein, anyone who didn't notice that takeoff is really thick.