Hunger
Heather stared intensely at the road as various degrees of insanity were filtering up toward the front.
"No, cheese comes from birds."
"The captain of the football team. He was my second, too"
"I was a schizophrenic but now we're not"
"Lotion and rubber gloves"
"-have to knead the leather, or just ditch the metal cuffs and get fuzzy ones."
"-shrinks when it gets wet?"
"No, only when it dries."
"Package of unrefined meat! I win!"
"No faaaaiiir! I saw it too! I just have no lips!"
"Too bad, I win."
"Hey! There's no 'package of unrefined meat' on this bingo chart! Heather!!"
Heather peered absently over her shoulder. "Rrrrrmmmmmmhm-mmmmmmmmmmmno.....yes. Huh?"
"Morgan's chea-AAAAAaaaauUUGFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!"
"Morgan's chauffeur?
"NnnnnnGGAAAHH!!!!!!" Something popped wetly, and Heather peered curiously toward the back. Morgan smiled innocently at Heather, who frowned suspiciously. "What was that?" Morgan held something tiny up between her thumb and forefinger. "Knitting needles, some tape, two packets of ketchup, a taser, and voila! Myrddraal brain!" Heather eyed what looked suspiciously like a tater-tot. "Hmmmm, yesindeed. You popped it."
Morgan grinned proudly, then shook her head. "Nope. It popped itself. It's afraid of me."
Heather shrugged and turned to the road, which she was supposed to be watching. The van swerved violently as an explosion rocked the car. She heard a shudder from Morgan, and Sarah turned curiously to inquire what the matter was. Morgan pointed to an empty spot on the seat and said "Elaida popped too." Sarah nodded, then shuddered. "Should've figured."
Morgan nodded also, then a look of horrified speculation spread across her face as she turned to regard Loial as he sat grinning at his pockets. Sarah shook her head and turned her head toward the front. Heather sat staring at the ornament swinging from the rearview mirror, and Sarah went back to her dark study of the soda can. A series of small popping sounds filtered up, then a low rumble. Heather tried to guess what Morgan was doing now, then simply turned and stared at Morgan, who was sitting quite still, studiously observing Loial. She peered at the other occupants of the car. "What is that sound?"
"I'm hungry," Mat said petulantly. Heather ground her teeth, slamming her head against the steering wheel. "Why didn't you get something at the 7-11?"
Mat gave an embarrassed shrug, then sighed and said "Tylin grabbed me and dragged me off to the bathroom." Heather nibbled on the air pressure gauge thoughtfully, then returned it to the glove compartment and studied Sarah where she sat unmoving, gazing at the soda can intensely. "Perhaps we should stop for some fresh air."
"But we just stopped at that Sissy place!" Be'lal protested.
"I said FRESH air," Heather replied, and Be'lal slumped down in his seat, pouting. "Well we're getting food!"
Be'lal grinned happily. "Oh, I thought you said we were getting air."
Heather gave him a level look. "No, we're getting both."
"But won't that cause gas?"
"Shut up and suck on something." She proffered the cigarette lighter, and Be'lal took it hesitantly, then crammed it in his mouth. Heather smiled and chuckled silently, then accelerated to ninety and jumped the guardrail, crashing to a stop in the parking lot of an Albertsons and laughing satisfactorily at the resulting choking sound Be'lal made as the lighter was vaulted into the back of his throat. She hopped out the van window and ran to open the sliding door, bowing the brainless Myrddraal out as he toppled from where he had been leaning against the door. He shot her a sufficiently brainless accusatory look and slammed his head back to rest on the pavement, where he was stepped on by the other emerging occupants. Heather addressed the assembled mass.
"Yes, we're going in the store, and no, I'm not going to be keeping an eye on you." this was met by a few feeble cheers, "but you have to behave yourselves. They have security cameras. And no stealing grapes from the fruit stand!" Everyone smiled agreeably, and filtered into the store. Well, most filtered; Lews Therin strutted. The door slid obediently open, and everyone went to their section of interest.
Lanfear stalked petulantly to the canned food section. She was in a foul temper. She, one of the Forsaken, ignored like an underpaid laundry girl. She sighed angrily, and heard an answering giggle from behind her. She turned haughtily to find it's source, and was faced with a very vacant expanse of skin. Though not only vacant for lack of eyes. Whatever expressions Myrddraal managed to achieve, this one had an utter look of stupidity. She wasn't sure how it had managed that, and was too above it to care.
"Begone, Halfman."
"Oh no, baby, I'm AALLLLL man."
She turned once again to regard it, outraged. "I beg your pardon?!?" The idiot just snickered and waggled it's face at her, since it had no eyebrows. The insolence. She embraced the True Source to teach it a lesson, and it deliberately threw itself to the ground and peered up at her from where it lay on it's back, grinning, it seemed to her, suggestively. She gave a low growl and, hiking up her skirts, (prompting a growl from the Myrddraal) jammed her heel in it's eye. It whined nasally, and she turned her back on it to stalk away. She halted at a tone announcing the intercom.
"You're very talented," Heather's voice echoed around the store. Lanfear beamed proudly, then stalked to another aisle
Thom stood next to the bread aisle, trying to decide what he wanted. Lanfear came stalking around a corner, then stopped when she saw him. He smiled at her. "I got a hankerin' for some kumquats," he told her blithely. She gave him an expression that managed to be outraged and stupefied at the same time. She gave a low growl and turned on her heel to stalk away. Thom shrugged dismissively and turned his mind to more important matters. He was staring at Roman Meal whole wheat...that wasn't what he wanted. He must go to the fruit aisle. He smiled, and scanned the signs hanging from the florescent bedecked ceiling in search of the one that read 'fruit'. He walked on, head tilted back.
Lews Therin couldn't stop giggling. He really tried. He clapped his hand over his mouth, but they still filtered out. He sighed, frustrated, while still giggling, the result being sort of a hiccuping noise. He shook his head angrily, and slid over to the stand where an overweight woman was pimping wilted samples of Foster Farms chicken cubes. He grabbed a handful and stuffed some in his mouth to plug it. It seemed to be working,. Suddenly they managed to bubble up out of him, spraying chicken in the face of the woman chicken-pimp, who looked as if she had been in quite a few knife fights. He giggled at her outraged expression, then crammed his fist in his mouth. He still managed to giggle around it. She scowled at him, and reached for something under her dress. That didn't help Lews Therin's giggling. He backed away laughing as she rounded the table and advanced on him. He eyed her hand, big as a ham, clutching a knife he could barely see through the rippling folds of fat nearly encompassing it. He grinned, the effect being missed since his fist happened to be crammed in his face at the time. His hand popped out of his mouth and darted for hers, wrenching the knife away and darting back to pop into Lews Therin's mouth, successfully quelling the giggles. He would have thanked her, but his mouth was full of her fleshy fist. He gave her a thumbs up sign instead. She growled and balled up her other fist. He winced, and clenched his jaw, screwing his eyes shut tight. Nothing happened. He ventured to peek out his slitted eyelids at her smoky expression. She unclenched her fist and stuck her finger in her mouth coyly instead, giggling at him suggestively. He tried to scream around her hand, but she just rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and sighed happily. He grabbed her hand with both of his, trying to wrench it free, but she wrapped her fingers around his uvula and hung on like a badger. He tried to growl menacingly at her, his cheeks puffing out, but she giggled again and leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. His eyes bulged, then rolled back in is head as he fainted. The woman gave a disgruntled sigh and dragged him over to a phone installed in the wall. She dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up.
"Yeah, can you connect me to janitorial supplies? Thanks. Hey Bill? This is Bertha. Some guy's stuck to my hand. It's in his mouth. He was sucking on it. Of course I washed them! I think....yeah. Well, I'm just canceling our date tonight. Sorry, you just ain't my type anymore." There were muffled protests from the other end of the line. "You ain't never sucked on my hand, and he chuckles so pretty." The thin thread of noised raised a few octaves. Bertha pursed her lips and spat, addressing the receiver. "You ain't never! Ah, go blow your mop, Bill." She hung up and turned to face a young woman standing next to her cart, who glared at her and wiped her ankle off surreptitiously, leaving a trail of saliva on the back of her calf. She puffed up self-importantly and addressed the air above Bertha's head. "I would like some chicken, my good woman."
"What's your name, girl?"
"Lanfear."
"Lanfear what?"
"I do not have to tell you."
"Well Lanfear Idonothaftotelyou, I ain't your good womyn. I ain't anyone's good womyn. 'Cept mebbe this'un's" she said, gesturing with Lews Therin's head. "Here, welp, suck this," she said, and flung some soggy bits of chicken at Lanfear. One stuck to her face, and she picked off disdainfully and examined it.
"This looks like someone has been chewing on it."
Bertha gestured with Lews Therin and grinned challengingly. "Well it wa'n't this'un. No siree." Lanfear grimaced prettily and tilted her nose in the air. Lews Therin revived himself enough to cram a bit of chicken up it, then passed out again. Lanfear screeched indignantly, and stalked away from Bertha's guffaws. She glanced back, and was treated to the unholy sight of Bertha snuggling Lews Therin into her ample bosooms. She growled disgustedly and stomped off to yet another aisle of the store. She collided midway with Thom, who was walking with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling. His head whipped down, startled, and frowned at her.
"Watch where I'm going." She crammed her fist in his eye and stalked around him. He rubbed at his face petulantly, then spied Bertha and Lews Therin. He spun on his heel and hurried purposefully in the other direction, then simply gave up halfway and ran for dear life.
Elayne sauntered down the bread aisle, casually surveying the packaged loafs while watching Aviendha out of the corner of her eye. She loved her like a sister, and had resigned herself to the fact they would have to share Rand, but ever since Heather had left him on the side of the road she had been acting...queer. Not queer as in strange, but queer as in steamy looks and sultry suggestions casually tossed in normal conversation. She recalled the day when Aviendha, just arriving from Caemlyn and Rand, had stripped down in her room and asked Elayne to beat her. She had accepted the explanation that ji'e'toh required it at the time, but now that the woman seemed to have been beaten relentlessly with the horny stick, she wasn't so sure. She had meandered into the canned food section, and was lazily eyeing the labels when one caught her eye. ARMOUR Potted Meat Food Product. That certainly sparked a thread of morbid curiosity. She plucked it from the shelf and began reading the ingredients label. Mechanically separated chicken parts, beef tripe, partially defatted cooked beef fatty tissue, beef hearts, water, partially defatted cooked pork fatty tissue, salt, less than 2% mustard, dried garlic, natural flav- her reading was halted by something damp trailing wetly up her arm. She jumped and spun to face Aviendha, carrot in hand, grinning dirtily at her.
"Hello, near-sister, how are you as of this moment?"
"Uh...fine."
"Good. Did I ever tell you what splendid eyebrows you have?"
Elayne quirked one, producing a shrill giggle and a tremble from Aviendha. "Eyebrows?"
Aviendha nodded quickly, and peered up at her saucily, proffering the carrot. "I have a c-"
Elayne screeched and threw the can of potted meat food products at her. Aviendha, who had had years more experience at deflecting attacks, ducked easily, revealing Heather standing behind her, one hand poised to tap her on the shoulder. Her eyes widened slightly as the can flew toward her head, and Elayne winced as the can struck it with a metallic ping. Heather stood with her head tilted slightly to one side, then shook herself and turned to Aviendha, kicking her in the left breast.
"No near-sister-ing. I told you, I will not condone incest."
Aviendha gave a strangled squawk and knelt down clutching herself, nodding feebly. Heather nodded sharply, then brightened as her eyes fell on the blue can. "Ooo! Potted meat food products!" She picked up the can and happily rounded the corner. Elayne took the opportunity to slip away.
Morgan was heading up to the front counter, arms fully loaded with an assortment of odd items. She paused as Heather walked out of an aisle and hurried to join her. She waited until she was caught up, then continued to register five, where a dim blonde boy with sandy hair and freckles was aimlessly scraping cans across the red laser scanner, probably wishing it would malfunction and sear his eyes out of his skull and incinerate his brain. Morgan dumped her items on the counter and waited as the automated belt slid obediently to the front.
"Um, excuse me," Morgan asked, "but could you please run a price check on those?"
"Which ones?"
Morgan grinned evilly. "All of them."
The boy smiled and tried to look cheerful and helpful. He managed to duplicate Morgan's grin exactly. "Sure!"
He apathetically ran each item over the scanner to get it's bar code, and grabbed the mike, saying "Price check on 3.14 pounds of grapes. Price check on an electrolysis eyebrow plucker." There was a dirty chuckle from somewhere in the store. "Price check on a dented can of Beenie Weenie," and so on. Heather proffered her can of potted meat food product, and Morgan happily took it, with thanks, from Heather, who grinned welcomingly. The boy sighed and took it, running it over the scanner four times to get a price of forty-five cents. Morgan picked it up to examine the picture on the label, then grinned at Heather. "It's spreadable!"
The boy gave them a look that told them both they needed to be committed, and pressed a few buttons on the register, saying "That'll be $85.67." Morgan shook her head.
"No no no, I didn't want to buy them, I just wanted a price check." The boy glared at them, and Morgan smiled condescendingly at him. "Well, I suppose I'll take the potted meat food product."
"That'll be 48 cents"
Morgan took out her purse and began to count out 48 cents in pennies. The boy slammed his head against the scanner.
The smell of pine filtered to Rand on a vagrant breeze, which he happened to be ignoring. For once, he was alone. Lews Therin had gone blessedly silent, and, though this pained him, Aviendha, Elayne, and Min had not approached him in some time. Though, Min DID happen to be imprisoned in a bathroom, but the others had been too focused on each other to try to attach themselves to him. He was glad they were getting along. Of course he was! He just wished that didn't sound so much like he was trying to convince himself of it. He watched a beetle scuttle across some leaves, and he realized something was wrong. Heather had yet to chastise him for smiling...hardly at Morgan. Morgaaaan..........Morgan's....breasts! He shook his head free of the thought before he exploded. Heather usually would have done something, unless she was thinking of something original to do. In that case, he would rather keep waiting. Unless she really didn't care how he looked at Morgan. He really didn't mean to look at her hardly, she had done it first. Perhaps Morgan was being punished, and he was merely put aside while it was happening. Perhaps she meant to punish them both, and he was just second. Whatever it was, it was taking quite a while. He hoped the same wasn't going to be done to him. But he had to take whatever it was. He had to be hard, for Tarmon Gaidon. He had to steel himself to whatever came. Whatever Heather could conjure up had to be second to what would happen in the Last Battle. He thought. Nevertheless, he had to be strong for the world's sake. He heard a slight rustling, and sighed, hoping he looked calmer than he felt. He stood up, preparing himself mentally, and tried to look calm.
"Go ahead, beat me, maim me, impregnate me with the Myrddraal's baby, just get it over with."
He blinked, and looked around. The only other living thing was a squirrel looking at him from atop a stump a few feet away. It chittered at him suspiciously, and he smiled.
"I though you were someone else. You don't have to have my baby if you don't want to."
It screeched at him and ran for dear life. He looked as far as he could to either direction. The van seemed to have momentarily puttered off. Fury spiderwebbed across the Void, and he kicked the stump petulantly.
Lews Therin blinked blearily, and focused his nonexistent ocular phantom eyes. His mouth was blessedly free of Bertha's hand. He giggled happily, then stopped when he realized where that might land him. He would never giggle again. He sighed happily instead; no chance of that becoming chronic. He choked, then spat out something onto his palm. A bright orange Lee press-on nail. He shuddered, and realized he was lying on his back on a concrete floor somewhere in the back of the store. His wrists were bound with clear packaging tape, and his hands were corded to his ankles. How pleasantly futile; he was dead, after all. He scratched his head, puzzled, and events focused themselves in his mind, or lack thereof. Bertha must be a kinky little one, that she must be. He had to forcefully restrain himself from giggling. Kinky, but that wasn't funny, that was disturbing. He sighed and got up, turning from dusting off his coat to stare at a short, frail-looking man caressing a mop with bad intentions. He clutched his head. What a sucky sentence.
"That's you, not the mop. The intentions I mean."
The frail man stopped caressing his mop to stare at Lews Therin in confusion.
"Yes, I confuse myself, too, sometimes."
The little man shook his head and spoke vehemently to Lews Therin, pointing the mop at him for effect.
"You done stole my woman!"
"Whuh?"
"You done-"
"Stole your woman?"
"Yeah."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes you did."
"No, I didn't"
"Yes, you did."
"No, I didn't."
"YES YOU DID!"
"DIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!" Lews Therin lunged at the frail looking man. Then abruptly, he halted in mid-air.
"Hey. Your name wouldn't happen to be Bill, of janitorial supplies, would it?"
"That it would."
"Ah. Good."
Lews Therin resumed his lunge and they collided with a shelf stacked high with canned Evaporated Milk. He got off the now bent frail looking man, and addressed his inert form.
"Not that I have the mere glimmer of speculation about the merest possibility of being jealous, GOD no, but I can't abide with anyone who would be crestfallen about falling out of THAT woman's good graces. Have a nice day."
Lews Therin strutted out of the swinging double doors, back into the rest of the store.
Heather peered around her distractedly. She had secured her desired sustenance, a packet of spearmint breathsavers and a box of Frappuccinos, and was idly wondering where everyone else was. Time was running short and, as she had recently pieced together in her mind, it was beginning to rain. She decided, after a moment of mental calculation, that she would go round everybody up. She started on the far left of the store, the deli, and started to work her way over. She collected Moiraine with her arms full of 5 pounds of sliced Pastrami, and Thom with a small container of Jello salad, and moved on to the bread aisle, where Be'lal was biting into a package of mini powdered doughnuts, and the canned food aisle, where Aviendha and Elayne stood clutching a carrot and a small can of Vienna sausages. She trotted to the next aisle, soups and teas, to find Elaida, who tried to hide behind a package of peppermint when she saw her. She found Perrin clutching a small raw game hen in the meat aisle, Mat with a small fruit pie, and Queen Tylin with a tub of Cool Whip. Lanfear had a small salad and wet ankles, and the Myrddraal had a case of Mountain Dew, a can of Jet-Puffed Marshmallow Cream, and a bag of coffee beans. Egwene had a yogurt and a bag of uncooked lentils, and Loial of course was in the pet food aisle, fawning over a can of Whiskas. Nynaeve had a candy bar and a bottle of Pepto Bismal. Heather frowned. She stalked through the aisles once more. Thom snagged a bag of kumquats on their way past the fruit aisle, but there was no sign of Lews Therin. She frowned menacingly at nothing, and stalked to the front. Heather arrived at register five, where their willing staff member had been tied to the register to keep him from bolting. Heather reached over and grabbed the mike, pressing the intercom button.
"Hey any disembodied dead people, special at register five. Beautiful, scantily clad, tall women with no morals and low self esteem. I repeat, special offer at register five for the living deceased. Women's clothes half off!" That should draw him. A woman in the next line gave her a painfully sane look and clutched her child tighter. Heather flashed her. A smile. The woman didn't seem to appreciate the afterthought, and sniffed primly and turned her back on the psychotic party of psychopaths. With a manic grin, the Myrddraal slid fluidly over the barrier between the lines and smiled happily and stupidly at the terrified woman.
"You know who Miss Cleo is?"
"Uh, n-"
"Well, I have this joke, see?"
"Not r-"
"Ok, here goes. Why was Miss Cleo in the children's clothing aisle at K'Mart?"
"Er, why?"
"He heard the boy's pants were half off. Hee hee." The Myrddraal giggled, then promptly passed out, falling backwards, his boots catching the woman on the chin on the way down. She rubbed it fitfully, then caught a glance of what he was wearing under his cloak and hurriedly guided her child out of the store. An unidentified unscrupulous character slid from the line and snatched his boots and ran out the automatic sliding doors, which wouldn't have been noticed by the Myrddraal even had he been conscious. Heather tapped her foot irritably. "Wait here," she told her followers, who honestly had no intention of following. She stalked down the aisle again, and came to the back of the store, seeking a phone on which to call maintenance to see if any cheese vandalism had been reported. What she found was Lews Therin, strutting in little circles by the 'other' aisle, the one that contained the Jello puddings and bologna and liverwurst. She snagged him and dragged him to the front, pulling a can of Evaporated Milk out of his back pocket and smacking it down on the counter with a maniacal grin for their staff member, and ordered him to ring it all up. Heather did a double take, and then turned her penetrating stare on Lews Therin. She glanced suggestively at the milk, and gave him a look that asked if he had a death wish.
"Erm, I had a scuffle with someone in janitorial supplies, and we hit the ol' milk."
"Oh. I honestly thought you had a death wish. Ok, you have five minutes to get a non-dairy snack, or you'll share Rand's fate."
Lews Therin bobbed his head happily and wandered in the general direction of the food.
Morgan was standing near the 25 cent machine toy dispensers, trying to hypnotize one so it would be her unrivaled minion, and Heather was trying to find something in the candy tray that would conclusively cause cancer. Sarah was staring with an unholy intensity at the Myrddraal's case of Mountain Dew, which was beginning to make him a little nervous. Egwene was trying to glue a sample box of Wheaties to Elaida, who was oblivious to everyone.
Lews Therin wandered the aisles aimlessly, searching for something he wanted to digest. He stopped by the liquor aisle, glancing from side to side suspiciously before ducking in hurriedly. He sauntered down the aisle, pausing for a moment on a bottle of Hooch, before deciding on a bottle of Ponteen. He scanned the label on the back. Illegally distilled Irish whiskey. He tucked it under his coat and hurried to the next aisle before anyone could stop him and ask why he was acting so suspicious. He went to the dairy aisle, since he was feeling suicidally rebellious, and giggled at the sour cream. He examined the cheese wheels and lightly taunted the Jello puddings before swiping up a can of Easy Cheese and hiding it under his coat with the bottle of Ponteen. He went to the fruit aisle and stole a coconut, then to the hygiene section and stole a sponge. He scuttled over to the next aisle and hid a box of Saltine crackers under his coat, to go with the easy cheese, then went and stole a can of black caviar just for the sheer unadulterated hell of it. He hurried back to the front, running into a display of Quaker oatmeal, so he decided to steal that, too. He arrived by Heather's side, smiling up at her.
"Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Didn't you get anything?"
Lews Therin shifted uneasily, making several rustling and clinking sounds. He surreptitiously reached behind him and ripped the box of Wheaties off Elaida, proffering it to Heather. "Of course."
Heather snagged it from him and put it down on the counter. "I'm sorry to hassle you further, but we have ONE more item."
The boy fell over, then pulled himself back up and lethargically ran each item over the scanner again, coming up with a total of $97.26. Heather turned to Morgan, who paid for everything with a suspiciously large pile of quarters. They gathered their food after making their staff member put each item in separate bags, and they headed out the automatic doors, which were happy to see them go. They sat themselves down in the van again, and Heather reached for the ignition key.
"Morgan?"
"Mmm hmm hmm?"
"That boy, he was OUR staff member, right?"
"Yes."
"Ok."
Heather hopped out of the van and fled in the general direction of the store, emerging a moment later dragging their staff member and stuffing him in the back, then hopping back in the van and peeling off down the road.
The Myrddraal sniffed Lews Therin suspiciously. "What's that you got in your coat?"
"Uh...let's see.....a bottle of Ponteen, a can of easy cheese, some caviar, some saltine crackers, a coconut, a sponge, a display of Quaker Oatmeal, and a box of Wheaties."
"Yummy. Wanna share?"
"Ok."
Lews Therin proffered the can of black caviar, and the Myrddraal gave Lews Therin the can of Jet Puffed Marshmallow Cream and some coffee beans. Lews Therin crunched down the beans happily, and took a swig from his bottle of Ponteen. He giggled, eyed the Myrddraal askance once, then continued to giggle. The Myrddraal just sat licking the caviar out of the can and spitting into his Mountain Dew, then proceeding to drink it. He smiled at Lews Therin, his teeth full of caviar bits. "Mmmm, spicy."
Heather sat in the passenger's seat, watching Morgan in the driver's seat trying to turn on the windshield wipers.
Sarah was in the back, in Rand's seat, still staring at her can of soda. Sweat had started to bead on her brow.
Lews Therin eyed both the Myrddraals and swayed happily in time with the van and tried to poke one in the eye. He missed by about six inches and miles of laws of physics, and slid off his seat. The floor seemed to be vibrating slightly. He peered up at the two Myrddraals, who merged into one another and became the one Myrddraal again, licking his can of Jet-Puft Marshmallow Cream. He had also started to vibrate slightly. He belched, and both he and Lews Therin giggled happily at their staff member, who was just regaining consciousness.
Berf Narfgitz opened his eyes slowly, peering around him. The last thing he remembered was the strange short girl giving him a wedgie with a shoe horn then smacking him on the back of the head with his own price scanner. He groaned, then his eyes shot open. He sat up slowly to stare at the two weirdest things he had ever seen. One was very obviously drunk and just as obviously dead, and the other's head resembled an egg. A vibrating egg, milky pale, lacking eyes, like a maggot under a rock.
"Hey," urped the Myrddraal, "I resemble that resent...I.......uh............you suck."
It's voice sounded like rotted bone crumbling. He would know, since he spent a lot of time in the cereal department. He tried to scream, and found that his mouth had been bound with a seatbelt. The dead one was on the floor, staring up at his with sort of a horrified curiosity. Something loomed in his field of vision, and he peered up at what he supposed was the family pet. A very large family pet. It smiled at him, and patted his thigh with a hand that could have easily crushed his head. Which is what he wished it had done next instead of leaning over and licking his head. He screamed as much as his gag would allow, and passed out to the sound of the dead one echoing him
"AAAAAAAAHH!!! Heather!! LOIAL'S LICKING YOUR STAFF MEMBER!"
"LOIAL! NO! BAD DINGO!"
Loial cowered under all the negative attention, and mumbled to himself softly, softly for an Ogier, which is why Heather leaped to the back and proceeded to maul him out of existence.
She sauntered casually back to the front, and proceeded to chew a hole in the ceiling.
"Well!" she said cheerfully when she had finished, "we've managed to take nearly two hours to go down forty miles worth of highway at seventy-five miles per hour. The dark, it is falling. We had better stop at a restaurant and eat something. And as much morbid anticipation as this produces, we must also find a decent motel to stay the night in."
"Cooooooool," came from Lews Therin. Heather was getting rather disgruntled at this point, since rain was falling through her little hole onto her head. Morgan nodded thoughtfully, then quietly and sanely pulled off the freeway into the parking lot of a Denny's. They once again got out of the van, and went into the restaurant.
They filtered in, with Lews Therin leering dirtily at the plastic plants. Heather spun suddenly to face them. They backed up a few steps from the force of her grin. "No sudden movements, now!"
The waitress came and stood behind some kind of podium, and gave them all a cheerful yet withering look that can only be achieved by working over ten years giving other people the slaughtered and burned carcasses of animals and watching them shovel it noisily into their porktraps then fling a few pennies on the table, leaving them to scrape up a few slimy scraps of cheese and corn into a can and feed it to the next customer.
"How many?"
Heather smiled. "Fifteen."
"Y'all follow me," the waitress drawled, and led them to where two pimpled boys were disconsolately pushing three tables together so they all would fit. Berf stared at them longingly, longing to romp with his own kind, until Heather slammed a napkin holder into the back of his head. He slumped down into a chair. Heather sauntered over and retrieved Padan Fain from where he had been trying to request a booster seat from a greasy-looking cook whose name Heather guessed was Biff or Buck or Hank. His eyes began to cross as Heather drug Padan Fain back to the table, and he grinned toothily at them. He slowly brought his hand up before his face, waving it in front of his eyes, making an occasional sound of amazement.
"What did you give him?"
Padan Fain smiled, hoping the effect would distract Heather and she would forget to maim him.
Heather hailed a passing waitress. "Glass of water, please." The waitress surreptitiously swiped one off the table behind her, and gave it to Heather, who crammed Padan Fain's head in it. He made small gurgling sounds, and nearly everyone else opened a menu and scanned it.
"Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee"
Heather smacked the Myrddraal with her menu. He turned to Heather.
"N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-noneforme, th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-thanks."
"What?"
"C-c-c-c-c-c-c-coooooooooofffffff-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-enoneformethanksI'mjus'boutfullupIreckon. WellmaybeacuporthreeI'mtryingtocutbackyouknowanddangifitain'thard. Oh, yeah, keepitcomingmmmbabycoffeecan'tlivewithoughtitjusthookittomyveinsboyhowdygimme someofthatcolumbiancoffeejustgottahaveitbeanmegimmeacupofthatthatcolumbianguyandhisburroaresofinebuttheymusthavestressissues." He grinned at Heather. There were several clumps of coffee grounds between his teeth. Heather dug them out and flung them at Lews Therin, who wasn't paying attention, then clocked the Myrddraal.
Now that the Myrddraal was quietly taking a nap underneath the table, she set to studying her menu.
"They have a dish here called 'Moons over my Hammy'," Sarah murmured quietly, "Just thought you'd appreciate knowing."
"They also have margaritas!" Lews Therin said festively. "Aie-AIe-AIE-AIE-AIE-AAAIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!" Several patrons turned to stare at them, and most turned right back.
The waitress arrived at the table with a grotty tablet bearing a single dingy piece of paper. The paper was about four inches thick, since it was obvious that they had just been using white-out to cover the writing in order to use it over and over and over. The waitress turned to Sarah, who seemed the most calm in the group.
"Would you like to start with drinks?"
"Yes please. Do you have pepsi?" The waitess nodded. "Do you have pepsi in a can?"
"Nope, only on tap. And you, sir? What w-"
"I wasn't done," Sarah said dangerously.....
She hurriedly begot seven children who popped out at a breakneck pace and hurled their shiny newborn projectile bodies at the quivering waitress. The poor waitress suffered a fear-induced "accident" but ignored the obvious dark stain on her crepe paper skirt when the babies hit her with loud thumps and threw her to the polished linoleum floor.
The seven babies (all of which looked remarkably like Benny Hinn, the infamous, gray-haired holy roller missionary) got up and surrounded the defeated waitress. "Owwwww," she mumbled, holding a hand to her head and struggling to sit up. "Youuuu... uhh, y'all'll paaayyy for that..." The waitress collapsed, surrendering her skull to the floor.
"It's a good thing nobody else in the restaurant noticed that," Sarah said after gingerly placing her babies into a styrofoam take-out box atop the liver and raspberry pudding.
"Yeah," Heather smirked. "People usually don't pay attention to gray-haired babies being born at ninety miles an hour, especially when they're launched at a
waitress' face."
"Hehehehhhehehehehehehehehehehheheheheheheeheehehehehheehehehee,
b-b-b-baaaaayy-baay-bieees." The Myrddraal, lingering underneath the table, laughed and spit flecks of ground coffee at everyone's legs and at the fallen waitress.
Lews Therin drunkenly sunk into a stupor and started scraping gum from the top of the Myrddraal's head with his teeth without noticing that Morgan had handcuffed him and the unconscious waitress together at the thighs.
Berf Narfgitz awoke with a snort and looked around worriedly. Everyone was just opening their menus. He rubbed the back of his head, and thought teenage boy thoughts to himself. He tried to think teenage boy thoughts to Heather so she would let him go, but it didn't work, she just stared at him and threatened him vaguely with her fork. He glanced under the table. He saw the Myrddraal, but no Lews Therin's thighcuff, and no waitress. It had been a murky, insanity-induced dream. The waitress was at the table with the grotty tablet, but she was talking to Lews Therin.
"Do you want anything to drink, luv?"
Lews Therin vomited on her, so she turned patiently to the Myrddraal, who had crawled up in the chair with Lews Therin.
"Would you like anything to drink, luv?" He vomited on her, too. She shuddered slightly, sticky with marshmallow cream and bits of coffee grounds, and turned to Morgan to inquire if she would like anything to drink, who just shrugged and vomited on the waitress, too. She crossed her eyes slightly, and turned to Berf.
"Would YA like anythin' ta drink? An appetizer?
"Do you have liver and raspberry pudding?" He flinched, and the waitress hurried to Padan Fain, because she thought he was going to vomit on her.
"Would you like anything to drink? An appetizer? A glass of-"
Padan Fain did his best to look at her through his glass of water. She gave him a level look and turned to Heather.
"An' you, luv?"
"You know, I think you'd just better leave until we decide what we want. Thanks."
The waitress slopped wetly to the back, and Heather snapped her menu up in front of her face.
"I'm not hungry."
She peered over the top at Elayne. "Pardon?
"I'm not hungry. I ate my snack, and I'm not hungry. I lack appetite, I desire no sustenance, I want no f-
"Then wait outside. All of you who aren't hungry wait outside. And don't eat the butts out of the ashtray!"
The waitress returned, slightly more dry, but with large unsightly smears on her apron. She turned to Sarah. "Would you like a drink, luv?"....
Sarah lunged at the waitress' clumpy tablet with bloodshot eyes and veins angrily emerging from her neck in all directions.
"Ma'am... ma'am... ca-calm yourself... NAAGGHH!! Mby nose!"
Sarah folded her arms and smirked with pride as she gazed at the screaming, arm flailing waitress. The artificial blonde was running around Denny's with surprisingly large chunks of pig's feet carefully lodged in each nostril.
"Oooh," Lews Therin slurred drunkenly. "Piiigsfeetyum." He continued licking congealed globs of creamed corn, unidentified fatty tissue, and hardened crumbs of carbohydrate from the green plastic seat. The waitress apparently neglected to wipe down the seats regularly, for Lews Therin ate what was lodged in between the cushions and managed to get full.
"Anyway... I think we should all engage in a chicken pot pie-eating bondage relay," Heather said as she amusedly watched the waitress fret over her enlarged nostrils in a mirror behind the counter.
"A chicken pot pie-eating bondage relay in which we role play as famous political figures?" Morgan asked eagerly. Fourteen pleas of "No, for the love of god!" daintily brushed against Morgan's face. She realized her position and scampered off to the unisex bathroom to "change."
The greasy, cross-eyed cook, Biff/Buck/Hank, slithered over to the table.
"Duh, hi." He grinned stupidly, exposing yellowed, crooked teeth with chewed parsley peeking out from his molars. Everyone at the table, longing to get rid of Biff/Buck/Hank and his lingering, putrid smell of oil and aged cooking lard, stared at him unresponsively.
"I good cook. Y'all wan' see the bitchen' kitchen room? It big enough for all us, huh huh huh."
Although the cook's presence was revolting, everybody agreed that this was their only opportunity to venture into the uncharted wasteland of filth, the Denny's kitchen. Sissy Biggers returned from the bathroom in time to trail behind the group as they followed the cook through the silver swinging door.
A nauseating wave of oven heat and beef fat greeted the greasy cook's entourage. The sights, the smells, and the sticky floor raised everyone's spirits when they walked into this, the playground of their fantasies.
"Oooo, mommy!" Loial dove into a boiling, stained vat of bubbling butter and vegetable oil.
"I wanna have a pie-eating political bondage relay now..." Sissy Biggers moaned.
Heather glanced up from where she had been reading her menu to stare at Berf, who had just mumbled about pie-eating political bondage relays in his sleep. She really shouldn't have rendered him unconscious again, but she HAD given warning not to eat the cigarette butts. She turned to Morgan, wanting her to share in her delight. Morgan stared happily back, then snapped to attention as the waitress emerged from the kitchen with a platinum smile on her face
"Hello luv,-"
"Call me that one more time and I'll throttle you."
"'K, hun. Where'd all yer little friends go?"
"Do you want to be my lover?"
The waitress's face fell. "Huh?"
"Unless you want to share my bed, quit calling me sweetheart names, or I'll rip your liver out, eat it, rip off your head and vomit in the stump. 'K luv?"
The waitress paled and carefully handed them two bowls, one containing congealed corn lumps, the house specialty, the other containing liver and raspberry pudding. The waitress quivered back to the kitchen to be comforted by Hank.
"Ew," Heather remarked, her mouth full of congealed corn lumps. Lews Therin emphatically agreed from where he was strapped to the hatch-back chair. Heather spit out the mouthful of cornly lumps, and said, "That too, but I was referring to the budding romance I see between the waitress and....Bi-.....Bu-....Ha-......the cook. Hey Lewser, is that Morgan's breasts?"
Lews Therin exploded before he had a chance to check, leaving Heather and Morgan to their conversation.
"Bleh?"
"What?"
"I said bleh?"
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Yes."
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because Sarah's acting strange."
"Ah. Is she, is she."
"You're starting to sound like Lews Therin."
"Gud."
"Want cheese?"
"Have some."
Heather proceeded to poke Sarah with a stick. Morgan looked over, mildly interested, and snatched the packet of complementary crayons left on the table when they weren't looking. She then drew blue eyes on Sarah's cheeks, and colored an extra nose on her neck. Heather shifted around happily in Sarah's pockets, and found the following sheaf of papers
Sarah's and the waitress's eyes locked and ground against one another. The waitress's scleras were beginning to bubble, and her corneas were steaming slightly when suddenly a troop of Oren-worshipping AVID students wearing "sexually suggestive" clothing burst into the room, waving half-empty beer mugs and raccously singing the latest Britney Spears song.
With a shout of, "Comrades!", Loial striped off his clothes and rushed out to join the AVID students. A few seconds passed as Heather's and Morgan's irises recoiled in shock at the sight of Loial writhing in pleasure from the group massage that the AVID students were giving various parts of his body. Heather's and Morgan's retinas fainted with a particularly sickening moo, and were revived by their ciliary muscles with a few hearty lickings.
Meanwhile, Sarah was still staring malevolently at the place where the waitress's eyes had been, but were now being sucked on by Gawyn, who had been clinging to the underside of the van all this time and had only now crept out and hidden under the table. The rest of the waitress had fallen victim to Aviendha, who was alternately praising the waitress for her "sleek, suave, 'hubba-hubba' body" and puncturing the waitress with her spear.
Aran-gar and Osan-gar, who were trapped in the pockets of Loial's pants, moaned with an unidentifiable emotion as they were crushed beneath the mob of aroused AVID students. Osan-gar, wriggling free, spied a note that had fallen from the hand of one of the AVID students. Curious, he picked it up and read it aloud.
It is I, Roger M. Hartman, seducing you back to another outstanding year at East Union! I am aroused with excitement at the thought of all you young, strapping lads and ladies returning to school. The faculty and I have been diligently preparing for your return. I personally have worked very hard to ensure that my office is comfortable and pleasant for all the students who wish to talk to me. I have set the lights to their proper dimness, installed a sound system to play soft, romantic music and bought medieval instruments of torture such as whips, cat-o-nine tails, maces, racks, etc. I am ready for you, East Union student! I am so passionately awaiting your return! Please hurry to school extra early tomorrow and bring extra Cool Whip so I may lick it with slow, amorous tonguestrokes from yo.. I mean so you will not be hungry on this vital day of your educational career. I would also like to remind you that East Union prohibits the wearing of tank tops, bikinis, monokinis, g-strings, clam shells, or paint-on clothing *wink wink*
And don't forget to attend the erotic Back-to-School Buck-A-Burger "BBQ" event on Wednesday, Sept. 13th where we will dress in sprigs of parsley and smear A-1 sauce over our sensuous, naked bodies. It promises to be a hot night indeed.
Eagerly craving tomorrow,
Roger
Graendal materialized suddenly. "Sounds smashing," she said lavisciously, then de-materialized just as suddenly because no one wanted her.
"AAAA! No group sex for Loial!" Aran-gar snarled. She whipped out her bull-polaxing kit and tried to forcibly break up the mob. Unfortunately, they all turned out to be masochists, and enjoyed their punishment. Aran-gar found herself dragged against her will to the center of the mob, where several people smeared her with ketchup taken from greasy ketchup packets.
Lan stared wistfully at the sweaty, drunken, ketchup-smeared youths. Once, when he was young, he had enjoyed the same sort of youthful, happy-go-lucky sexual experimentation. Now he spent his days and nights bound (literally) to a masculine woman with a deep voice, hairy thighs, and long, lethal fingernails. He sighed.
"LAN!!" Nynaeve screeched. "Stop looking at them! I don't want you to get any ideas!!" Before Nynaeve could say anything else, Lan went and started bashing his head against the wall as punishment for his wandering eyes. He figured it would be less painful than any punishment she would suggest.
"I said I WASN'T DONE!!" Sarah howled, all the more angry because no one was listening to her except Ted the Lizard, who was sitting on the ceiling and phoning his mafia pals....
Heather's eye twitched slightly. "It's the soda can's fault." She peered down at Sarah, still intent on her can, and walked slowly out of the restaurant. The sound of the van peeling out accompanied the view of the van leaving the driveway.
Heather hummed slightly to herself as she accelerated to eighty, going back the way she came. She felt slightly bad about leaving Morgan alone with Lews Therin and the Myrddraal. Poor Lews Therin and the Myrddraal.
Rand was following the dirt path in front of him, a small, leafless rut left by someone's feet. His feet, he realized. He was just walking in circles in the little dirt track he had made. Damn. Precious hours lost! There was never enough time! Time was his enemy!
"DAMN YOU TIIIIIIIIIIIME!!!!" He lowered his head just in time to see the fading rear lights of the van vanishing around a turn.
"DAMN YOU VAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN'S REEEEEEEEEEEEEAARRRRRRR LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHTSSSSSSS!!!!!!!"
Heather stuck her head out the window at a curious keening wail, but seeing as how it was only Rand, she stuck it back in again and continued on her errand.
Morgan looked up as a waitress, not theirs, waved a callused hand in front of her face.
"You Morgan?"
"Yes."
"There's a call for ya."
Morgan idly wondered if everyone in the restaurant had a Southern accent, even though they were nowhere near the south, and took up the phone indicated by the waitress. An obviously male girly voice answered her hello.
"Hallo. This eez not Rahnd. Mah head seems to 'ave got caught in a conveya belt, thought you'd better com and get it out, roit?"
"Roit," Morgan replied, and gently replaced the receiver back on it's hook and went back to the table.
Rand stared frustratedly at the now dead line in his hand, and slipped back down the telephone pole. All that work trying to disguise his voice, for naught. He channeled, and made a gateway to the corner where....he smacked himself on the forehead, the sound drawing the eyes of the other hookers in the red light district.
"GATEWAY! DUUU-UUUH!"
One of the hookers threw her purse at him, which made quite a large dent in his head, weighed down by fifty-seven point two pounds of condoms as it was. Heather instantly ran her over for introducing what she thought was vulgar material into her fanfic, and scooped Rand into the van, then sped back to where she was going in the first place, which happened to be Sissy Biggers World-Famous Waste-Treatment Plant, now locked up and even more foreboding than usual. She dragged Rand inside, forcefully dumped all the change out of his pockets, crammed a few quarters in the machine, grabbed the sodas that popped out, hopped back in the van and sped off, only returning a few moments later to grab Pocket and Pip and retrieve all who were locked, imprisoned, or stapled there. The van now being half-full, she sped back to Denny's and Sarah.
Sarah sat staring at her soda can, oblivious to all.
Morgan looked up happily from where she had been applying mascara to the Myrddraal with Lews Therin's toe hair, and smiled at Heather, accompanied by a trailing line of the rest of their party and clutching two soda cans, one of which she tossed to Morgan. Heather scrunched up her face and said "It smells like french fries and men in here," and pressed her face to her soda can. "OOOOOOOOOOO!!" she exclaimed happily, and pointed out the tiny red pictures of Bob Dole that made up one half of the Pepsi logo, and the tiny blue Al Gores that made up the other half, as well as the tiny Myrddraals that made up the black lettering.
Sarah's head bobbed, virtually the first sign of life she had shown since her soda can. "And there's little green and yellow Janet Renos on the Mountain Dew!" She smiled, and pressed her face back to the soda can, turning grave again, and said "But there's little black Mr. Orens making up the expiration date." Morgan quickly turned hers over to investigate, and Heather pointed out that there were hidden messages making up the ingredients label, but they were mostly just stuff like 'Eat me', 'Recycle your ass', 'Lard is God', or 'Where's my ferret soufflé?' Heather shrugged, and jammed her butter knife into Sarah's can, spraying the contents in the Myrddraal's face, washing off the mascara and making him smile thankfully at Heather, who bent the knife using his head.
Morgan turned her attention to the now slightly flushed waitress, meaning she was now decked with what looked like a swirly. She assumed her and Biff/Buck/Hank had been playing in the vanilla shake machine and thought no more of it, ordering beans and grapes.
Al Dole rushed into the Denny's, darted over to their table, hurled some flyers at them, and ran out the door.
"Hee hee he was black," Lews Therin remarked observantly.
Heather shoved a salt shaker up his nose, and hurriedly thought about what she was going to order, since the waitress was now standing over them and tapping her foot irritably.
"I want pilaf," Perrin remarked in funereal tones, and was instantly set upon by Faile, who was in turns yanking out fistfuls of his beard and cooing at him and raking deep furrows in his back.
"Er, ahem. I'll have coffee. And a fortune cookie."
The waitress knew better than to protest that they had no fortune cookies at this point, having learned her lesson, and turned from Heather to take the remaining party's orders. She left, already pulling a small vial of white-out from the front of her dress. Heather had to clear her throat several times before Lews Therin peered blearily up at her.
"Nuuuuuuuuuureeehh?"
"What's the matter with you?"
"Er. Dem...dem those little and....I had a drink. There's a hooker stuck tot he finder," he said, and went back to trying to dig his toe into the Myrddraal's eye, who was under the table again.
"Light!" Lanfear cursed, then grew more agitated when Heather shot her a warning glance, "I will not go to hell! You people, you MAGGOTS, you FESTERING ASS BOILS ON THE FACE OF CREATION AS WE KNOW IT, are all LOW!!"
The table started to slide toward the kitchen, leaving them in a circle of chairs staring at a now red Lanfear. She shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, at least I'm being honest?"
"Me too," Lews Therin said, and gestured with his toe toward the van sitting outside the window neatly parked in a hedge, with a hooker determinably trying to un-plaster her hair from the now-cooling fender.
"I see," Heather saw, and stood up and slid toward the door, giving them all a demonstration of what it looks like to take a hooker's clothes off while she's stuck to the front of a van. Heather glided inside, trailing the garters and boots behind her, and headed to the ladies room, Lanfear in tow. Morgan was senior in charge of sanity control now that Heather had gone, but she was currently neglecting her duties, as watching Heather had given her several ideas. She hopped out the door to the van, and, retrieving a bundle of clothes and a small trunk, sauntered into the bathroom after Heather.
Morgan's entrance into the bathroom was met with grunts and muffled protests as she closed the door behind her. One of the two stall doors swung open, and Lanfear sailed out, wearing the hooker's clothes, which consisted of a few virulent green straps and not much else. Heather followed her out, a bit more slowly, and augured a finger against her nearly bare chest. "And I had BETTER see you out there dancing on the table or there WILL be Hell Toupee."
"You mean to pay?"
"No, it means I'll steal Mr. Oren's hairpiece and staple it to your body."
Lanfear drew up, looking faintly sick, and rushed out the door, impeded only by the fact that she had forgotten to open it first. She rubbed her face, and yanked it open, impeded only by the fact that she had forgotten to step away from the door first. Rubbing her now completely crimson face, she peered closely at the little comic strip humorously describing proper door-opening etiquette that had been pasted to the wall. She repeated the steps physically, slowly, and finally darted out the now open door, nodding slightly to herself at a job well done.
Morgan shared a smile with Heather, who went to the sink to wash her hands. Morgan ducked into the stall they had vacated and opened the trunk, smiling slightly at the happy reflection the mirror set in the lid threw back at her.
"I know what you're doooooing in there!" came the happy yap from Heather. The waitress stood in the doorway, assuming she had come in on the wrong part of the conversation, and ducked out, her message undelivered.
"So do IIIII-IIIII!" sang Morgan, busying herself with a tube of rose-colored pig fat.
"Hee hee," replied Heather, and opened the door, tearing down the instructions as she went.
Morgan smiled at her now slightly pallid reflection, and anticipated what was to come.
Berf stared nervously at the table, not sure whether to watch in open fascination as the one with the tattoos on his arms was doing, or modestly cast his eyes to the table which, he guessed, the Myrddraal thing was doing. His choice was made for him as a nearly naked butt was thrust into his face and waggled, just in case it hadn't really caught his attention. The beautiful woman was probably the MOST beautiful woman he had ever seen, which was probably why he had termed her that when he first saw her emerge from the bathroom, like an improper dream, and drag the table back from where the Myrddraal had been trying to stuff it through the kitchen door, and climb on it to dance, as she was now doing. Or trying to do. What she was doing in actuality was putting her hands on her thighs and thrusting her butt out, making sharp jerking motions that made her hop around the table. Not that he was complaining. She didn't seem to be enjoying herself much, and it hadn't seemed to make her feel better when he had stuffed a dollar down one of her straps. He just decided to sit back and enjoy the show.
His head turned at a squealing of hinges, and Lanfear on the table was forgotten as a woman emerged from the bathroom. She had the biggest breasts he had ever seen, and they were emphasized to the max by a low neckline and a series of small arrows pointing to a very generous cleavage which a Doberman could easily have gotten lost in. His head tilted slightly to the side, and a small puddle of drool formed on the table, dripping down onto the Myrddraal's head, since he was under it again. Sissy Biggers trotted happily to the table, making Berf break into a nosebleed, and used her breasts to pull herself on top of it, casting territorial glares at Lanfear. Berf's study was interrupted, as the Myrddraal had started to try to nibble his leg hairs off. He yelled, flailing his limbs, and Heather slid to his rescue, grabbing the Myrddraal by the nape of the neck and forcefully stuffing him into Padan Fain's coat.
Heather sighed, hoping the day wouldn't get much more eventful. She kicked her foot idly, idly scraping another bald patch on Berf's leg, and thought about how he screamed like a girl. She glanced out the window, where nearly everyone else was playing a game they had invented, which seemed to be made up of them throwing themselves at each other. She gave a small start as a cup of coffee was set in front of her, and grabbed at it before the waitress could add mayonnaise to it, which she was trying to do.
"No!" Heather punctuated her words with a slap, sending the mayonnaise flying at Padan Fain, who vomited on the waitress again, since he didn't like mayonnaise. The waitress decided life wasn't worth living after all, and ran screaming out the door to rent herself out as a pothole.
Heather giggled, and grabbed six sugar packets and three tiny containers of cream. She could practically feel everyone thinking on what impact that would have on THEM, and she sighed happily.
Aviendha panted over to where Elayne was draped over the fire hydrant, and decided to give it another shot.
"Near-sister, I do wish we could-"
With a strangled scream, Elayne launched herself at Mat, screaming "Save meeeee!" Aviendha launched herself at Elayne, trying desperately to tackle her, but Elayne had dodged, and she smacked into Mat instead. She growled, "Now I have toh to Rand Al'Thor!" and proceeded to tie his head to his hat.
Queen Tylin, though at another time would have saved Mat, was in an animated conversation with the hooker stuck to the bumper.
Back in the restaurant, Heather was gulping down her coffee, and pounding on the table as both Lanfear and Sissy Biggers got down with their bad selfs.
"Heh heh, I gots nuts," Lews Therin said blithely.
"He's been amused with those cashews for almost twenty minutes," the Myrddraal told Heather under it's breath.
"Oh......I thought.....oh." Heather left it at that. She glanced at her watch, and her expression became complicated, probably due to the fact she wasn't wearing one. She nervously drummed on the table with her spoon, an unfortunate effect of the coffee, and began to wiggle in her seat. She caught a glance of what was going on outside still, and sighed. Maybe things were becoming too complicated. The spoon tapped faster. Maybe they should split up into three groups. It would certainly make keeping track of everyone easier. She eyed Lanfear. No one would be forgotten. The Myrddraal began to eye her, (and yes that IS humorously incorrect!) and she stopped her spoon and wiped the shavings away from the large hole she had made in the table. She kicked him in the shin, and got up to tell Sarah and Morgan her plan. She tapped Morgan on the shoulder. Morgan stopped her gyrating to stare at Heather questioningly. Heather noticed that Morgan had made herself a unibrow out of a piece of cheese and some meat substitute from the clam chowder of the people sitting next to them.
"So, Morgan, wot say we split up and meet at Randland later?"
"Ooo-keeeee"
"Right. Who do you want in your group?"
"Um......Berf," Morgan said, furrowing her eyebrow evilly, "and Lanfear," patting her on the shoulder, "and the Whitecloak."
"Ooo-keeee" Heather went off to find Sarah at the other end of the table, and related their plan.
"I want Rand!" Sarah cried happily.
"Me too!" Lan cried enthusiastically, and Nynaeve characteristically beat him into a bruised silence. There were muffled murmurs from Loial's pockets.
"Oh," Sarah said, "And Loial." The muffled cries increased, and Loial shifted so he was sitting on them, squelching the murmurs. Morgan grinned sadistically.
"Funyuns," Heather said, nodding, and threw a bean into his eye, where it stuck. "WHY WON'T YOU STAY DEAD WHERE I PUT YOU?"
"Mmm, yum yum yum," Loial said, eating the bean with his eye, "Mmmmmm."
This sufficiently weirded Heather into silence.
Lews Therin sat beating his head against the table for no apparent reason at all.
"Lews Therin, since I can discern no apparent reason for you to be doing that, can you please tell me?" Heather inquired politely.
"I'm making a dent to put things in," Lews Therin responded. "Will you give this to someone?" he asked, handing her a note.
"Uh...sure," Heather said, taking it. "Who?"
"Someone," Lews Therin shrugged. "Just someone."
Heather eyed the note, then rubbed one fitfully and merely looked at it instead (feel free to think on that one a moment). It was written in a flowing woman's hand. Heather eyed Lewser, and filed away several tidbits for herself. The note was printed on what appeared to be transparent paper, nearly obscuring the big yellow M printed on it. It took her a minute to realize it was a grease-soaked McDonald's box. She tucked it in her pocket to read later. I'm someone, too, she thought.
Heather gathered everyone she could, with the intention of getting them all to a motel room to sleep. She brought everyone into a big group, and left after securing the muskrat from Lan, leaving it on the table for payment. She also took the liberty of wiping the complementary crayon off Lan's forehead in his vain attempt to recreate eyebrows.