Lara and Lilly present (as a result of complete and utter boredom during trigonometry class) the epitome of OOCness and overall insanity:

Pass the Paint Thinner: A parody of "Painting you gold".

Chapter one: About Crawford…the uncertainty will drive you mad…

Eyebrow raised or lowered?

Raised?

Lowered?

Which had a more daunting effect?

Crawford frowned in the mirror and stroked his pinky absently against the fine, silken, smooth-as-a-baby's-butt skin at his chin, willing the transformation of his facial features to their most intimidating.

Perfecting his glare had been one of Brad Crawford's many accomplishments. Yes, the man could kill you with a look. And no one had ever dared challenge him. That is, until he met that Weiss punk Fujimiya; the only lucky bastard who could be almost as intimidating as Brad.

Crawford growled at the thought of his foe. Then-- There! That was it! The perfect glare! Applause! Bring in Nagi with pom-poms and a cheerleading outfit! You know, the kind with the reeeeally short—

AHEM

--Anyway.

He, Bradley Crawford, had done it again. Who could resist dissolving into a spineless mass when the sheer force of the glare was thrown their way?

No one.

God, he was such a bad-ass.

Brad smirked with satisfaction at the thought, tearing his eyes away from the mirror long enough to scavenge his room for the outfit previously selected for the day.

No one would ever suspect Crawford of being a villain of vanity. But the truth was, it took effort to be as pretty as he was. To be clean-shaven, color-coordinated and accessorized were important tactical decisions; wearing the right cologne for an occasion was almost as important as the type of gun he carried.

Unbeknownst to those who knew him (a select few being the exceptions), Crawford could spend hours everyday pondering ways of improving his image. The seeming half hour he spent primping (more efficiently than the two-some hours Schuldich could spend on a difficult lock of hair) at the mirror every morning and the hour he spent every night picking out the next day's ensemble were well proof of it. Hell, his closet looked spiffier than a Banana Republic outlet store.

Nagi had been the only one to truly discover this side of Schwarz's beloved leader, the entire spectacle causing him more mirth than anyone thought possible. It was cute sometimes, the boy blushingly admitted, to see the man posing for himself in the mirror. And the fact that he usually did it in his underwear wasn't so bad, either.

Brad stopped and let the corners of his lips to raise into a small smile at the thought of the boy. How he had been so lucky as to find the only person that made life worth living - when he had been such an insufferable bastard most of his life, and millions of good people would never get to experience this sort of personal security– was a mystery he felt better left unsolved.

Yes, life was good. Brad could say he had it all: affluence, a well-paying job he enjoyed, a big house, great friends, and he was getting some. Naturally, one had to wonder - what could possibly go wrong? (a/n: do you really wanna know? ::cackle:: )

Nothing, Crawford decided with satisfaction.

But his clairvoyance knew better.

If there was one thing Bradley hated, it was the knowledge that something imperceptible was coming. Like the time that Schu had decided that he needed to make sure his libido still functioned properly by driving everyone who came within a two mile radius absolutely insane. Not to mention probably scaring and corrupting some unsuspecting teenagers for life.

Brad shuddered at the thought of what could happen this time. Well, as long as he didn't have to bail anyone out of jail or make sure Schwarz "disappeared" for a little while, it should be all right.

With a dismissive grunt, Crawford fluidly pulled on a rather loose pair of cream colored pants, slipped into his crisp white shirt, and replaced himself before the mirror to finish buttoning and dressing. He tucked his shirt into his pants and carefully combed his hair into its usual perfect position. Once satisfied, he proceeded to lace his belt through the appropriate belt loops, and buckle it.

But –

Wait.

This wasn't right.

Brad frowned when he noticed that he had to scoot down to one or two notches on the belt. It was… unusual. Either the belt had shrunk (which he doubted) or his waist…

Ice blue eyes with the power to foresee certain death went wide with clumsy terror.

With the speed of skill, Crawford hurriedly pulled his shirt off (without ripping or tearing!) and tossed it aside to flutter into an uncharacteristically wrinkled heap. He frantically inspected himself in the mirror, squinting, and even wiping his glasses to be sure to catch whatever was wrong.

He gave himself a careful once-over, his eyes quickly scanning his waistline, looking for anything unusual, but still was completely perplexed. He didn't look any different. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he wondered why on earth he would have to widen the circumference of his belt. True, he hadn't worked out yesterday, but one day wasn't going to kill him.

Then, for some reason, at that moment he seemed to remember some large event that was supposed to happen soon…

Wait a minute.

It couldn't be!

Was that even possible…?

Could he…?

Crawford's eyes widened again in horror.

Was he…?

…getting FAT?????????

End chappie one

Coming up next:

---At the breakfast table:

Schuldich walked over to Brad.

"Careful, Brad," he said leaning on the older man's shoulder. "You take in to many sweet things, you'll get fatter."

Brad's glasses flashed as he whirled around to face the telepath.

"What are you saying? Are you saying I look fat?"

… "You know what they say… after hitting twenty-five…"