Chapter 2

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Warning: Parallel Universe Sequence is now in effect. Please keep your hands, arms, and heads inside the story at all times. Especially your heads. If you don't pay attention, you might miss something!

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   "Good morning, morning," Ilpalazzo greeted the ray of sunshine streaming through his window, before stopping to wonder if this sudden propensity of his for talking to inanimate things was a side-effect of prolonged exposure to Excel.

He pushed this thought firmly aside as he climbed out of bed. He was not beginning to think like Excel! That thought was far too horrifying to even entertain. And at any rate, if he was, surely he would be thinking much faster, leaving none of these thoughts unsaid, and experiencing the unexplainable urge to bounce around the room and defy all laws of gravity, logic, and so forth.

As memories of the underground ACROSS headquarters, where he would sit enthroned in that old recliner he had draped in red fabric and watch the aforementioned bouncing and rambling, drifted across his mind, he sat down again, slightly hunched over, and sighed sadly.

Who would have thought that a simple change from everything that lent structure to a person's life could leave them feeling so very empty?

­I didn't think it was possible, but I'm even starting to miss seeing that blonde blur flying past, and Hyatt lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood!

This, naturally, was only because both girls were so closely tied to his memories of ACROSS, and had nothing to do with the sorts of ridiculous bonds that the ignorant masses formed between one another.

Still, he thought resentfully, Excel and Hyatt certainly had taken their own sweet time in coming to visit him as they had promised they would. Or rather, as Excel had promised they would amid many tears and while clinging tightly to his leg, as Hyatt simply made gurgling noises while tipping gradually over.

But these were thoughts that all led him down the dangerous road that ended eventually in despair and regret of his decision. And thus, he tucked them firmly away to deal with later, and went about preparing for the day.

After a quick shower, a scene which afforded a good deal of very nice detail including a steamy mirror and warm, soapy water that our budget shall not allow us to go into at the moment or probably at any other moment, he dressed with equal haste in the interest of taking as little time as possible out of his Schedule of Big Important Things, and prepared to set out.

At the door of the decent-sized apartment, he stopped dead, hand hovering over the doorknob.

   "It finally occurs to me that I have absolutely no idea what I am going to do today."

He turned from the door and wandered to the sofa, and then sat down and stared blankly at the wall.

A few seconds later, he stood up and wandered to the chair on the right side of the couch, sat down, and stared at the bookshelf across from it.

Then, after gleaning all he could from this view, he stood up again, wandered back to the couch, sat down, and stared at the carpet for a time.

Finally, several moments later, he stood up again, his decision made.

   "Well, I can't do anything on an empty stomach. Time for breakfast! That should take up a bit of time, at least."

Then, on his way to the kitchen, he stopped short.

   "Why am I talking out loud?"

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Fifteen minutes later, Ilpalazzo stood at the kitchen counter, arms crossed, staring thoughtfully at a plate heaped with what had previously been two loaves of bread, and was now a rather unnecessarily large quantity of toast.

   "Well. That took up less time than I had budgeted for it. Of course," he added hopefully, "I haven't taken the time to put anything on the toast."

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Five more minutes, half of a small tub of margarine, and two jars of marmalade later, he stared at the same stack of toast previously, now thickly covered with layers of orange gelatinous goop, butter knife in hand.

   "Damn it. I suppose I am simply too efficient for my own good. Now I have enough toast and marmalade to feed this entire building. Not only this, but I don't particularly like marmalade. And on top of that, I have finally realized that I am not at all hungry."

He pouted for a moment, then brightened.

   "However, I do believe that I have dripped a bit of marmalade on this shirt. I had best go change."

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Another few minutes and another scene that has been deleted due to budget problems later, Ilpalazzo emerged from his room, a freshly-washed shirt identical to the one he had just taken off in its place.

   "And now," he announced grandly to no one in particular, "I have to go grocery shopping. After all, I'm out of bread."

Whistling a jaunty tune that would have filled nearly everyone who knew him with no small amount of alarm, he grabbed his house keys and wallet, and exited the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind him.

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    "Hmm…now that I think about it," he murmured to himself five minutes later, as he ambled down the street on the way to the grocery store, "it's been a while since I've done a full grocery shopping. I wouldn't want to run out of anything."

And thus, by the time he reached the store, the list of little necessities to pick up had grown exponentially, with the positive, but of course unplanned side-effect that the time of the excursion to the grocery store had stretched to an hour rather than fifteen minutes.

This though putting a little added bounce into his step, he made his way into the store and set about collecting the articles on his mental check-list.

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   "Oh, my goodness," Hyatt murmured to herself as she set down the can of peas that she was expending so much energy to lift, and had turned out to be far beyond the household budget, anyway. She peered closely at the tall figure on the other side of the shelf, visible through the small gap between two boxes of Hamburger Helper. "I believe that's Lord—er, Mr. Ilpalazzo. I would go to say hello, but I'm not feeling very well at the moment. He does look lonely, though. Perhaps Senior and I ought to go to visit later."

This decided, Hyatt gathered up her purchases – four loaves of slightly damaged bread; surely that should last her, Senior Excel, and Menchi for the rest of the month – and staggered weakly from the canned goods isle.

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Accordingly, later that afternoon found Hyatt and Excel making their way to a reasonably upscale apartment building in a decently crime-free area of F.

Hyatt, of course, walked slowly and gracefully, the long skirt of her dress billowing slightly in the breeze. When someone would glance her way, she would send back a soft, sweet smile that delighted male and female alike…although, possibly for different reasons.

Excel, on the other hand, behaved very much like a small, wriggly puppy who has been shut up in a closet for a day and is finally being taken on a long-promised walk.

Although her energy and liveliness had not noticeably flagged in Ilpalazzo's absence, as might have been expected had she been anyone else, the excitement of going to see that same absent man on a real, live social call had sent a flood of extra energy through her.

Thus, she bounced and whirled and danced and leapt along the sidewalk, singing loudly about life's many blessings and life's many annoyances and life's many oddities. When someone would happen to glance her way with a baffled look, an annoyed look, or an indulgent and amused smile, she would grin back and more often than not shout out a greeting.

Had these been any other two girls in existence, their journey's end might have seen Hyatt skipping merrily up to the building, having saved her energy, while Excel dragged herself dustily along the ground, exhausted from her oddly-timed acrobatics.

Instead, since they were not any other two girls, but their own dear selves, as they approached the address they had been given by That Woman who decided with a shrug that she could afford to humor this little quirk that both girls seemed to have of actually being fond of that arrogant twit, Hyatt dragged herself wearily, yet gracefully along, somehow remaining immaculately clean. This contrasted all the better with Excel, skipping dustily and chaotically up to the building.

   "You okay, Hatchan?" Excel called over her shoulder once the inkling began to sink into her preoccupied mind that she hadn't heard a wracking cough in some minutes.

   "I'm fine, Senior," Hyatt called weakly from the tree on the building's property, against which she was propped up.

Excel rushed to her friend.

   "If you needed to rest, why didn't you say so? Geez, Hatchan, sometimes I think you like dying!"

   "I was feeling fairly well until just now," Hyatt explained. "I'm sure I will be fine in a moment. Why don't you go on up?"

Excel turned this idea over in her mind.

   "You sure you're okay to find your way up? Okay, then, I think I will!" she hurried on before Hyatt could answer.

With that, she turned and bolted into the building, nearly decimating an official-looking man carrying a briefcase.

Hyatt smiled fondly and just a wee bit knowingly after her friend.

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Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!

Puzzled, Ilpalazzo set down the twenty-third laundry basket of the day and hurried to the door. Who on earth would be calling at this time of the afternoon?

His surprise was much greater than that of the reader when he opened the door to be greeted by a shiny-eyed, widely grinning Excel. It was partially this surprise not giving him time to think up a good response, and partially his boredom thus far that day that ensured that his greeting was not as cold as it might have been.

   "Excel? What on earth are you doing here? For that matter, how on earth did you find me?"

   "Oh, Lady That Woman gave Hatchan and me your address! She said that even though she didn't understand our bizarre tastes, it wasn't her place to judge, and women have enough to deal with in this world just with the men, that she doesn't think we should stand in the way of each other being happy."

   "So, where is Hyatt, anyway?"

   "She's recovering under that tree outside," Excel replied easily.

Ilpalazzo nodded.

   "Ah. Well, as long as you're here, come in."

   "Th-thanks," she squeaked before slipping out of her shoes and inching her way through the door with the air of a small child trying to maintain a properly sober and religious demeanor within a vast cathedral or some other sacred place.

As she bent down to slip her socks off, he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

   "What are you doing, Excel?"

She laughed nervously.

   "Actually, I was gonna ask if this was okay, or if I could have a towel or something. I think I stepped in something icky on the way here, and it seeped right through my shoes, so my socks are all stained and soggy and stuff. I think it was chocolate ice cream, or something. And you know chocolate stains are murder to get out! Chocolate can leave its indelible mark on a woman's dress and on a woman's waistline. At least, that's what That Woman says. Excel don't eat a lot of chocolate, so she don't really know," she added aside. "Oh, the demon that is chocolate! It wreaks havoc on our lives and on our teeth, and yet we yearn for it!"

   "I…see. Nevertheless, Excel, don't worry about your socks. I was planning on shampooing the carpet tomorrow. Or later this evening."

   "You must be really bored," Excel commented solemnly.

Ilpalazzo made a noise that anyone other than the dazed Excel might have called a whimper.

   "I am not bored," he retorted. "It is true that I've had a lot of free time, but to be honest, it is a nice change."

     "You mean, spending all your free time at home instead of sitting in ACROSS headquarters?" she asked sympathetically, no thought of being sarcastic crossing her mind.

   "I can't drop her down the pit," Ilpalazzo murmured. "For the simple reason that I don't have one. Who would have thought it would come in handy in my own apartment? And if I get blood on the carpet, I won't get my deposit back. Best to handle this without violence." He looked up with a slightly forced smile. "Now, why don't you have a seat and tell me how you lost your latest part-time job?"

Excel frowned as he led her to the couch.

   "Well, I haven't lost the one I have yet, but I guess I could tell you about the last one. Or I could make up a story with lots of vampires and wizards and weird kids with rollerblades and spoon-monkeys and stuff!"

He looked at her with indifference that nearly resembled curiosity.

   "If you haven't lost your job, is this your day off?"

   "Nope! But when Hatchan told me that she saw you in the grocery store earlier and you looked all lonely and bored and trying to decide between three brands of ketchup like it was the most important decision of your life, and said that she thought we should come visit, I dropped a knife on my foot so my boss would send me home early, and Hatchan sorta passed out or died or something when she saw all the blood, so he set her home too, and we came right over here, and I forgot to mention that I might be getting a little blood on your carpet along with the chocolate," she finished sadly, eyeing the red-brown sneaker prints on the wheat-colored Berber.

He took a deep, calming breath while inwardly bidding his deposit a sad farewell unless the carpet cleaner could work the miracles that the infomercials he had watched for most of the previous night while unable to sleep claimed that it could. This, he severely doubted…

   "Don't worry about that. Although," he continued, gazing carefully at her, "your clothes are filthy. What on earth did you do on the way over here?"

Excel leapt off of the couch.

   "Excel is sorry! She didn't mean to get her dirt all over your couch! She just did what she always does, she thinks."

   "You look like you romped through every mud puddle and dust cloud you could find!"

   "Yeah! That's what I just said. Excel did what she always does!"

   "Hmm. Well, as long as I've got a load of laundry ready, I might as well wash those," he said quite casually.

­Okay! Excel's brain barked. Something severe X-Files bizzareness goin' on here!

   "Uh…what?" she finally managed to squeak.

   "I'm going to wash those," he explained patiently, gesturing to her clothes. "Now," he continued firmly, seizing the hem of her shirt, "off with them."

   "Excel, this is your brain," she said, curiously enough out loud, her voice muffled a bit by a layer of pink cotton being pulled up over her head. "You will not panic! You will also not overreact, squeal like an idiot, gush blood from your nose all over the place, die of joy, or get distracted by a shiny thing. Holy crap!" she concluded as a pair of hands that she was reasonably certain weren't hers, began working at the fly of her shorts.

   "Well, I can't wash them if they're on you," he explained indulgently.

She shrugged at this impeccable logic, and then gave a startled yelp as she found herself being quickly deprived of her undergarments. She twisted around and stared incredulously at the man behind her, reading the washing instructions on the plain white cotton brassiere dangling from his hands.

He looked up.

   "It would be silly to wash everything else and not these, wouldn't it?" he asked with an absent shrug.

   "Whoa! This is going beyond X-Files bizarreness, although Excel is starting to think that she would watch The X-Files more often if things like this happened on it, and if she had a TV, and if she liked American TV, and if she didn't think that guy with the big nose was really, really creepy, and does Lord Ilpalazzo think that Excel could borrow one of his towels? She doesn't have any problem with you seeing her, of course, but she does notice that your blinds are open, and there's an old man in the building across the street with a video camera."

Rolling his eyes slightly, Ilpalazzo stalked across the room, flipped the blinds shut, and turned around.

   "Better?"

   "Yeah, I guess so, but could I still borrow a towel or somethin'? It's kinda cold in here…"

He smiled a small, amused smile.

   "Lend you one of my clean towels with you looking like that? I'm afraid not, Excel."

   "So, I've just gotta stand here, bare-ass naked, until your load of wash is done?! I guess that's sorta okay, heck, it's even really, really okay, but it's also kinda weird. It's been a long-standing dream of Excel's to be in a situation notably similar to this one, but usually in her dream, Lord Ilpalazzo is naked, too, and he's paying a little more attention to her than to fabric softener," she concluded sadly as he disappeared into the laundry room.

   "If I lend you a shirt, will you stop complaining?" he called from the small room just off the kitchen.

   "Excel didn't think she was complaining," she admitted, scratching her head as a white button-up dress shirt sailed through the door and landed on it.

   "Go take a bath before you put that on; I just washed it."

   "Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh…you want me to go use your bathtub?"

   "That is where most people take baths, yes," he replied, leaning briefly out the door. "Of course, since it's you, you might prefer the kitchen sink, or a large, gaping pit installed into the floor."

Excel moved hastily away from where she was standing.

   "You don't actually have one of those here, do you?"

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   "Oh, my," Hyatt murmured, opening one eye slowly. "What a nice nap. Such a pretty day to simply sit outside and commune with nature. I do wonder how long I've been asleep, though…"

This thought trailed off as the still-groggy young woman got her other eye open and gazed about her at the concerned crowd that had gathered.

   "Er, hello, everyone," she greeted hesitantly.

Oh, dear…I might not be able to get up to Lord—er, Mr. Ilpalazzo's apartment for quite a while…

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    "And how is everything going in here?"

    "Ack!" Excel shrieked, diving behind the shower curtain with a tremendous splash and an equally tremendous thunk as her skull collided with the bottom of the tub.

Then, straightening up and expelling the water from her lungs with a cough, she peeked out from behind the curtain and gave Ilpalazzo, waiting by the door, an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  "Excel is doing just fine! And she's really, really enjoying the unique experience of taking a bath in the home of the most super-duper cool, glorious, and ultra-dreamy guy in the world!"

He made a disapproving noise, starting forward.

   "You didn't use any bubbles."

   "B-bubbles?"

   "Yes; I left a large jug of citrus-scented bubble bath right there, on the edge of the tub, for just such situations. I don't use it myself, of course," he added hastily as her expression twisted into what he misinterpreted for a grin, but which was actually merely the start of a nervous laugh.

   "Yeah, I see it now," she said cheerfully, edging back further behind the shower curtain and tugging it over what ought to be covered as he knelt next to the tub.

   "As long as I'm here, I might as well help you with that. After all," he added scornfully, "I don't suppose you use a lot of bubble bath, and I wouldn't want waste going on. Such things are truly what have led to the corruption of this world!"

He struck a dramatic pose.

Excel sat motionless in the soapy water, gazing at him in equal parts admiration and sympathy. Then she frowned.

If he has that bubble bath around for situations like this, she thought as he adjusted the taps and poured several capfuls of the orange goo from a bottle labeled Property of Neon Genesis Evangelion, does that mean that he has lots of girls showing up to take bubble baths? Oh, no! Come to think about it, Hatchan was gone for an awfully long time today. What if…no, Excel! Don't spoil this rapturous moment with such disturbing thoughts! But… I wonder if he really does haul strange girls in off the street to give them baths…

He looked up with a slight smirk.

   "No, I don't."

Excel blinked.

   "Um…I didn't say that out loud. I just thought it. See?" She pointed up at the internal monologue, now floating away through the open window. "Italics."

   "Well, then, Excel, I would say that we ought to chalk it up to contrivance and bad writing."

   "Yeah, probably," Excel agreed cheerfully before jumping nervously out of the way as Ilpalazzo reached into the tub to swirl the bubble bath around, his hand grazing her leg.

Hey, it may be weird, she thought, utterly unaware of her huge grin, but I likes it anyway!

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Several minutes of desperate explanation later, Hyatt made her way into the building, having finally managed to break away from the concerned crowd.

   "Now, which apartment was it again?" she murmured to herself, unfolding the slip of paper.

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   "Can I come out now?" Excel called drowsily an hour later, leaning out the bathroom door. "Excel is starting to feel a little woozy from all the warm water; kind of like that time she fell asleep in the hot tubs at the public pool and that nice lady dragged her outside and threw her in the snow and she got a really bad cold and she had to live on cold medicine for the next three weeks, and let's just say Excel learned why they tell you not to operate heavy machinery when you're taking NyQuil," she concluded. Then, with a hopeful smile, she repeated, "So…can I come out now?"

Ilpalazzo considered this for a moment from the living room, where he was dusting every empty surface he could find for the fourth time that afternoon.

   "I don't know…I think you've missed some spots."

   "But Excel's been sitting in the tub for an hour!" she whined. "She's getting all wrinkly and starting to bear a creepily strong resemblance to her grandma!"

   "Oh, very well," he grumbled, tossing a shirt at her. "But make sure to be very, very careful with that."

   "Okay," she chirped agreeably around a tremendous yawn.

   "Now that you're finished," Ilpalazzo began hopefully, "do you like toast?"

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   "Goodness," Hyatt noted, eyes already starting to blur just a wee bit as she stared at the trek before her. "There certainly are a lot of stairs here, aren't there?."

Meanwhile, an oldish man in golf pants watched her, wondering what this pretty little thing was doing staring at the elevator like that.

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   "Wow! This toast is fantastic! Delicious! Perfect! Just cold enough to bring out the flavor and natural toasty goodness! And the orange goop with orange peels stuck in it! Magnifico! Truly, this toast is a god among warmed bread!" Excel proclaimed, bouncing wildly around the table and showering crumbs behind her as she went.

   "Oh, well, it's alright, I suppose. Not nearly as good as the fifteenth batch of the day. Now, that was truly some wonderful toast. Perfect level of crispness, not too light, not too dark, and – you're making a mess," Ilpalazzo concluded coldly.

   "Urk! Excel is sorry!" she yelped, dropping apologetically into a chair with such force that it tipped over and deposited her unceremoniously on the linoleum. "Ow…"

   "That's what happens when you mistreat the furniture," he said, disentangling her from the chair and then setting the chair upright again. "Now, why don't you try that again? Carefully."

   "Right-o!" Excel exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "Excel will endeavor to treat the furniture with the respect and gentleness it deserves! Your kitchen chair and I will get along great! We'll be best friends by the time the wash cycle's done! Heck, by the time I'm finished this super-duper fabulous toast!"

With that, she dove back into the chair, which promptly fell over again.

Ilpalazzo sighed as, undaunted, she scrambled to her feet and tried again.

Well, at least it beat watching infomercials.

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   "I think I've finally found the right apartment," Hyatt noted, pleased, as she compared the number on the door to the number on the slip of paper she held.

She raised her hand to knock, the effort of which sent her toppling immediately to the ground.

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   "Excel is pretty sure she just heard the washing machine stop," the blonde spoke up hesitantly half an hour and twelve pieces of toast later.

   "No, you didn't," Ilpalazzo said immediately. "So, Excel, tell me about what's new and exciting with you and Hyatt. Anything particularly…interesting?"

She sent him a sympathetic look.

   "You wanna ask about ACROSS, don't you?"

He made another decidedly whimpery sound, and then cleared his throat and shrugged indifferently.

   "Oh, well, if you want to tell me about it, I suppose I'll just have to listen."

   "Actually, I'm pretty sure you could come up with tons of different ways to avoid listening to Excel if you wanted to. You could kick my chair over, or throw something at me, or call in trained seals to beat me up and bounce me around on their noses, or you could throw me out the window, or—"

   "Just…tell me how things are going, alright?"

Excel pondered this very carefully for a moment. Then, looking plaintively up at him, she said decidedly,

   "They're lousy!"

He hid a pleased smile. Well! It seemed as though that horrid woman hadn't managed to completely win over those who should rightfully be under his command yet.

   "Now, now, Excel, you can't very well tell me about the problems you're having with your…" He choked slightly over the words. "…new commander."

Excel scratched her head.

   "That's weird. Excel sorta thought that's why you were asking," she admitted with a laugh. "But I guess if you're sure…"

An uncomfortable silence fell. Then…

   "On second thought, tell me everything," Ilpalazzo commanded, leaning forward eagerly.

Excel took a deep, preparatory breath.

   "Okay; first of all, we're doin' some weird crap now! Lady That Woman doesn't have any interest in correcting the problem of the corruption of society. All she wants to do is have bake sales and quilting bees and bachelor auctions and things like that! It's getting really boring! And she redecorated the ACROSS headquarters! Now there are these weird paintings of melting clocks everywhere! She says they're deep, but they just remind me of what the world looked like the last time I was sorta high on Sudafed. And I never, ever get dropped down the pit anymore," she concluded mournfully. "I bet all the creatures down there have forgotten what my blood tastes like. I'll come back, and they'll all be strangers to me!"

As she stopped for breath, a quiet rap at the door caught their attention.

   "My goodness," Ilpalazzo said with a frown. "I'm on a bit of a roll with this whole company thing today."

   "That's probably Hatchan," Excel called from the table. "It's about when I thought she'd be showing up."

He stopped and turned around.

   "Didn't you leave her just downstairs?"

Excel stared at him as though he'd sprouted another head.

   "Well, yeah, but it's Hatchan."

   "Right. Of course," he sighed, turning back to the door. "Oh, hello there, Hyatt. Come on in. We were just having some toast. Would you like some?"

Hyatt smiled politely up at the tall man and stepped into the apartment.

   "Hey, Hatchan!"

The dark-haired girl blinked once or twice at the odd scene before her.

Seated at the kitchen table, wearing a shirt obviously too big for her but just the right size for their host, was her Senior Excel, waving an enthusiastic greeting and finishing what appeared to be breakfast.

   "Oh, dear," Hyatt murmured. "How long was I under that tree?"

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   "My God," Ilpalazzo said slowly, head buried in his hands as the harp music signaling the end of the Parallel Universe Sequence faded. "It's more horrifying that I thought possible. Laundry, toast, shampooing the carpet, infomercials! These are the sorts of things that the unemployed portion of the ignorant masses finds to amuse themselves?"

   "Did…did Lord Ilpalazzo just give Excel a bubble-bath in his Flashback Sequence?" Excel asked, faint with hope, still staring at the screen which the four had been crowded around, watching the events of the chapter unfold.

   "I suppose that just shows what's going on in his subconscious," That Woman giggled to Hyatt, who giggled back and promptly lost consciousness from the exertion.

   "Still," That Woman continued with a frown, "I'm a little offended at the whole 'That Woman never wants to do anything worthwhile' bit. Bake sales? Quilting bees? The bachelor auctions sound kind of fun, but…quilting bees?!"

   "Yes, that puzzles me, too," he admitted, utterly ignoring That Woman. "It seems extremely unlikely that such a…bizarre sequence of events could unfold in exactly that way, with every slightly out-of-character reaction occurring at exactly the right moment to bring that ultimately strange event into being."

   "I guess we just blame the author again, huh?" Excel said on her twelfth lap around the table.

   "That's probably the best thing to do," That Woman sighed. Then she frowned sternly at Ilpalazzo. "So, young man, have you made your choice?"

The 'young man' in question let out a pained groan.

   "Yes, I have." He glared at her. "Being placed under your command is a repulsive thought, but I am willing to endure far worse to keep a scenario like that from ever coming to pass."

   "Except for the bubble bath part, right?" That Woman grinned, winking at Excel, who blushed, starting at a sweet, fetching rosy pink and ending up somewhere closer to magenta, and Hyatt, who dragged herself off of the table just in time to smile back.

   "Yes, except for the bubble bath," he agreed absently. Then, as he took a sip of coffee, exactly what he had just said hit him, and he choked and sputtered in a most undignified fashion. "No! No, forget I said that!"

   "Okay, okay," That Woman said, exasperated. "As much fun as it is embarrassing him, we don't have time for this. We have a lot of important things to discuss, such as exactly what you have all been spending your time at, and where we will go from this point. I think—"

   "Er, Miss That Woman?" Hyatt ventured timidly.

   "Yes, Hyatt?"

   "I believe this chapter has already exceeded the attention span limit length of the average reader looking simply to unwind after a hard day in the real world."

   "Well, it seems that it's exceeded Excel's attention span, at any rate," That Woman sighed, following the blonde, who had begun to tango around the shop with a wooden dummy, with her gaze.

   "Yes, but you must consider that a dramatic recitation of See Spot Run would exceed Excel's attention span," Ilpalazzo interjected.

   "Oh, whatever! Let's just end the chapter here, and discuss our plans…uh, later," That Woman said decisively.

Hyatt nodded meekly.

Ilpalazzo nodded grudgingly.

Excel made another lap of the coffee shop, singing a rousing chorus of "The Masochism Tango".

That Woman glared up at the ceiling.

   "Chapter's over! Go away!"

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End Notes: Hee-hee-hee! Okay; this was the AU/intentionally OOC chapter. From here on out, any OOCness will be purely accidental! Uh…anyway…

I realize that Ilpalazzo would not turn into some loser with absolutely nothing to do with his free time if he for some reason removed himself from ACROSS (or at least, I realize that this opinion may be mine alone). I just loved the mental image of him staring intently at the toaster, waiting for the latest batch to pop up, with a huge stack next to him on the counter.

Yeah, these are the kinds of thoughts that keep me out of all the good schools. :o)

And, of course, the set-up for the joke. That's gotta be the longest set-up I've ever written for a bad joke/misleading appearance moment. Yaay!

And in conclusion, I do solemnly swear that I shall not inflict another chapter this unmercifully long upon those kind souls who are reading this little labor of love, Diet Pepsi-high, and just a bit of boredom.