Disclaimer: Still don't own. Sad, but true.
Heeey…soorrry peeps for the really long wait. Again. . RL's just been eating me whole…that and the fact that I have the concentration level of a rabid armadillo XD No, seriously. My lectures go something like "Ah…so the Sine Rule isn't part of Antarctica…now I wonder what Boromir would say if Frodo swallowed the ring with his lembas?"
Terrible, I tell ya. Really need to stop slacking. Really!
crickets chirp
Right after this story. And TV. And oh! All my books as well. And the Internet. And--list goes on
Chapter 8
Of the Rock Tunnel and the Dastardly Minions of Sal-Mon
With the tragic passing of their faithful, valorous companion Bedrock, the Poke-troopers found their spirits very much dampened, much akin to that of a rather miserable cat that has been left out in the rain for too long. Of course, the fact that it had actually been raining for two weeks straight might have played some minor, insignificant, totally trivial role in the contribution to such discrepancy as well. Not a single moment passed when they did not pause to contemplate the sheer audacity of their position: Nine strangers-well, eight now-against One Dark Lord and a whole heap of minions.
"Is it too late to switch allegiance?" Ho-oh wondered, "I hear that Sal-Mon is looking for 'bright, patient, dull-minded oafs' to serve him tea in the afternoon. It was in the Classifieds…"
"Yes, yes…" Mewtwo carefully thumbed through the paper, "Says here that he's out for bloodthirsty Pika-Captains too…no prior experience needed."
"Brothers!" Stantler cried, leaping onto a rock with the stifling eagerness of a forgotten King trying faithfully to rally to his dwindling side a handful of bedraggled stragglers. "Is this what it has come to? Shall the evil of Sal-Mon and his treacherous manipulation of the mass media so easily sway our cause? We are fighting for a purpose!" At this point, he straightened regally, and a prepaid group of nomadic Abra lit up the background with a dramatically impressive Flash attack. "The fates of Kanto, Johto, (and my title of King) hang upon our shoulders! Shall we deny the Free Peoples the right to live their lives freely, without the need to adhere to the treacherous reign of a madman; a tyrant?" He paused for effect, "I have a dream." The statement was issued, wreathed with passion and possible delirium, as Stantler's eyes filled up with large tears, "That all the many races of this world shall stand united; not as physical shields, but as one undivided community, where all dwell in peace and sovereignty. Vote for me, and I shall ensure that none shall ever go hungry again!"
There was a long pause, wherein the Poke-troopers vaguely wondered if the Nosegrill would be willing to trade Grovel for their beloved Ranger. Stantler hopped down from his perch, still breathing heavily, and the company gave him a wide berth.
"Did I overdo it?"
"Oh yeah."
"But don't worry," Suicune consoled, "if people can't understand you, they can't possibly find fault with your ideals."
"Gee…d'ya really think so?" Stantler sounded vaguely heartened as Lugia banged his head against a tree and caused several Apricorns to dislodge themselves from the tangled branches and attach firmly to Grandgolf's long, straggly beard. Ho-oh stared in silent wonder. Wondering, that is, if there was some ancient Wizard-power that helped stuff grow in that unfathomable mass. It was already looking a little greenish…
"Yes. Well, in either case, we really should be heading off to wherever we are going." Grandgolf scratched his beard idly with his golf club, and several peculiar items-including a land mine, the winged sandals of Hermes, and a fire hydrant-came tumbling out.
"Careful, Stantler," Ho-oh grinned, "I think that old guy may actually have a more bizarre collection of stuff than you do,"
"Oh really?" Stantler's hand instantly went to his pocket, "Well, we'll see about that…"
"No!" Lugia exclaimed. "I mean…no, I couldn't bare such a pointless contest between er…good friends…" He hastily amended, catching the dreaded kingly glint in Stantler's eye. "We should catch up with Grovel and get the Ring. Then, you can show us all your…stuff…later." Much, much later, he silently reflected.
"Aye…I suppose you're right…" Stantler sounded disappointed, but the idea of his prospective ascent to the throne averted any further argument. "So where to now?"
"We go to the Rock Tunnel!" Grandgolf cried, his tattered robes flailing wildly in some unnatural gust. Mewtwo shot him a look.
"And that will lead us to the One Ring?"
"No," Grandgolf answered truthfully, "but it will lead us to the One Pizza Stand, and I'm dying for a good slice of pepperoni and cheese…"
"Don't tempt me." Mewtwo said nonchalantly. His tone held the carefree coolness of a potential mass murderer who knows he has both the ability and will to dispose of a single individual in a ridiculously short time, "The Nine Nosegrill just might decide to make another house call."
Upon which Misty screamed and wrung Ash's neck so that the other's eyes almost popped out of his head. Lugia was about to state how utterly becoming the glazed look of a suffocating goldfish was of Asho, when a second shriek punctuated the still air.
"Okay, that's it. She better have an 'off' switch, or I'll install one right now!" Ho-oh actually made towards the frothing girl when the forest abruptly evaporated with a shrill 'ping!', and the company of Eight found themselves staring into the bottomless hood of a Nosegrill.
"Mewtwo…do us all a favour and never talk again…"
The cat's eyes flickered blue for a moment. Then, to everyone's surprise, he casually leaned against a tree trunk, crossed his arms, and flicked his tail innocently.
"All right."
Lugia's stunned silence didn't last for very long; out from the bushes leaped a herd of snapping, snarling Caterpie.
"I hate you," The dragon confirmed, as the Caperpie, with a howl of rage that could have put Erica to shame, firmly bound up the hapless Fellowship in iridescent pink bubblegum and bore them away.
Meanwhile, back in the Nosegrills' secret lair, the faithful, fearful spawns of terror and malice had encountered a little problem…
"I can't get it off!" The head Nosegrill howled with frustration, ripping at the strip of gold that now stood out prominently on his index finger. "It's stuck!"
"I'll go get my battle axe." The cheerful suggestion was met with a wrathful shriek as the deranged leader literally flung himself at his inept underling and pinned him to the ground.
"No!" He snarled, clearly articulating every syllable. Which isn't really saying much for a word that only has one. "No battle axes; no sharp, pointy broadswords; no meat cleavers; no rabid Squirtles; and if you so much as think of sticking my hand into a blender, Nosegrill number four, I will personally see to it that you spend your next thousand years as a concierge for Agatha!"
There was a general murmur of dread, followed by assorted clatters as the Nosegrill quickly dropped the aforementioned items in an attempt to appear void of guilt. The Squirtle, now very much irked, hissed angrily before scuttling away to a distant corner, rapping out a strange tune on its shell.
"So what do we do now?" The head Nosegrill didn't really know how long it had taken them to come up with such a question, and he didn't really care. All he knew was that a certain slimy, lisping degenerate trainer was somehow involved in this. And that certain slimy, lisping degenerate trainer was going to pay.
"Now," He said, getting up and resuming his 'I'm-in-charge-argue-and-die' attitude, "that slimy, lisping degenerate trainer is going to suffer an insufferable death!" He cackled evilly for several moments, before reality intervened. "Say…does any one remember his name?"
The Nosegrill looked at each other.
"Err…"
"Bob?"
"No, no, I'm sure it was Billy."
"Hydrogen Peroxide."
"That's not a name. That's the stuff you poured into our wine when you decided you wanted to play chef,"
"How was I supposed to know it was hazardous? Stupid Professor leaves bottles all over the place…"
"Oh, I know! Sméagol!"
They all stared at the unfortunate Nosegrill. Then the Nose King rubbed a sparkling hand across what might have been his face.
"I should have hired that band of Wraith Scouts when I had the chance. At least they came with a free box of cookies."
-End Fic-
Sorry, YK! I forgot to do the Saiyuki ficcy…cringes to avoid tomatoes and/or fireballs I'll try to get to it soon, but I usually write better (better/weirder? Hmm…) in the spur of the moment, so be patient; it'll come to me eventually :p
And I just got ROTK on DVD! Whoo! Pinky ish happy now
Ideas? Comments? Suggestions? Juz click on the lil blue button below. -