Title: Granola?
Author: Neme
Blood Type: Rocher chocolates
Disclaimer: Gravitation is not owned by me in any way, shape or form. But I have to obey it. Because it's the law.
Warnings: Some of the content contained herein is hazardous to your health and should not be attempted under any circumstances.
Author's Notes: This is a product of a late night conversation with my roommate. Sort of. This second part
Fujisaki Suguru blinked blearily, the light was near blinding. What was going on? Hastily, he tried to culminate the events that had led up to this point. At eight in the morning he had arrived at the studio to work on the new tracks and then…and then…Space Monkeys! The bright light…He was being abducted!
-
"See, and you thought you'd never get to do your 'doctor' thing, ne, Hiro?"
"This isn't being a doctor," the guitarists replied stiffly, holding one of Fujisaki's eyelids open so as to check the pianist's pupil dilation with a flashlight. "It's first aid." The young musician's pupils were dilating, at least. If Shuichi had permanently brain damaged their keyboardist with his clean up cocktail…there would be a slow painful death in their future, because Seguchi-san would definitely exact vengeance for his vegetable cousin. And people who dealt with Seguchi-san usually ended up under the tires of a car. Hiro shuddered slightly at the thought.
"Same difference!" Shuichi pouted, peering over his friend's shoulder.
-
"Hullo again!" Harold said, appearing out of thin air and chewing on a granola bar.
"You. What have you done to me!" Suguru demanded, furious at the situation.
"My, my, my. Feeling out of sorts, are we?" Harold flicked an invisible piece of lint from one outrageously large silver shoulder pad. "Granola?"
Suguru gaped. This was entirely impossible. Implausible. Of course! He was –
"You're not dreaming," the space monkey supplied easily, pieces of oat crumbling from his fingers and littering the pristine white linoleum. "Last chance," he offered, thrusting the semi-wrapped bar forward.
-
"No thanks, I'm fine," Fujisaki stated, pushing away Hiro's hand.
"Shuichi," Hiro said, switching off the flashlight. "Go get Sakano-san's smelling salts."
"But Hiro!" Shuichi whined. He didn't want to be responsible for the delusional keyboardist. Yuki was already mad at him; he didn't need K-san shouting at him in broken Japanese and Sakano-san clutching at Fujisaki-kun's mostly limp form as he flooded the green room with tears.
"NOW!"
-
"Now. Where were we? Ah, yes," Harold said, swallowing the last of the granola. "I think it's time you were let in on a secret."
A secret now, was it? This should be brilliantly constructed. Suguru wondered briefly why the space monkey was even bothering to tell him his evil plan. The evil plan gloating always came before…death. The villain in the silver spacesuit always gloated before the protagonist in the spy movies was strapped to a giant table with an equally as giant saw blade, or to a table with a laser. But…hadn't Harold said something about his talent…about…
"I did, didn't I? Well, really, you have two options. You can stay here and be stifled by that bubblegum-headed idiot, or you can join me and watch the destruction of your beloved Tokyo by my army of space monkey ninjas." Harold propped his chin up on his hands, brown eyes shining with excitement. "So, which will it be, Suguru? I mean, I'd much rather keep you about, but if you're going to be difficult…well, I'm afraid that table saw idea of yours has a lot of merit."
"Join…you…?" Suguru was utterly baffled. What was this monkey's deal?
"It's quite simple really; I'm shocked that you haven't been able to figure it out by now." Harold seemed to be grinning now, filled with some secret knowledge that he refused to share. Perhaps it was the nature of space monkeys to be mysteriously...
"Wanker-esque, is the word you're looking for."
All right, that was really getting annoying. Every thought, every emotion, every…thing inside his head seemed to be fair game to the monkey. And yet, Suguru still had no idea what he was wanted for.
"I can see I'll have to break it down for you a bit," Harold sighed, disappointed. He held up his hands. "Do you see a problem here?" he asked, wiggling his fingers.
Suguru shook his head. He didn't even know what was going on. His head felt fuzzy, like it was full of cotton. Strange…
"No opposable thumbs," he stated dryly, dropping his hands.
-
"I've got them! I've got them!" Shuichi shouted triumphantly, sliding into the green room, yellow sneakers squeaking to a halt.
"Four minutes. You're off your game, Shu," Hiro remarked dryly, uncapping the bottle of salts and holding them under Fujisaki's nose. He counted back from ten carefully.
"Yeah, well…" Shuichi pouted, crossing his arms and doing his best to garner his best friend's sympathy.
"The Ninja monkeys! Destroying Tokyo! They don't have opposable thumbs!" Suguru shouted, coming to. He was disoriented. The room had been white before, and now the walls were green and the floor was a royal shade of plum. What the hell was going on here?
"Before it was space monkeys…" Shuichi remembered suddenly, shrinking back as Hiro fixed him with a look that, for all intents and purposes, looked as if it could kill. "…Don't blame me for this!"
"Oh, I blame you."