Felix the Random Hobbit can still not come up with a beginning for "OVB: Road Trip."

Chaos ensues.

Chapter Two: The Real Moniker

Tea was, as usual, an ordeal. MIB had a habit of drinking heavily directly before the meal, and as a result frequently missed whilst trying to insert his cream bun into his mouth. After the third try that afternoon Carl stopped laughing and assisted in the quest.

"Where on earth do you get enough alcohol to get this inebriated?"

MIB slurred something in response that sounded suspiciously like "Cardinal Jinette's closet." At least, that was what Carl decided he was going to believe.

"Really?" he said.

MIB gurgled through his tea.

"That's fascinating."

These tea-time conversations were started as a result of MIB's attempt to sexually assault Jinette while he tried to force a confession from the drunk man. Understandably flustered, Jinette called Carl into conference and informed him that he was going to have sole custody of MIB until further notice.

Carl watched him. "Why are you blushing, Your Holiness? Is something wrong?"

Jinette stammered, which delighted Carl no end. He'd never heard the Cardinal stammer before.

Finally Jinette managed to tell Carl that what he, Jinette wished was for him, Carl, to conduct daily inquisitions into MIB's psyche. Actually, the word "psyche" hadn't been invented yet, and what the Cardinal actually said was for Carl to delve deep into MIB's "conscietta," an Italian word which actually means "an especially small loaf of sweetened bread." The Cardinal had never been particularly stellar where vocabulary was concerned.

Carl stared at him. "Are you sure?"

"Sure?" said the Cardinal, still blushing. "Of course I'm sure."

Carl shrugged, said, "Very well," and went off to dissect MIB's pastry.

A few seconds later he poked his head back into Jinette's office and said, "Sorry, Your Worshipfulness, but is there anything in particular I'm supposed to be divining from the MIB's croissant?"

Jinette took a few minutes to interpret this and then said, "Find out his name."

"Righto," said Carl the novice cheerfully, and went to take tea with MIB.

He'd done this for a week now, and quite apart from failing in his commission, was also getting entirely fed up with emerging spattered with pastry filling. Today he decided to stop at nothing in order to find out MIB's real name.

He began in the usual way.

"Hello, MIB."

"Hrrrrrgh?" said MIB. "Ohhhhhh.... the monk."

"Actually, I'm just a novice," said Carl pleasantly. This exchange had been made every day for a week and, inexplicably, had not yet driven everyone involved to distraction. "But thanks for asking. Tell me, MIB, have you a name?"

"Krrrrr," said MIB, his tongue lolling drunkenly from his mouth.

"We really must discuss that deeper. But perhaps some other time? What I'm really interested in is if there's something I should be calling you or not."

"Tra-la-la," said MIB obediently.

Carl noted down in his accurately-named notebook that MIB showed signs of having been a folk singer in a past life. Then he turned interestedly back to the man in the bed.

"Tell me, MIB, have you ever had any frighteningly maudlin experiences with squirrels?"

"Gaaaah!" said MIB.

Carl noted down that the MIB displayed symptoms of having been a somewhat-frustrated naturalist in his previous life, in between writing folk songs.

"I'll be right back, MIB."

"Whaa?"

"I said I shall return shortly."

"Hrm," said MIB contentedly.

Carl went out of the room and, as promised, returned shortly, or, to put it another way, was right back. In a small cage somewhat bigger than a breadbox he bore a squirrel.

MIB took one look at the squirrel and began to scream.

This may have insulted the squirrel, were it not for the fact that the squirrel took one look at MIB and screamed back.

Carl nodded to himself, stood over MIB and brandished the squirrel at him. "Now," he said, in as threatening a tone as he could manage, which wasn't very threatening, "what is your name?"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

Carl snorted. "I highly doubt it, don't try to get around me that way. Now, what is your name?"

"AAAAAGH!"

"More likely, but still improbable. I'm going to give you one more chance and then you've got the squirrel for a bedmate."

"AaaaaAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAaaaVanHelsing!"

Carl leapt about the room in triumph, accidentally dislodging the catch on the squirrel's cage. The squirrel escaped and hid in a corner of the room, and MIB resumed screaming. Totally disregarding this, Carl ran to inform the Cardinal that MIB's true, real, and actual name was, apparently, AaaaaAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAaaaVanHelsing!

Left together alone, AaaaaAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAaaaVanHelsing! and the squirrel eyed each other. One or the other of them would have to go.

AaaaaAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAaaaVanHelsing! spoke first.

In drunk-speak, he said, "This room ain't big enough for the both of us, squirrel."

The squirrel eyed him beadily. Obviously he was in agreement.

They stared at each other.

The room was tense.

The fight started.

Van Helsing decided it was about time to sober up when the squirrel won.