yaaaayyyy...so now I get to take advantage of my M rating and really go to town...hehe
REVIEW. NOW. DAMMIT. READ MY LIPS. I. WANT. YOU. TO. REVIEW. PLEASE. its frustrating when you see the number of hits is more than the pitiful number of reviews and wonder who those poopy ten or so people are who didn't think I had feelings...sniffle...and this is such a good fic too...sniffle...hint hint...(nudge nudge knowwattamean, knowwattamean?...Monty Python is awesome)
This and chapter 4 were originally one chapter but it got long enough so my colleagues and I decided to split it in two...so lucky me! like magic, i suddenly have a buttload of more time to write more chapters before I have to update!
Oh, and I don't own HP. Or sushi, though I wish I did; it's divine stuff. Food of the gods. Well, God, if you're Christian. Oh, wait, I'm Christian. Damn. I'm so confused...
Chapter 3: Righteousness of Sushi Pitted Against the Evils of Lord Voldemort In an All-Out Battle THAT WILL DEFINE THE FUTURE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE IN THE UNIVERSE!
"No, no, sir, like this..." The waiter demonstrated for the tenth time, squeezing the two chop-sticks expertly between his fingers and deftly sweeping up the small, compact bundle of rice, seaweed, avocado and crab. "See? Not so hard, once you get used to it...if you position your fingers just so..."
Mr. Tom Riddle sat in frustration, his face steadily growing redder. He contorted his fingers oddly over the two plastic sticks, squeezing until his joints were white. He pressed his lips tightly together in concentration, and the chop-sticks suddenly twisted as if of their own power, snapping together and sending the sushi flying apart, all over the clean counter and the people sitting nearby. Including Voldie. Especially Voldie.
The waiter stared for a moment at the wizard sitting with avocado on his nose, and found himself suppressing an amused laugh bubbling forth. It was a funny situation, but this customer looked mad enough to sue simply because he couldn't hold chop-sticks correctly, and the waiter thought there was no use in getting himself fired for something so stupid as laughing at a paying customer's mistakes.
The restraint saved his life. Several unfortunates at the table were not so controlled, and burst into peals of amused laughter. Voldie's eyes slowly narrowed, and the plastic chop-sticks abruptly melted as huge purple flames shot from his twitching fingers, completely engulfing the other occupants of the table. The waiter turned white with shock. Screams erupted.
"Oh fuck," Lord Voldemort said sourly, and promptly erased the memories of the entire restaurant. The screams stopped, and people settled back into their seats.
Voldemort leaned over the counter and peered over the edge. There were five, no, six charred carcasses on the floor, smoking softly. He glanced around somewhat nervously. No one had seen, but it was only a matter of seconds before somebody happened to look over and notice the gruesome results of Voldie's frightening temper.
As he raised his hand to vanish the corpses, one suddenly raised it's hand and croaked weakly. Voldy jumped, cursing in dismay. One was alive! Oh, bloody, fucking, shitty, bloody hell. He couldn't believe it. He was the Great Dark Lord Voldemort, murderer of thousands, terrorizer of the magical world, and he couldn't even properly send a scrawny Muggle mortal screaming into the Eternal Pit of Fire for laughing at him because he couldn't hold chop-sticks. It was more than embarrassing; it was pathetic. He quickly checked the others. No, they were quite definitely, permanently dead. Whew. At least he hadn't completely lost his touch.
He vanished the actual corpses with a flourish and studied the nasty sneaky tricksy live one suspiciously. He couldn't simply vanish something if it was alive. He could only vanish things. He couldn't send live things simply vanishing into the…the Ethernet, or wherever, he had to kill them first...but he only had seconds to do it. He couldn't just wait till the bloody Muggle- the bloody mortal- the bloody mortal Muggle- was dead; somebody was going to look over any mome-
And that's when it happened. An obese woman munching happily on her marinated eel glanced over, drew a long breath and screamed so shrilly that it seemed for a moment to everyone in the restaurant that some demented sort of fire-alarm had gone off. Several diners did actually duck under the nearest table in surprise, heads whirling. Voldemort winced as a bolt of pain droved mercilessly into his head. Oh God. If screaming was giving him migraines now, he was definitely losing his touch.
Voldemort's hand shot out and he quickly muttered under his breath. The obese woman quieted, but another woman was already staring in horror at the smoking corpse, and shrieked even more shrilly. Voldemort grated his teeth in pain and annoyance, and erased her memory as well. The man sitting across from her, however, was miles ahead of Voldie's magic and screamed harshly as well.
Voldemort clapped his hand briefly to his head in desperation. If somewhat deeper, it still grated on Voldemort's nerves like nails on a chalk board. Ach, he thought, can't they bloody well see I'm trying to concentrate? He raised his hand again and shot forth another blast of memory-erasing magic. But he was too late; two others across the restaurant had already opened their mouths and screamed, driving red hot nails into Moldie Voldie's distressed head. He wimpered savagely, if that's possible.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-'
Blam!
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
Blam!
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
Blam!
Again and again and again, magic shot from Voldemort's fingertips and erased memory after memory. Again and again, people began and stopped screaming, all over the restaurant. Soon enough, the entire restaurant was screaming in odd cycles, the noise echoing up and out onto the street. A few teenagers walking by stopped and stared into the restaurant window.
"Ahhhhhhhh, Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Blam!
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
Blam!
"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
Blam!
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
Blam!
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
Sucking in a huge breath, Voldemort summoned his strength, and raised his arms to blast the entire area.
KABLAM!
Pause.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Freeze!
Voldemort collapsed on the table, breathing heavily, the frozen figures of screaming diners surrounding him. His chest hitched and he coughed weakly. The smoke rising from the almost-corpse was preserved in the air, and a trail of drool was frozen halfway from a screamer's open mouth to the floor. Voldemort coughed again. He hadn't had to do that in a very long time, and it had drained him cruelly. Ugh, he hated Muggles… He sat up again, propping himself against the table. God, silence.
He was getting far too old for this.
But he couldn't just stay this way, he reflected reluctantly, and that was the butt of the whole shitty situation. Sitch-ee-ation, he thought randomly. Butt. Hee. There were things to do in the world, atrocities to commit. He sighed huffily.
The charred man on the floor seemed to glare at Voldemort, although the were no eyes evident on his body, the way an unopened birthday present sitting in easy sight will tease a kid, or a plate of pizza will mock a fat guy trying to lose weight, or a large spider sitting absolutely still on its web will radiate "Don't fuck with me, sucker, or you'll be in for it." Voldemort glared back sourly, then rolled his eyes. "Stop looking at me like that," he said crossly.
The man stayed where he was.
"Stop it!" Voldemort snapped.
He pursed his lips unhappily. The insolence! He closed his eyes to still his shaky nerves, willing steel into his system. This would be tricky, especially for a Dark Lord going to seed, but there was nothing for it. He didn't think he could summon the necessary evilness and gloatingishness to finish off the guy, and he couldn't keep the world frozen forever. Voldemort drew in a breath and closed his eyes once more, this time more calmly, vowing to himself he would never, ever, EVER, tell ANYONE what he did just once. Just once, that's all, too. That's it. There's no more. Oh, dear God...I mean Devil…I mean Salazar…I mean…fuck.
He raised his hand, and, gathering the last of his magical strength, tentatively reached out to the dying man and...healed him.
The man's skin came back together, smoothing itself over. The smoke vanished, and features reappeared on his face. His expression was frozen in surprise and pain, and his limbs were contorted in odd positions that would have been funny had there not been such a grim reason why they were that way.
With a clumsy flourish, Voldemort resumed Time, and, muttering encouragment to himself, quickly re-erased the memories of the entire restaurant and surrounding area, the whole process taking less than a second. There was a confused pause, and then the diners closed their mouths, unclenched their hands and settled back into their seats, gradually resuming their conversations. The man on the floor blinked and rose unsteadily, unsure of just how he had ended up on the floor, and how his mates had managed to disappear entirely in the space of a millisecond, without giving him any warning. He looked up for the angry man across the counter who couldn't hold chopsticks, and was mildly concerned to find him also mysteriously vanished. The man stood. Erm. What had happened? He tried to bring his mind back to those few moments...the waiter had been showing the man how to use chopsticks...the man tried...the sushi flew all over the place...the others laughed...and then...and then...well, in the space of the second just before he blinked and found himself on the floor, he distinctly remembered tasting something sour in his mouth...something...prunes...?...
…………………………………………………
Letting the door to the restaurant slam shut behind him, Voldemort walked hurriedly out onto the street, wiping shakily at the mess of sushi-contents on his pants and shirt. His left eye twitched spastically, and he muttered to himself, drawing stares from passing walkers. He shuddered. He hated healing people. Hated. It made him feel so...so unclean...
He'd never tell anyone. Not ever. Not even Peterpoo.
Ugh...
He needed a massage. He'd had enough of this Muggle stupidity. Maybe it was time to return to the hideout, and Peter. He needed advice. And...other things. Mmmm, Peter. Good, faithful, loyal, obedient, wonderful Peter. Peter'd take care of his every need...
Ships I hate: Herm/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Herm/Snape, Harry/Snape, Harry/Draco, Herm/Ginny, Harry/Ron, and so many others, but Voldie/Wormtail...that's fun, if I may say so myself. )
Review. Now. Believe me, its painless and easy. So why resist? Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaase...
More coming. Butcha gotta review, peepul. If ya didn't like it, tell me why. Be nice. And give me ideas, I'm totally open to anything you got for me…