Disclaimer: If I owned this, I would be rich and happy. As it is, I'm not rich and only happy part of the time, like when I get new clothes or something. So as you see, I don't own anything in here. Anyone who wishes to buy the rights to WHR for my birthday in eight months is welcome.
Hyde A/N: Yet another chapter. I was going to ask all you people something but now I forget. Patchoulibob. Maybe I'll remember it later. Anyway, today is a good day cuz Star Trek the Original Series was on Sci Fi today and its gunna be again tomorrow. Which is unusual. But good. I watched the first five episodes of Noir the other day at Ais's house and I have decided that Noir and WHR tie for the two best anime in existence. Okay, I shall not talk forever. I assume you all want to read about Touko's diagnosis.
Oh, yeah, I was going to post that new fic thing today. Okay, I'm going to go do that and then I will get on with the story, I promise.
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"Miss Sena?"
"Yes?" Robin stood up in the doctor's waiting room. Amon, sitting beside her, looked up.
"The doctor will see you."
"Thank you," said Robin softly. She and Amon followed the nurse back to the room where Touko was kept.
"Hello, Miss Sena," said the doctor as she entered. His smile of greeting fell slightly flat when he saw Amon behind her.
"Well," Robin asked anxiously, "did you find out what was wrong?"
"Yes, I did. Your friend had within her blood system the rare herbal remedy Patackaea. (Note: Patackaea does not actually exist and the author does not claim its actual existence. The author disclaims any responsibility if the name for some reason offends someone.) It is used commonly as a painkiller, but it has side effects that may appear in some people and has not been approved for marketing and distribution. Usually the only people who use Patackaea are those who grow it privately, among other herbs, for their own medical treatment. Does Touko use any herbal remedies that you know of?"
"If she does, she hides them, which I don't think is likely. She did say she got some medicine for her headache from a girl at work."
"Mmm, that is a distinct possibility."
"What kind of side effects does Patackaea have?"
"Common ones are hallucinations, stomach pain, and dizziness. It varies from person to person. Some people are very tolerant to it and can take it without trouble, but others have severe side effects."
"How soon can she come home?"
"I want to make sure it is out of her system. As you can see, she's still sedated right now. She'll probably wake up this afternoon. You can take her home then."
"Thank you, doctor," Amon said. The doctor was startled that such a dark person was capable of such politeness.
"You're welcome," said the doctor uncertainly.
"Come, Robin," Amon said, and led her gently from the room.
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Outside the doctor's office, a man approached Amon and Robin as they walked to his car.
"Excuse me, sir?" he said to Amon. Amon did not reply, but turned his head in the man's direction.
"Hello, I'm Mr. Llama, representing Random Insurance. Would you be interested in some quality life insurance at rates that are record low?"
"No."
"We also offer competitive rates on quality flood insurance."
"No thank you."
"Who is your current insurance agent?"
"That's none of your business."
"Fire insurance?"
"No."
"Ah, well, even if you have every type of insurance offered by every company, you still won't have this. It's a new offer from Random Insurance: food insurance."
Amon raised an eyebrow. Mr. Llama took this as an encouragement (with Amon, you have to take what you can get) and continued.
"If you food gets stolen, freezer burned, or otherwise destroyed or removed from your possession by unpreventable circumstance, you can be fully reimbursed. Accidental torching counts…" He looked at Amon expectantly and cheerfully.
"Let's go," Amon said to Robin, and in effect hauled her away while somehow managing to retain his macho, composed, dark image.
"Hey, ump, Amon!" Robin said as she was towed to his car.
"Amon…"Mr. Llama muttered to himself. Defeated for the moment, he turned away muttering to himself, before realizing that distracted muttering ruined his image of a friendly neighborhood insurance agent. Pasting a cheerful smile back on his face, he muttered through smiling teeth instead.
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Later that night, when Amon was at home eating his usual dinner of takeout and Bepsi (official supplier of soda to the STN-J), his phone rang. Giving it at Sullen Glare That Obliterates All Electronic Devices Which Interrupt The Gourmet Meals Of Dark Sullen Individuals, he picked it up.
"Hello." He said darkly in his deep voice.
"Hello! This is Mr. Llama with Random Insurance. Would you like…"
"How did you get this number?" Amon interrupted. Even the untrained ear could hear irritation in the deep sullen voice.
"I…don't believe I'm at liberty to divulge my sources. As I was saying…"
At this point, Amon hung up.
He mused darkly. He, of course, kept an unlisted number. He could not in good conscience as a dark, ominous witch hunter do otherwise. All previous phone solicitors had either been severely frightened by verbal means or stalked with XL orbo guns, thus making his the Dreaded Phone Number among the soliciting community. Either this man had no connections among the soliciting community or he liked to take risks. Either way, it was time to find out a little more about Mr. Llama.
Amon went to his computer and began a little research. (Michael, had he been there, would likely have called his style amateur, but Michael, of course, was the world's best researcher. He got lots of practice looking up things for the STN-J members—random people named Abigail for example.)
Amon spent hours looking up every detail of Mr. Llama and Random Insurance. When he got done, he had a major headache. Usually, Amon was not one to deviate from the macho, tough-guy image and take medication for such a thing as a headache, he considered tonight an exception. He had some Stalking-With-Extra-Large-Orbo-Gun-ing to do before morning.
He entered his bathroom and opened a medicine cabinet, revealing one ancient prescription bottle and one bottle of just-in-case Kylenol.
He then, of course, did the usual clueless bachelor thing and tried to twist off the cap. When that proved futile, he studied the bottle carefully.
CHILDPROOF CAP, it said.
Childproof? Amon had never heard of such a thing. He again tried in vain to open it, but it resisted all his efforts. (He momentarily considered shooting it with an orbo gun.)
Then, in desperation, he examined the cap. It had various arrows going in twelve directions scattered across the top, along with the occasional TWIST and PUSH here and there. He twisted, pushed, and did a variety of other things, but still to no avail.
"Hacksaw…" he muttered darkly, perhaps thinking that if he mentioned such a destructive item that the bottle would open itself without protest. No such luck.
Half-frustrated, he decided to head for the ultra-secret place where he kept his XL orbo gun and take the bottle along, hoping for an inspiration. It was close enough to walk, so he strode darkly down the street, alternately examining and twisting at the bottle.
From half a block away, the blonde in a miniskirt and high heels could determine that Amon was a typical clueless bachelor trying to open a bottle of Kylenol. She approached him quickly, grabbed the bottle, and, as he watched, did a seemingly random combination of twisting, pushing, tapping, pulling, and shaking. The cap came off easily.
"There you go," she said cheerfully. "How about dinner?"
Amon, still confused, made a valiant attempt at a Sullen Glare, but it fell flat. He strode quickly away, not really wishing to go on a date with a girl who could open a bottle of Kylenol when he couldn't.
He popped two pills in his mouth and swallowed them without the aid of water. (He nearly choked himself doing so. Ah, the things we do for the sake of being macho.)
A few minutes later he walked up to a dark building. He went up to the door, revealed a hidden keypad, and (hunching over it so no one could observe the code) punched in a series of numbers. The door unlocked with a click.
Amon then went to a closet that, when opened, appeared to be a deserted janitor's closet, full of brooms, buckets, mops, and other such custodial tools. He removed the second brown-handled broom left of the red-handled one, revealing a section of the wall. He pressed on the exact spot and one side of the closet slid away, revealing a small cubby. He stepped into the cubby, turned on a hanging bulb, and pulled a cleverly hidden string causing a wall of the cubby to raise up. Stepping beyond that, he was in the Secret Room of Huge Dangerous Weaponry.
He turned on another hanging bulb, revealing a variety of huge and/or specialized orbo guns and machine guns. He quickly selected the most frightening one, the XL orbo gun (dramatic music).
Placing it in a black duffel especially for that purpose, he left quickly. Mr. Llama was going down.
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Okay, okay, yes, I know its been to long, don't shoot me. –hands out virtual homemade chocolate chip cookies to pacify everyone-- It's here now, so be happy. It took me forever but it's here. And to whoever asked, there probably will be more chapters of Amon and the Dreaded Friday, although I wasn't planning them originally.
Aisling Niamh: That would be 'raisin cakes of Moab'. But anyway. Patchouli. With swiss cheese. And grungy sneakers. Yeah. Tell Marcos I say Patchouli Has Ears. You're teaching him to speak Patchouliesque? I hope he can get it. It is after all very complicated and has no real rules. Kind of like English. I pity the poor people who have to learn English. It must be maddening. Learning Spanish is easier. I think. Although there is the thing where you have to change the verb depending on the subject. Like, you say 'hablo' when speaking of yourself, 'hablas' when speaking of someone else, and all that stuff. Although technically in class we haven't got to that yet, I looked it up.
May Patchouli be one with Thine Liver,
Hyde
Carri: Well, I'm glad I don't have your brothers. My brother is annoying but he doesn't snoop in my room or anything. He plays the drums, so he's always drumming on something, not necessarily just his drums, but anything he can get his hands on. It gets pretty annoying. He got a drumset not too long ago, and when he plays it you can hear it all over the house. Brothers are the bane of the world's existence.
Hunter-Robin: Yeah, I think anyone would freak out if being chased by the Easter Bunny. But something even worse, I heard this true story about a girl who hallucinated that there were spiders crawling into her eyes and she was so hysterical she ripped her own eyes out. –shudderes— I think Touko got lucky.
St Earns: Yeah, writing the SERS was a break for me from writing the same old funny stuff all the time. Sometimes, I'm tempted to write something serious, but its all been done. And done three times. Sometime after I see more than just the first five or so episodes of Noir, I want to write a Noir fic. Probably a funny one. Speaking of Noir, it ties with WHR as my favorite too.
CrazyTomboy: That's okay, forget about the link, I found it. But a link is not that hard. Just type the address and it should turn blue, like this: See, now if you click on it it should take you to and if it doesn't you can copy it on the address bar thing at the top of the internet thing, if that's clear. :)
I still never thought of whatever I was going to ask. Oh well. Oh, guess what? I'm now a member of Harry's. Completely switching the subject, have you ever watch the shot put on the Olympics? Well, it is beyond me why they find it necessary to spin in circles before throwing it. They go turn turn turn EYAHHHHH! Whatever. I wonder if they have slingshot competitions in the Olympics. If they don't they should. I don't know why, just because. Wow do I feel random today.
May Patchouli grace your sweaty socks,
Hyde