#Author's Note: Okay so I won't lie, and I apologize in advance, but...it may take me a while to actually think up the content of Part Two. I'll try not to keep you waiting too long, but college is getting pretty busy (*laughs nervously*). Plus the fact that this Saga is supposed to span a period of 12 years, so I therefore have to stretch it out time-wise somehow- and, ya know, I thought it'd be fun- I've decided that in between the main parts/chapters, I'm going to stick in little mini-stories about Chucky and Tiffany. Hopefully they can hold you over until I'm ready to continue with the main Saga. I'll try to get on it as soon as I can but for now I leave you with the first of the "mini-sodes"! Hope you enjoy, and feedback is always and forever appreciated :)

Minisode 1: Feeding Chucky

Chucky stares at the meal in front of him, not knowing what to think. He knew Tiffany meant well, but...he picks up his fork and pokes at the slightly blackened hunk of meat. It's been two months since he and Tiffany became a couple, and 8 weeks and 16 murders later everything was absolutely peachy.
Except for Tiffany trying to cook.

Chucky appreciated it, sure- he liked the idea of being waited on. It all started a month ago, when Tiffany opened the fridge at his and Eddie's place to see only beer, a jar of pickles, pork rinds, and left over Chinese food containers.
"No wonder you're so slim!" she'd cried, squeezing at Chucky's abdomen. "When's the last time you ate a home cooked meal?!"
A question that had actually stumped Chucky. So, here he was, sitting at his kitchen table before an overcooked lamb chop. Yesterday it had been dry pot roast. The day before it was over-seasoned chicken. Chucky wanted so bad to say something, but didn't want to offend Tiffany since things were going so good.

Tiffany hums her way out of the kitchen with a bowl of glazed carrots.
"Here you go Chucky," she says with a smile as she gives him a large scoop.
"Well, go on," Tiffany insists. "I got the recipe from Ladies Home Journal magazine!"
Chucky forces a smile as he picks up his knife and fork. He starts cutting- well, more like sawing- into it, then takes a bite.
Ugh! What is this, rubber?!
"Do you like it?" Tiffany is beaming. "I feel like I may have used a little too much garlic but the recipe said you could add it according to taste-"
But Chucky, unable to take anymore, takes a deep breath.
"Tiff...I'm going to do something. Don't take it personal."
He spits the lambchop back onto his plate. Tiffany's face falls.
"But you told me you liked lamb."
"I do... just not this one. Look Tiff, you're really good at a lot of things. You dress nice, you're one helluvah throat slasher- but I gotta be honest. Your cooking's terrible."
Tiffany frowns. "Well why didn't you tell me that before I spent the past 3 1/2 weeks coming over here to cook for you?"
"...I was...waiting to see if the food would get better?"
Tiffany rolls her eyes and takes Chucky's plate back into the kitchen.
"Look Tiff," Chucky says as he follows her. "I don't think any less of you because cooking's not your thing."
It's a shame though...
"I just don't get it," Tiffany says, rereading the recipe. "I did everything exactly."
After a couple seconds she shakes her head, and tosses the magazine into the garbage.
"I'm sorry I can't cook, Chucky."
"Ah forget it," he says. "I don't eat that much anyway."

Later

Michelle opens her front door to see guess who.
"Charles."
Chucky immediately moves past her, ready to pick up Tiffany for their date. There is a tantalizing scent flooding through the apartment.
"What's that smell?"
"Why?" Michelle mutters. "You're not gettin' any."

"Chucky!" Tiffany exclaims. She steps out of the kitchen in a leopard print top with matching pumps and a tight black mini skirt, holding a platter with bunch of little meatballs on it.
"Alright, give me just a sec-"
She puts the platter down on the coffee table, next to a platter full of crackers, cheese and party sausages.
"What's with the party food?" Chucky asks.
"Michelle's having a little get together tonight."

Chucky scoffs. "Lemme guess. A buncha hens cluckin' about who's gettin' fucked and who ain't."
"Oh, ya know what Charles?!"
"What?!"
"Last time I checked you're one o' the ones who ain't gettin' fucked!"
"Woman I swear to God," Chucky snarls.
"Stop it!" Tiffany says, jumping between them. "I will not have my best friend and my boyfriend fighting! That shit was tiring enough in high school... Chucky, go sit down. I'll be ready in a moment."
Chucky sits down on the couch. Steam slowly rises from sauce covered meatballs, lifting the scent up to Chucky's nose. His stomach rumbles. All he'd had to eat today was a pastrami sandwich from Mike's Deli.
I sure hope Tiff didn't make those...then again, I'd pay to see those bitches get sick from eating her cooking, heh heh.

But then, and somewhat against his better judgment, his curiosity gets the best of him. At least they smell really good...what the hell. He was used to living dangerously.
He takes one of the toothpicks from the little cup in the center of the table, pierces a meatball, and takes a bite.
Damn!
"Tiff! Tiff!"
Tiffany walks in from the next room. "What, what's going on?"
"Did you make these?!"
"Oh yeah," Tiffany says. "Swedish meatballs, I got the recipe off the back of a box of stroganoff back home in Cherryville- wait, you like them?"
Chucky pops another one, then another one. The meatballs are kinda sweet, kinda tangy, with a bit of a kick.
"These are great, Tiff! Now these are what you should be makin' me."
"Really?"
Tiffany beams.
"I always use a secret ingredient for the sauce-"
"Hey, asshole!" Michelle scolds, storming back into the living room.
"Those are for my guests tonight!"
"Hey bitch!" Chucky shouts back. "I don't give a fuck!"
"Chucky!" Tiffany whines.
"She started it!"
"The hell I did!" Michelle snaps.
"Okay Chucky, I think we should go," Tiffany says.

Just to spite Michelle, Chucky takes his toothpick and stabs three more meatballs, making a sort of mini kabob. As he walks past her he slides the top one off with his teeth and moans sarcastically with pleasure.
Michelle rolls her eyes as they walk out.
"Don't worry Chucky," says Tiffany. "Now that I know you like them, I'll make you all the Swedish meatballs you want."
Chucky smiles, kisses Tiffany on the cheek, then finishes his kabob in one bite.