Newkirk's Day

Of all the characters in the Leviathan series, Newkirk is my favorite by far. So, I've written a series of spoofs entirely about him.

DISCLAIMER: Is this really necessary? After nine chapters? Fine, I don't own this, blah blah blah...

Part 1: German Restaurant

Newkirk hopped off the omnibus walker and beelined to a large restaurant with the words "Landhaus Flottbek" written in bold white letters on the front. He sat down and snatched a menu, looking for something tasty, and sighed. The entire menu was written in German.

A waiter walked over to him, saying "Guten tag, sir."

"Er...hello. Can I have...blisters, how do you say mushroom soup in Clanker-talk?" The waiter looked as befuddled as he felt. Newkirk snatched a napkin and quickly drew a mushroom, wishing, not for the first time, that he had Dylan's skill at drawing. "There!" he proclaimed.

The waiter inspected his crude drawing and left, presumably to get his soup. Newkirk leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

The waiter soon returned bearing...something that definitely wasn't a bowl of soup, and placed it on the table. "Barking spiders..." Newkirk didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Sitting on the table was an umbrella.

Part 2: Feeding the Bats

It was a clear, crisp moonlit night. Newkirk nervously strolled down the passage way, periodically glancing at the fléchette bats. He lifted his glowworm lamp higher, hoping to drive away any spooks lurking in the shadows.

Hoping to lighten the mood, Newkirk attempted to whistle a jaunty tune, but his mouth was too dry to say anything but pfff. The fléchette bats stirred, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. Newkirk shuddered, quickening his pace.

Suddenly, a bat detached itself from its roost, attracted by Newkirk's lamp. It swooped into Newkirk's face, its fangs bared, and...

"Newkirk? Newkirk! Wake up, you lazy bum-rag!" Dylan was banging on his door.

"Uh...bats..."

"Aye, you're on bat duty tonight. Now get going, before Mr. Rigby toasts your bum."

"..."

Part 3: Hiccups

"Hic."

"Hic."

"Hic."

"Hic."

"Newkirk, are you okay?" Dylan and Alek came around the corner, looking concerned.

"Hic—I've got—hic—the barking—hic—hiccups! Do you—hic—think I'm—hic—okay?"

Dylan and Alek glanced at each other, cracking identical evil grins.

"You have the hiccups?" Alek asked, with a touch of dangerous sweetness in his voice.

"Why, I think we can help you with that." Dylan followed, with an equally malevolent smirk.

"Ah, blisters."

. . .

"So," Dylan explained, "the first way we're going to try to get rid of your 'barking hiccups,' is by scaring them away."

"Scaring?" Newkirk gulped nervously.

"Aye, so tell me. What are you most afraid of?"

"Um...those—hic—barking bats, I think. What are—hic—you going to—ack!" Dylan tossed a shrieking bat into his face. "Get it off! Help! AIEEE!"

"Aye aye, sir." Dylan saluted, and peeled the bat off Newkirk's face.

"Hic."

"Blisters."

. . .

"Ack—glub—help! What are you—hic—doing, you bum-rag?"

"Trying to get rid of your hiccups!" Alek yelled from his perch atop the Leviathan, watching Newkirk flailing in the waves. "I heard that water was supposed to help!"

. . .

"So, how are you feeling?"

"Terrible." Newkirk glared at the two of them, who weren't even trying to stifle their laughter.

"But your hiccups are gone, right?"

"Hic."

Yay, Newkirk!

Random Question: Zombies or Unicorns?