Masters of All Time showed that were it not for the accident Vlad would have taken up the mantle of Dairy King. Fruitloopiness runs in families, I see.

This is what happens when a crackish idea is written by a serious hand.

-00000-

Fourteen year old Vlad Masters laid on the bathroom floor, clutching his stomach. Something was horribly wrong with him, something that was making his life nearly unbearable.

Footsteps told him someone was in the bathroom floor with him. A hand on his forehead checked his temperature. "Well you don't feel like you have a fever."

Vlad recognized his mother's voice. He shook his head. The movement didn't make him feel any better as his stomach lurched, threatening rebellion again. He clapped his hand over his mouth and whined.

This was not a new development. Not by a long shot. For the past several months he'd been ill to some degree, in some capacity, after nearly every meal. Especially the meals served at home. He'd started eating over at his friend's house as often as possible simply because he didn't get nearly as sick. He didn't want to tell his parents that, especially his mother. He didn't want to make her angry.

"Vlad, honey, you've lost weight," his mother said. She had one hand on his side, she could feel his ribs even through the t-shirt. "How long has this been going on?"

Vlad managed to wrestle his stomach under control for now. "A while," he admitted.

"I'm taking you to the doctor."

-00000-

"Well, he has lost weight."

Vlad glared at his doctor. Of course he'd lost weight. Damned fool. And with his mother hovering over him he didn't think he could actually say anything to upset her.

"So how long have these GI symptoms been bothering you, Vladimir?"

"Four months," Vlad said. "Maybe longer."

"And do they occur after every meal? Or just some?"

Vlad glanced at his mother before shrugging. "Just some," he admitted. "I don't seem to get sick after..."

"After?"

"After eating dinner at Jack's house," Vlad whispered.

His mother looked as affronted as Vlad knew she would be. "Vladimir, I told you I don't want you eating over there," she said, trying to hold back her anger in front of the doctor. "They don't feed you right over there."

"And yet his mom's cooking doesn't make me sick!"

Vlad shrank back as his mother looked like she wanted to slap him. The doctor cleared his throat to remind them of his presence.

"This could be significant, Mrs. Masters," the doctor said. "Is there any glaring difference between Mrs. Fenton's cooking and your own?"

"Yes, hers is terrible."

"Mrs. Masters..."

Vlad's mother huffed. "The Fentons don't have milk on the table at every meal," she said. "They don't cook with it. They don't follow every dinner with ice cream. My brother-in-law is the Dairy King; what would the family think if they heard Vlad wasn't partaking at every meal like he should? It would be a scandal, you hear? An absolute scandal!"

The doctor nodded and made some notes on the chart. "I'd like to schedule your son for a test," he said.

"Test?" she demanded. "What kind of test?"

"Something called a hydrogen breath test," the doctor said. "Bring him in on the 17th at 9am. Now, this is a fasting test. He's not allowed to eat anything after midnight the night before. Water only, understood?"

"What do you think this is, Doctor?" she asked. "Is it treatable?"

"It's... manageable. If it is what I think it is. But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Until the 17th, Vladimir, I want you to keep a food diary. You'll write down everything you eat and drink and when. In addition I also want you to mark down any and all symptoms you have, regardless of whether you think they're important."

Vlad pouted but nodded. He detested work like this but if it helped him not get sick...

-00000-

While Vlad was being prepped for his test the doctor flipped through his food diary. The entries marked "no problems" were most telling. For one thing they never occurred at home. For another, there was one glaring difference. It was obvious. Too obvious. All so simple.

His mother was going to be devastated.

He waited until the test began and results started coming in. The numbers weren't necessary, not when the boy had his arms wrapped around his middle as he groaned in real physical pain.

Vlad was left in the care of the nurse while the doctor made his way back to the waiting room. He gestured for Vlad's mother to follow him into an exam room.

"Is he all right, Doctor?" she asked.

"He is as well as can be expected," the doctor said. "The results are coming in now. We won't have official word in a few hours but from the preliminaries I can assure you this diagnosis is pretty solid. Your son's condition is... manageable. There is no cure but I can assure you many people in this country and all over the world suffer from the same affliction and go on to lead normal, healthy lives."

"M-manageable? Oh God, Doctor, what did I do to him? I-is this... Is this serious? Is he going to be okay?"

"In any normal family this would not be serious at all. A few inconsequential dietary changes and that's that. But you said so yourself, your brother-in-law is the Dairy King. Mrs. Masters, I need you to trust me because what I'm about to tell you may come as a shock. I assure you this is not his fault. Our best research suggests this runs in families. Sometimes it... skips a generation. These things happen. I'm not blaming you or your husband but you need to be aware of the reality of the situation. Mrs. Masters..."

The doctor took a deep breath before giving his diagnosis. "Your son is milk intolerant."

He had to catch her as she fainted.

-00000-

Seventeen year old Vlad Masters glowered from the balcony overlooking the ballroom in his uncle's castle. Who in heck would even build a castle out in the middle of Nowhere, Wisconsin anyway?

Ever since the family found out about his... condition, he'd been gently ostracized, unsubtly encouraged to seek a future outside of the family's fortunes. It was an embarrassment, they said, for the nephew of the Dairy King to be so afflicted. Their attitudes didn't help. Their small-minded all-or-nothing attitudes assumed that if he ate a single piece of cheese without incident then that must mean he was miraculously cured. If only they made any attempt at all to understand then maybe he wouldn't have to skulk around the kitchen like a thief, sneaking cheese and yogurt and small bowls of ice cream under cover of darkness so they wouldn't get the wrong idea.

Who needed family anyway. He used to think that when he inherited his uncle's empire he'd live in a city like a normal person and let his family have the run of this drafty old castle. But now he wasn't so sure he'd even let it stand. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure the family would let him inherit the business, anyway. Not anymore.

After all, who ever heard of a lactose intolerant Dairy King. Irony at its finest. The easiest, surest way to know the world hated him.

"Aww, whatcha doin' up here then all alone?"

Vlad didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. "Hi, Uncle."

The Dairy King leaned over the balcony to look on the group milling down below. "It's awful lonely up here, dontcha know."

"Yeah, I know," Vlad sighed. He turned his back on the scene below and slid down the balcony to sit on the floor. "I just... I don't feel like being the object of pity today."

The Dairy King plopped down on the floor next to his gangly nephew. "Oh I know whatcha mean," he said. "Sneakin' round at night 'cause the busybodies won't let you just eat whatcha want. An' then they catchya and no amount of explainin'll convince them thatcha know whatcher doin'."

Vlad made a noise of assent before he got the very real sense that something was going on here. It vaguely felt like he was being set up.

"Ya see, Vladimir, the best Dairy Kings are those who can't be drinkin' milk. That way ya know whacher missin', dontcha know."

Vlad just stared at his uncle as the Dairy King got to his feet and stretched his spine. "Oooh, Imma too old ta be a sittin' on da floor, dontcha know. Come on, Vladimir, lets you an' me go raidin' the kitchen for some cheese an' you can tell me all about it."

Vlad let himself be led off to the kitchens. He wasn't sure if this was turning into a good day or a weird day. And then he felt that big fuzzy robe drape over his shoulders as his uncle muttered something about him catching cold up here.

It was a good day.