Subject: [FFML] [Fanfic][Challenge] Mousse's Fun with Challenges
From: Keener
Date: 3/30/1999, 6:42 AM
To: "ffml@fanfic.com" <ffml@fanfic.com>

Hmmmm, mayhaps a break from my usually scheduled bout of depression and
writers parry. Let's see, lemony flavored, sick and twisted. Well, it's
a stretch, but what the hell... 

Brace yourselves, this is, technically the sequel to my first ever fic.
Warning this fic is a mite messy, you may get wet on this read.


	Mousse's Fun with Challenges


    After such an intense orgasm, she should have been panting heavily;
however, she lay unnaturally still, the rise and fall of a chest filling
with air curiously absent.

    Mousse looked up, pulling a few follicles of black from where
profuse quantities of sweat had soaked them to his forehead. He dared
not breath, dared not to to even hope. But couldn't it be finally over?
NO! Don't jinx it you fool! Carefully, he extended a hand toward her
face, and waited.

    Moments passed, terrible lingering moments that seemed to want to
have a quick smoke before passing on. Exhaustive perspiration turned to
icicles hanging off the young man's brow. It was not for the first time
that night that he praised the fates which had blessed him with the lack
of optical talent generally associated with the more aerodynamically
inclined of disease carrying rodents. Below him, the blurred form simply
lay, unmoving, and... unbreathing.

    Standing shakily, the youth collected his robes about his person and
began the task of clean up. Calmly, he placed the bathroom scrub brush
into the folds of his outfit, followed by the loofa sponge; careful to
drain the accumulated... liquid. He paused to regard the rubber duck,
face as somber as one might be when trying to hold back the odd scream,
or frenzied maniacal laughter.

    Oh the places we've been, the things we've stared blindly at, the
dark abyss that stared back, he thought wearily.

    Neitszche would have had a field day with the various pipes and
levers, electronically hyper charged arthritis removers, discarded coke
bottles, sport equipment, pi�ata's, misused bits of oral hygiene
equipment and such things that were best described as paraphernalia and
left at that... that were strewn about the bedroom. The chocolate cigar,
had most definitely NOT been, just a cigar that night. It was like the
remains of some vast and ill conceived experiment, to see just what
items could survive when deprived of light in the ever secret corridors
where the sun refused to shine.

    The results were, mixed.

    Like a disgruntled house wife fulfilling her god given role of
subservience and underwear custodial technician, Mousse collected the
questionable bits of biologically wasted equipment. Funny, he remembered
commenting that a bonbouri was simply too large and rounded... and yet
it was currently so happy in it's new habitat that it hardly seemed
willing to leave. Luckily, the myopic martial artist had plenty of
Haggis gravy left.

    Splurk.

    It was not the sort of sound to be heard on an empty stomach... or a
full one, or half empty, quarter filled, three fourths or any other
possible combination of contents, human anatomy and audio encouragement.
Still, it didn't seem to daunt the erstwhile young man, after all, the
worst was behind him. Besides, no sound could ever compare to the simple
phrase, "Come and get it," when croaked alluring out of a set of hundred
year old wind pipes.

    Still, it had been his sacred duty, his final act to insure her soul
eternal peace. She had even approached him in the traditional ways as
she called them, confirming his expected role. Why, it had only taken
three dozen servings of hypnotic Chinese cuisine, a barrel of sake' and
a slightly off key Michael Bolton tune to convince Mousse to run
screaming and never dare look back.

    Of course, he had dared.

    When all is said and done, you just had to look back. It was like
having someone inform you of the dangers of looking down when perched a
few thousand feet over an incredibly messy bit of death. There is
nothing quite as irresistable as that one itty, bitty, teeny, tiny,
minuscule little peek. Be it back, down, or behind a closed bedroom door
during mother and father's "quiet time", it simply had to be done. And,
because reality has it's own special sense of comedic timing, something
extremely large and uncomfortable had snuck up in front of him while his
eye's had been scoping out the rear.

    But, it was all over now and Mousse spoke a silent prayer over the
remains. She had died with a smile. Well, kind of a smile; certainly a
tight lipped, teeth gritting expression of what could pass for
pleasure... or quite possibly the excruciating pain of several synapses
exploding as unused neurons caught on fire in a crash and burn scenario
normally reserved for Nascar auto collisions. Either way, it was done.

    Walking to the door, he gave a final glance to his tormentor, his
mentor, his evil step mother, his fairy god mom... all in one. He went
as if to say, rest well, you've earned it old one, but found his jaw
muscles had locked up in their current position. Sighing, he closed the
door behind him and made his way to his own room.



    "Great-grandmother! Great-grandmother! Wake up!" Shampoo shook
Cologne frantically, fear draining warmth from her own epidermis,
likening it to the corpse like form before her. "No!"

    Tears streamed down her face, wetting perfect features with thin
lines of salt and moisture. Upper teeth dug deep into her lips, mocking
their normal crimson intensity with a shade of blood deeper then any
before. Someone, someone had to pay!

    "Mooo... mooouuussshhhhheee..."

    "Grandmother?" Shampoo turned suddenly, to see her elder reach for
the sky, seemingly looking for strength from the heavens. "Mousse do
this? Mousse dies today."

    The young warrior needed neither a dramatic storm cloud or even
extensive punctuation to make her point. The various galactic forces
simply made note of the fact; kid with glasses, turns into duck, died on
this day, frantic grammatically challenged Amazon with huge... eyes, the
cause, file under vengeance.

    "Waaiitt... just... just a moment, child." Cologne struggled to her
feet and shook her head. "There will be no death today child."

    Several cosmic brushes dipped into the universal white-out and began
corrections. No death today, old hag still breathing, ergo, so does
duck.

    "No, he hurt you, degraded and disrespected you, he must be brought
to justice."

    Erase, erase, Amazon chick still pissed, duck still on the menu.

    "Child, have you ever heard of the ancient rite of elder burial? The
one where a matriarch, sensing the time of her demise has come, must ask
a male attendant to do all sorts of naughty things to her body with
battery operated tools and a ready bridgework?"

    Reality held it's breath, forms, in mid-triplicate, destinies all
important paper pushers holding their collective souls.

    "No."

    "That's because there is no such thing. I made it all up, did one of
those martial art death feints and saw more action in one night then I
have in the past eighty years... that includes when your great
grandfather fell into the dim sum vat." Cologne smiled, absently
scratching places of her anatomy that she had only just become reaware
of.

    "Oh, that all?" Shampoo sighed.

    "Not quite, there seems to be the remains of a Norwegian blue stuck
in my newly functioning nether regions, mind giving an old lady a hand?"

    The bureaucracy of existence shrugged erased and wrote, simply...

    The End.


Revenge's End Mad Bad Bishonen Lad
Caretaker of the Dark and Lonely Place (COR Deaconate)
The Parrot King

(And the Moon was as blood, the Storms crashed and the Seas BOILED!)
(Typical, thought the Lobsters)  
      /  
 Oo
(~, )
 V