Okay, Bilesinator X demanded posts. Here goes. :) Check the web page
URL listed for more fun things from he-and-I's little insanity.
-=-
Furniture Warriors
PART ONE, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love the Chair
A Spoof Chase Production
(http://adobe.chaco.com/~stefan/spoof)
A Furniture Warriors FanFic by Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne
(All characters copyright Nihana-san, obviously. If I ever
even considered claiming that these were my own characters
I'd probably be thrown into a small cell where I'd be forced
to eat my own practical jokes to live.)
-=-
Author's foreword :
I'd better explain the roots of this first.
This is based on a Playstation game which was recently
released in Japan to not-so-incredible reviews, that I managed to
see on a friend's japanese-chip equipped system. It's the
brainchild of one of the original designers of Street Fighter 2,
and a CADCAM architect from Germany; the concept of a Virtua
Fighter / Toshinden style one on one fighting game where the
weapons are chairs and tables and desks and things. Most of the
character design was outsourced, but the actual models for the
weapons were ported straight from the architect's libraries for
added realism. One thing all reviews mention is the incredibly
lifelike furniture; it really adds to the game!
The only problem with this is that it's absurd. They're
hitting each other with CHAIRS, for crying out loud. I think I
read an interview where the authors said they tried to make a
serious game, but the fans assumed it was some sort of silly
parody because of the 'furniture' aspect.
As a result, when it came time to animate this beast, the
OVA (which I couldn't find a fansub for, but located a plot
summary for on some web page) was kind of dorky. It really went
beyond stupid at times, especially with that half-assed Yellow
Submarine tribute scene. I almost felt like vomiting at the
superdeformed tribute to A Clockwork Orange, too. Although I
hear Mamoru Oiishi is considering picking up the series for a
movie called 'Furniture Warriors : Kanketshuen' in order to give
the show some justice, I figured it couldn't hurt to jump on the
ball now and fanfic how *I* think the story should go.
I'll also be distributing a few scans from the manual of the
game, so you can see what Ikea, Yarslov, Lumi-chan, Shelly, Mick,
Fifi, Hugh and Otto actually look like. And I'm considering
including Livewire or Queen Radiance in the story, because even
though they were overlooked in the OVA (not too many people had
seen these hidden characters, they made them pretty hard to
access) they're just TOO cool to pass up. If I can fit them into
the plot, I'll toss in the ULTRA secret hidden chars as well.
Let's hope some american Playstation developer picks up this
title to port; it's sure to be great for a laugh at how
noncorporeal it is. It'd also be great to see other authors
fanfic this wonderful non-game!
Comments / Criticism or die. ^_^ My Mbox is always open to
C+C. Don't make me beg.
<PLUG>
Okay, homeboys and homegirls and multiple homethings, with
this fanfic you can officially put me back on the roster for the
fanfic world. It's been a year, and I have been writing all this
time, but I've been saving it up for this project... SPOOF CHASE
PRODUCTIONS. (Honestly! I didn't just think about it a week ago
and slap together some of my unfinished crap for it!)
This is my little clique of weird people whom I know who
have produced works of parody, farce and weirdness. We've done
solo projects mostly, with some colabs, and future projects
together are planned. I've got it all archived at the homepage
in the title above. Go see. You'll like it. This should smash
my reputation as the Cobain of Fanfics forever, or at least for
six minutes.
Not only is it the home of Furniture Warriors and all
related artwork, but it's the home of Magical Troubleshooting
Crossover Scramble Team ALPHA!, and John Biles's (Yes, THE John
Biles!) (no, not THAT John Biles) (Not that one either) (That
one, yeah, that one) latest warped lemon experience, LEMON
SHERBET - Dark Queen Skuld Can't Lose. It's also got other cool
junk. Go there. Go there now. Good boy/girl/thing.
In the future, I'm hoping to make more Anime Deviations and
Anime Deviants available to YOU, the public at large, through
Spoof Chase Productions. So, like, keep an eye out or something.
Because if you don't I'll cry. ;_;
* Spoof Chase Productions -
* Answering the question, 'Did I leave the iron on?'
* http://adobe.chaco.com/~stefan/spoof
</PLUG>
-=-
The mountains were quiet that day.
The mountains are usually quiet. That was half the reason
of picking them as a location for the monastery; a little peace
and quiet to train in brutal combat alongside. The other half of
the reason for the location was convenience to shopping. (Not
THAT convenient, you still had a good day's hike to get to the
nearest 7-11, but better than some mountaintop locales their
neighbors bought into.)
At the moment, nobody was out shopping. In fact, most of
the monks were busy fighting. It was half past teatime, the
traditional time for the Great Brawl, a test of skill, courage
and speed. It resulted in a few bumps and bruises, but the monks
could duck out of the brawl or just not attend if they didn't
feel up to it -- whoever was left standing won the honors of
being served first at dinner that night.
The Ancient and Honorable Tibetan Furniture Warriors Dojo
seated, fed, clothed and bedded fifty monks in all, including
descendants and ascendant and pets. Sweaty, proud, manly men in
all.
Ikea was in particular very sweaty and proud. For the
fourth day running, he had managed to outlast everybody else in
the Brawl. When the last monk, Brother Ipswitch, decided to back
off rather than face him, the flag was raised and Ikea declared
the victor.
Ikea didn't smile. He just wasn't a smiles and laughs and
obvious shows of emotion person. He did give a rough nod of
acknowledgement and a deep bow of respect before neatly sliding
his folding wooden chair onto his back again, however.
"Ikea-kun, you have done well!" Venerable Master Oakcraft
said, clapping lightly. "Four wins in a row. I believe you are
shaping up to be a most honorable heir to our ancient and wise
fighting form."
"Arigato, sensei," Ikea said, bowing.
"Please, Ikea-kun, call me father."
"Hai, sensei," Ikea said, bowing.
Oakcraft sighed, and let it pass. The boy had been perhaps
brought up a bit TOO strictly into the codes of honor and
protocols of behavior and procedures of practice and what not...
Oakcraft was chasing girls and eating bad food when he was the
boy's age. Ikea just studied manuscripts of fighting and did
katas. The boy would never get a wife at this rate and the
school would die out.
But it was better than the other choice for heir.
"Waiwai! Over here, over here!" a voice giggled, from the
front door. Much to Venerable Master Oakcraft's surprise, his
daughter Lumi walked in, backwards, carrying a little sign
reading DOJO TOURS and leading a bunch of gaijin carrying video
cameras right into their sacred training ground!! The nerve!
"LUMI-CHAAAN!" Oakcraft bellowed. The monks got nervous
fast. Oakcraft only raised his voice when someone was about to
receive compound fractures.
"This is the ancient and venerable and complex Big Tibetan
Furniture Warriors Dojo!" Lumi continued, leading the tour group
around. "In here, all current furniture warriors, well, except
maybe those in exile, and the guys who are busy getting food,
because you know we ARE running low on bread and eggs, and maybe
the folks who are over at the outhouses, which are in" (points)
"THAT direction, right next to..."
Oakcraft grabbed the Holy Venerable Megaphone from the side
of his solid oak joinery with six penny nails assembled armchair
with leather upholstered finish. "**LUMI-CHAAAAAN!!!!**" he
bellowed into it, knocking most of the monks flat from the
shockwave. The tourists scattered like frightened tourists.
Lumi, who had less balance than most houses of cards, fell
down as well. "Itai! Waaah! Daddyyyy!"
Oakcraft tossed the megaphone to Brother Ixnay, and walked
over to Lumi, Ikea following obediently. Lumi-chan got up and
rubbed her sore behind a little, looking pouty and hurt.
"LUMI-CHAN! What's all this bringing those weirdly dressed
foreigners with their demonic picture taking boxes into our most
holy and sacred dojo?!" Oakcraft boomed.
"Ano, but we're running out of money," Lumi-chan said. "And
I didn't have enough money to buy our yearly supply of wood glue
and nails and jock straps, and I asked you, Daddy, how do you
want me to raise the money and you said you didn't care, you just
needed some glue to finish your coffee table--"
Oakcraft smacked a hand over his face. He honestly should
know better than to give Lumi such freedom -- like the time he
asked her to warm up his tea, and she set fire to the roof. Or
the time she was practicing with her lightbulb grenades and asked
if she could set up an electrical generator, and the smoke got
into all the sofas and wouldn't come out for weeks...
But this was a more immediate, deal-with-able problem.
"Lumi-chan, you know we don't like outsiders. The dojo must
remain pure, united, and strong! And besides, what if one of
them was one of those sick perverts you hear about from the
fellows who own the dojo six miles to the west who own a
television? You're currently the ONLY female Furniture Warrior,
and we don't want to lose you!"
"Golly. I didn't think of that," Lumi said, scratching her
head (careful not to bump the two lightbulbs she traditionally
wore on either side of her head, in a battle sweatband). "But
how am I supposed to get the money for food, daddy?"
"A thousand pardons, but if I may be so impolite to
interject my own simple opinions into this discussion?" Ikea
asked roundaboutly.
"Yes, of course, son, speak your mind. We're all brothers."
"And sisters!" Lumi-chan piped in with.
"The problem seems to be around raising capital," Ikea
stated. "Furniture repair and development as well as housing and
nutrition needs can be a drain. My recommendation is to consider
reopening the doors to outside students, with training wages."
"Ikea, Ikea, Ikea. You KNOW what happened last time we did
that. I don't particularly desire a repeat episode," Oakcraft
warned.
"I understand, honorable sensei--"
"FATHER!!"
"--but I myself would be willing to sacrifice my free time
for the good of the dojo to screen applicants. If I recall, you
had Lumi-san working on screening the last time."
"WAI! It was such fun! I met interesting people from all
sorts of places and we swapped jokes and recipes and--"
"I see," Oakcraft said, scratching his long and venerable
beard. "Well, I suppose that would help. Of anybody I'd trust
the duty, it'd be you, Ikea-kun."
"Hai, sensei," Ikea said, bowing formally. "I will endeavor
to uphold the honor of our clan."
Oakcraft rubbed his temples. "Good, good. You can make the
arrangements; you and Lumi work on the advertising. You kids are
our best agents in the outside, scarily enough. I'm too old for
this. I think I'll go lie down on the four poster teak jointed
boxspring bed with canopy for a few hours."
With that, he turned and left the honorable brawl-hall.
Lumi-chan blinked a few times, looking around. "Ano...
where did everybody go, Ikea-kun?"
"They have dispersed, presumably to train or partake in the
other activities fitting a Furniture Warrior," Ikea stated.
"Gosh. That's honorable!" Lumi agreed, nodding her head
rapidly and smiling.
The next events happened faster than a single shot in an
Oliver Stone film. Ikea's hair started to feel more spiky than
usual. He knew what this meant; danger. Without hesitation, he
grabbed his sister Lumi and leapt away -- avoiding a number of
pointed brushes of some sort, which embedded themselves in the
wooden dojo floor like finely thrown daggers.
Ikea set Lumi down, who was confused, which was normal, and
whipped out his folding polished wooden chair, adjusting the
angle of fold to an appropriate 13-degree battle ready status. A
dark figure dropped from the ceiling before him.
"You've improved," the figure said, voice muffled behind
thick layers of silk, felt, flannel, and other fabrics of his
Ninja Costume. He dropped to a battle stance, readying another
handful of paintbrushes, one between each knuckle of his fist.
"You seem familiar, infidel," Ikea commented, eyes
narrowing, chair at the ready. "What is your reason in violating
this ground?"
"Reason?" the figure laughed. "Ikea, if you HAVE to ask,
then you are even more clueless than I suspected. Although
admittedly, my specific reason is less forward... I'll be getting
to that once you are destroyed, fear not."
"If you will not answer my questions, I must break you,"
Ikea said calmly. "Prepare yourself!!!"
With that, Ikea ran towards his opponent, chair swung low.
The ninja threw his brushes, which Ikea glided by, not slowing
for a moment.
Swiftly skimming along the floor, Ikea gathered his ki,
preparing the move. The ninja was not fast enough; the chair
swung upwards, in a fatal glowing arc, knocking the enemy high
into the air while Ikea ascended.
"RISING CHAIR FIRE!!!" he screamed, as was customary when
doing this sort of thing.
Unfortunately for him this sort of thing was going on not
six feet away, as Lumi's headmounted lightbulb bandanna glowed
with energy.
"I'll stop him, oniichan!" she shouted, drawing a number of
energy saving halogen bulbs from her pack. "BEAUTIFUL LIGHTBULB
ASSAULT!"
The three bulbs arced out nicely and smacked Ikea in the
back with pinpoint accuracy. Both him and the intruder smacked
into the ground with a painful thud.
"Oopsie," Lumi-chan commented, getting a big sweatdrop
behind her head. "Lumi-chan missed, I think."
The ninja flipped to his feet, laughing. "Make my job
easier! Thanks a bundle."
Lumi growled cutely, assuming a battle pose. "I'll get you,
you meanie!" she totally failed to intimidate the enemy with.
"Oh, you will, will you," he snickered. "Well, we'll just
see about tha-- OH MY GOD LOOK BEHIND YOU!!"
"Where?! Where?" Lumi asked, spinning around. "I don't see
anything but the wall of the dojo and that picture of Brother
Flipsknob with his prize winning ship in a bottle and the door
and maybe a LITTLE of the garden in the center courtyard and..."
By that time, the man was gone.
*
Venerable Master Oakcraft was furious. He was even using
the megaphone when he didn't actually have to.
"**BAKA YAROO!!**" he shouted, blasting in Lumi's ear,
through her empty head and into Ikea's ear, who already had a
headache to begin with. "Not only do you smite your brother when
he was busy defending this dojo, but you fall for the second
oldest trick in the book, and LET THE SCUM GET AWAY WITH STEALING
THE SIGN TO OUR DOJO! Never before has a dojo been shamed in
this way by a dojo yaburi, never!"
"Waaah," Lumi replied wittily, sniffling.
Oakcraft paced the room. "This is bad. This is so
incredibly bad that I'm going to have to do something really,
really drastic to compensate. And of COURSE, there's no
precedent in the ancient and honorable lore of the Tibetan
Furniture Warriors. We've never been dishonored this badly
before. IKEA! You're partly responsible for this. What do YOU
think we should do?"
Ikea, despite the headache, did not bat an eye. "I think,
sensei, we should follow the clues and track down the infidel and
regain our dojo sign. Is it not the most honorable course of
action?"
"WAI! Ikea-kun is so smart!" Lumi cheered, waving a pair of
fans.
"WHAT clues?!" Venerable Master Oakcraft shouted. "The
fiend didn't leave anything!"
"Not so," Ikea stated calmly. "Examine the unusual stain on
my gi, where several of his brushes streamed by."
Oakcraft whipped out a magnifying class and bent down.
"Hrm... red... were you injured?"
"No, sensei. Red, blue, and green. The three primary
colors. And if you look carefully, they come from an oil-based
paint..."
"M-Masaka..." Oakcraft stammered, jaw falling. "You don't
mean... the dojo yaburi was..."
"Hugh," Ikea nodded.
*
A black light pulsed through the black chamber, casting
darkness into shadow. A figure in noir stepped through the
fissure in reality, breathing hard.
This was the sort of place that made writers jump for joy
and gave animators headaches; plenty of nice darkness to describe
and draw metaphorical parallels to, but not too much to draw.
You could talk about the whispering wind bleeding words of
insanity into the eardrums, quietly, like a thin trickle of hate,
but when it comes down to visualizing such a thing you'd
basically be up the creek. You could discuss the way the shadows
moved and shifted, like so many dark omens passing on the
horizons of fate, the way they flitter so and escape your view,
and also go broke on india ink for the illo. Or you could just
summarized by saying : Not Earth, Not Normal, Probably Hell.
DID YOU OBTAIN IT? a voice boomed, like the slamming of lead
coffin lids on stone obelisks or something to that extent.
The figure (also in black) started to pull the hood off his
makeshift ninja costume, but paused. "Yes, I did. They will
surely send their finest warriors to reclaim the sign. And that
means Ikea."
AND THE OTHER. IT IS VITALLY IMPORTANT TO GATHER BOTH OF
THEM FOR THE PLAN TO WORK.
"Yes, yes, and the other. But more importantly Ikea. I
thank you, sensei, for giving me this opportunity to crush him--"
YOU MAY OR MAY NOT GET YOUR OPPORTUNITY, HUGH. I ONLY
PROMISED A CHANCE AT THE POSSIBILITY OF AN OPPORTUNITY IN WHICH
YOU COULD GET REVENGE.
"It is enough. Can I get rid of this ridiculous costume and
hood now?"
NO. YOU ARE NOT PERMITTED YOUR USUAL TASTELESS GARB WITHIN
MY PRESENCE. YOU'RE FALLING BEHIND, AS WELL; I HAD *REQUESTED*
THAT YOU FINISH THE REMAINDER OF YOUR ASSIGNMENT BEFORE GOING TO
TIBET. NOW YOU MUST WORK FAST TO ENSURE THAT ALL PAWNS ARE IN
PLAY BEFORE THE FINAL MOVE BEGINS.
Hugh frowned. The relationship with his new sensei still
had a few kinks to iron out, notably his pushiness. "In that
case, link the portal to France and I'll continue the plan."
There was no sound of acknowledgement. Hugh simply stepped
backwards through the fold once more.
He had to blink a few times to adjust his eyes to the light,
seeing as how his previous locale brought new meaning to the word
'dim'. A fine Parisian street, near the art district. Perfect.
First thing's first, he thought, stripping the annoyingly
drab black clothing off, to uncover his day-glow tie dyed shirt
and pants beneath, and his shocking pink hair. A bit more of a
splash of color, he thought. Nothing dull, nothing boring.
Absolutely nothing like his sensei's tastes. Loud and bright and
painful. Like him.
Hugh spun the wooden sign reading TIBETAN FURNITURE WARRIORS
DOJO AND MONASTERY, PLEASE LEAVE PIZZA DELIVERY AT REAR ENTRANCE
under one arm, and walked off to mix with his crowd.
*
"...so you understand the seriousness of this matter," Ikea
concluded.
Lumi nodded, in the dim light of three candles and the two
everpresent lightbulbs she wore. "Gosh, this Hugh person sounds
bad. Ano, why did he leave the dojo again?"
Ikea patiently repeated the key point he had repeated six or
seven other times that night. "Venerable Master Oakcraft
banished him from the clan when he was caught violating the
furniture."
"How does one violate furniture?"
"He was painting it all teal, mauve and aqua-marine. A
shameful act of vandalism."
"Ohhhhh. Lumi-chan sees!"
"That was the end of our open-door policy to students," Ikea
said solemnly. "He swore revenge against the clan for insulting
his art, and double-revenge against me for bringing the matter to
the sensei like an honorable Furniture Warrior should. I believe
he is still sore, if he would resort to stealing our dojo sign."
"Ano... oniichan... I'm sorry I sort of knocked you out when
you were fighting him today."
"It is alright, Lumi-chan. What is in the past cannot be
changed. But like a shattered set of collapsible tray tables, it
can be mended. We will simply set out and trace his path back to
its origin."
"But oniichan, we don't know where he came from. All of our
neighbors are six miles away, and they didn't see him!"
"Yes, strange, that. Considering we're in the middle of a
white, snowy mountainside and he was wearing black. But I do not
worry. He will likely taunt us in some fashion; it was his
style."
"You mean like this?" Lumi said, holding up an envelope.
Ikea didn't react beyond blinking.
"It just came in the mail an hour ago," Lumi shrugged.
"Ano, it was addressed to 'That Squealing Fink Ikea and his Fetid
Dungheap the Tibetan Furniture Warriors Dojo', but I thought
maybe it was one of those sweepstakes things..."
Ikea quietly snatched the envelope from his sister, opened
it with a sharpened wood screw, and read.
Ikea, you ignorant bastard.
I've got your sign and you're never getting it back.
You can live in the shame, the same shame you shamed me
with, for the rest of your life. You deserve it, you
miserable little wretch. Don't even try to find me.
You'll never find me. I'll blend in, fade out, you'll
never see me again. This is goodbye forever.
Love,
Hugh
-------------------------------------------------------
LE RADISON, 1034 MONSEIR BLVD, PARIS, FRANCE. ROOM 103
"Pack your things," Ikea stated, crushing the letter in his
hand.
*
Six miles down to the exit onto the interstate and a few
day's travel along the biways over to the east coast and onto an
airplane and a short ride during which mixed nuts and an inflight
movie are available and a short cab ride from there, the delicate
stomp of high heels was audible.
The woman in excessively layered white lingerie paced in
tight circles, frustrated. She had the makings of a headache
coming on and her temper ran out six minutes ago. Life was about
to get really unpleasant for the poor maid who fluffed her
pillows the wrong way.
"How DARE you fluff the pillows the wrong way!?" the woman
shouted, breaking the silence (and making the maid jump
slightly). "I've explained the method to you; you tuck the
corners, puff the middle, circle-beat around the center and THEN
squeeze. NOT TUCK THE CORNERS, PUFF THE MIDDLE, SQUEEZE AND THEN
CIRCLE-BEAT AROUND THE CENTER!!"
"But Mistress Fifi--"
"No! No. No buts. You know what the punishment is for
disobedience around here!!" she said, raising a hand.
"Noooo!!!" the maid shouted.
"No Internet access for a WEEK!!" Fifi proclaimed.
"Attendants, take her away."
The two reasonably buff female doorguards grabbed the
sobbing maid and hauled her away. Fifi draped herself like an
expensive doily over a nearby fluffy white armchair.
Well, one problem down. It's so hard to get good help
nowadays, Fifi mused. Even so, if it wasn't for the occasional
screamings at the service around here, she'd be bored to death.
Le sigh.
The intercom gave a pleasant buzzing sound. (She had the
one that made the annoying buzzing sound hurled from a sixth
story window overlooking the Champs d'Elyse.)
"Yes, what?" Fifi asked, fanning herself.
'You have a Mr. Hugh Gogh here to see you, Mistress Fifi,'
her personal secretary responded.
"AH! Hugh!" Fifi sighed, clasping her hands to her chest.
"If anybody knows how to make a dull day cheerful, it's Hugh.
Please show Mr. Gogh in. Oh, I hope I'm not overdressed..."
Fifi scrambled around her office / bedroom, removing and
adjusting six or seven layers of frilly lace and silk before the
doorguards let Hugh in.
Hugh was wearing his usual outfit, which he and Fifi
designed one dull day last August; sort of an odd tye-die fractal
motif with a hint of paisley. Fifi rather liked it, despite the
simple smocklike shirt it was on. Complicated color for ordinary
clothing.
"Fifi, darling," Hugh said, bowing with a sweeping gesture.
"You're as radiant as ever."
"Hugh darling! You're as sign-carrying as ever. Hrm.
What's the sign?"
"Oh, this? Souvenir," Hugh smirked, tossing it onto a
nearby bed/table.
"How charming. Been touring, have we? Gallery tours? I do
so hope my funds to sponsor your art have come in handy, I still
look at your 'Blood and Semen Cover Nebraska' montage work and
sigh."
"'fraid I'm here on business, love," Hugh sighed. "We'll
have to parley the amusing at a later point. I require your
OTHER talents."
"What, you mean--"
"No, no, I mean your skill with a pillow."
"You still need to be more specific, honeykins."
Hugh laughed. "The SPECIAL pillows. The ones with depleted
uranium lining?"
Fifi blinked. She approached Hugh, suspicious. "Now, you
KNOW I'm more a lover than a fighter. Even if I'm perfectly
proficient in both. Why exactly would you need a warrior, Hugh
bunnycakes? Financial troubles you need quelling?"
"Oh, more complex than that," Hugh smiled. "Fifi... how
would you like to enter THE tournament of the twentieth century?
One that's right up our alley?"
"A tournament for Furniture Warriors?" Fifi asked,
scratching her chin.
"That's the plan," Hugh nodded. "It's kind of clever,
actually. The last time they held this tournament was... a
hundred or a thousand years ago, I forget."
"Now that's long term planning," Fifi commented, sipping her
refreshing tropical fruit beverage.
"You bet. See, my mast... bos... well, employer, he's
determined not to lose this time. He's lost every time the
tournament was held, since there's only really one school for
Furniture Warriors other than his, and they always send their
best opponents. It's overwhelming."
"So he stacks the deck, and makes sure every fighter other
than the two from the Tibetan school is under his thumb," Fifi
smiled. "Then once we outnumber THEM, the fight will go the
other way for a change!"
"Exactly. He's also sent agents out hundreds... yes, it
must have been a thousand years since the last tournament...
anyway, he sent out folks hundreds of years ago to destroy all
evidence that there IS a tournament in Tibet. The fools don't
know they're sending the heirs to their school into this! Once
we bribe or coerce all the ronin Furniture Warriors in the world
into teaming up against that idiot and his idiot sister, it's
practically over with," Hugh said, sipping his drink.
"Now, Hugh darling, you know I don't keep track of the
ronins. Fighting is more of a hobby for me, inbetween fashion
design and pointless sadism! Why, I only know vague things about
two of them, and I haven't seen Mick in years--"
"One way or another, Fifi, if we can get all of them
together and ally under my employer, once we crush the two
Tibetan louts we'll all have good places in the New World Order.
Once my employer is free from his prison with the victory, there
are gonna be some changes to this planet."
"Oh. So he is planning on taking over the world? How
delightful!" Fifi clapped. "I was hoping the plan was going in
this direction. I want France and control of all the pretty
girls in it and the entire leather and lace industry!"
"Done," Hugh smiled. "Me, I just want to feast upon the
stillbeating heart of that infidel, Ikea... the others can have
various bits of the planet if they want, as long as the Big Guy
gets overall control. He's not planning on running it all
himself, after all. Say, would you like control of his sister
after we win?"
"Oh, certainly. I suppose that kind of prize is worth a
little digging through my rolodex! OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOO!!" Fifi
laughed, posing femininely, evilly and cutely.
"To evil!" Hugh toasted cheerfully.
"To evil!" Fifi replied, clinking plastic glasses.
END PART ONE!
Stay turned for Furniture Warriors...
PART TWO : The Gathering! (or, The Lame, Generic Title!)