🚀 go-pugleaf

[Continued from Part One]

     "What can I do for you?" asked a flour-covered ADVANCE engineer as he
poked his head out from the kitchen to greet two STOP troopers and a young
man. The troopers stopped, and the one to the right of the man spoke.
    "We've brought you your waiter," he said, with a curt nod to the man
who was doing his best to look like he could wear a tux and tails well. The
engineer looked the man over, before turning back to the trooper.
    "Pardon me," began the engineer. "But are you high? Hey guys, we've got
a trooper out here and he's high!"
     "I am not high!" replied the trooper, indignantly.
     "Then why do we have only _one_ waiter?" asked the engineer, with a
snort. "There's going to be hundreds of dangerously powerful, ridiculously
undisciplined people out there...one's just not going to cut it!"
     "Um, maybe I can explain," said the man, with a nervous grin. He spoke
with an Australian accent as he tugged a finger against his tie, which
seemed to be making several covert attempts to cut off all circulation from
his neck up. "You see, I might look like one person..."
     Suddenly, a copy of the man appeared next to himself, smiling and
waving with good cheer.
     "...but there's more of me than meets the eye! Nice to meet you, I'm
the Switch!"
     One of the troopers leaned close to the engineer. "We've only got to
pay him once, see," he muttered. The engineer winked and nodded knowingly.
     "Glad to have you aboard, Switch," said the engineer. "Come into the
kitchen and I'll show you around."
     Suddenly, a low moaning came from within the kitchen. An alarm klaxon
sounded. Screams could be heard. And from the flourescent-lit depths of the
kitchen shambled...a thing. At first it appeared human, but as it walked
through the door, shoving the unsuspecting engineer to the side, Dennis -
AKA the Switch - could see that it was made up of egg, cheese and a light,
delicate pastry. Both troopers responded immediately, dropping into a
firing crouch and opening up with their rifles on the creature. It screamed
once, howling with the agony that only a recently born pastry could feel
and then fell, never to rise again.
    "Whew," gasped Colleen, sticking her head out from the kitchen door.
"Okay, we willnae add _thae_ particular ingredient to the quiche!"
     "All clear," said one trooper to Dennis. "You can go in now."
     "Do...I have to?" asked Dennis, staring down at the delicious carcass
that was steaming and bubbling at his feet.
     "You've signed the contract, friend," said the trooper, pressing a gun
into Dennis' hand. "Now go in there and do your duty. Make us proud."
     "Er...help?" asked the Switch, as he was pushed into the unknown
reaches of... the kitchen.
***
 The Slackers stood next to General Chaos, a rather unprepossessing female
with an outfit only an Author would wear, and next to her Muse a male in a
tuxedo that looked too much like one of them.  Both were apparently trying
to find the directions to get themselves to the Beanstalk.
     Kevin (the Muse) pulled out a wad of paper and unfolded it.
     "Insert Tab A into Slot B, after folding the perforated area-"
     "Wrong."
     He got another.  "In today's news--"
     "Wrong."  GC pulled out something from her coat.  "This might be it.
Turn right at the Medulla Oblongata, left at the Hippocampus--"
     "Nope.  That's for the Journey to the Center of the Mind."
     "Ah-ha."
     Cantata meanwhile considered seppuku, but didn't think even death
would get her out of her contract.
     "This is it!" Kevin declared, GC looked over, and took it.
     She read, grinned and Edited them away..
     They emerged.
     There was a collective eep.
     Cantata went red to the roots of her purple hair, and all the men
spontaneously had nosebleeds.  Kevin (the Muse) barely got a green
handkerchief to his nose before the Characters saw his proboscis was doing
the wrong color.
     Even GC was a bit shaken.
     "Urm.  Kevin."
     "yes." he muttered back.
     "This appears to be Barbados, Planet of Physical Delights."
     "yes."
     "Why the Hell (tm) did you have THAT set of directions in your pocket?"
     "Urm," he said, avoiding the question entirely.  He pulled out another
set of directions. "Urm.  I think this is the right set."
     *Although if we get to Nympho Beach, I won't complain.* he thought.
     "Dude,"  Marv asked the Author.  "Can't we just stay here?"
***
     "How are things going?" asked Doyle, looking around the banquet hall.
Fortunately, Colleen had had the time to install a solid-hologram projector
in the room so Doyle could agonise over the set-up in person, rather than
from his office. Somehow, hands-on worry seemed so much more satisfying
than anxiety from afar.
     Peter Kent, head of ADVANCE, checked his list. "Eighteen wounded, two
critical, one on life-support."
     "Oh good, that falls into 'acceptable losses'," sighed Doyle. Kent
nodded and continued.
     "Hall ceiling now has Really-Really-High meters of clearance, and the
room proper has been decorated."
     "Make a note, please," said Doyle, looking around. "Orange and pink
are _not_ complimentary colours."
     "Right, right," muttered Kent, staring studiously at his clipboard.
"Let's see... um... the engineers report great success with their
experiments in cooking. We are now testing them for toxicity and if they
pass, the food'll be taken care of."
     "Testing?" asked Doyle. "How're you doing that?"
     "Do you see Doug anywhere?" asked Kent. Doyle shook his head. "Well if
they fail the test, then that situation will probably become permanent."
     "We could be so lucky," muttered Doyle. "Has the MC shown yet?"
     Kent nodded. "The Mob is here, the MC is setting up, we're ready to
open the doors and oh wait, I think the entertainment has arrived!"
     A man wearing a handlebar moustache and dragging two oversized Punch
and Judy puppets walked past Doyle and Kent. Kent blinked.
     "Um..." he began, grinning guiltily as Doyle stared accusingly at him.
"I'll make some calls..."
     "You do that," replied Doyle quietly. Kent stammered nervously for a
moment, and then continued.
     "All in all, I think we've got everything under control," he finished.
"From here on in, nothing can really go wrong."
     "Hello!" shouted Murphy, traipsing into the room. There was a loud
thud as Kent fainted dead away, the list slipping from his nerveless
fingers.
     "I think we're early," muttered Frobozz, to his Muse. "Let's go wait
out in the hall..."
     "Oh, you can go if you want!" replied Murphy, grinning at the
unconscious Kent. "I _just_ got my invitation to be here!"
***
        The Tejanomancer exhaled triumphantly which sent dust particles
flying out of his lungs. He had finally made it. The big time. The Golden
Grunion awards. It was quite an accomplishment for a dead villain. There he
was one rainy day, just lying around on his back, when a stranger cloaked
in a heavy raincoat and hat had left the invitation on his tombstone. When
the Tejanomancer had read it to see what it was, he was so excited that he
turned over.
        It seemed like it was just yesterday when he and Mr. Morbid had
blown each other up a few times, he reflected while brushing the dust off
his suit. The resulting dust cloud obscured the villain for a few moments.
And now he was here -- nominated for Worst Villain, or at least he assumed
so. That's what the invitation said. With that, he smiled sinisterly and
began to proceed into the festivities.
        "Excuse me," one of the troopers said while blocking the
Tejanomancer's path. "Are you with the band?"
        "Absolutely not! I am a mastermind," the Tejanomancer fired back
impatiently.
        "Then I'm going to have to confiscate that," the trooper muttered
as he gestured to the accordion that was slung over the Tejanomancer's
shoulder. "We don't allow pollutants into the Beanstalk. No smoking, no
supermarket alcohol, and no accordions."
        The Tejanomancer stepped back defiantly as the man reached for the
accordion  "Not acceptable! I demand to see where it is written that
accordions are a source of pollution."
        "Noise pollution is a dangerous, and often under-rated form of
pollution. Now hand it over or I will be forced to eject you from the
ceremony ..."
        "I will never surrender, Esmerelda! Never!"
        "... and you will be forced to forfeit any awards you will
have won," the trooper finished.
        "Here you go," the Tejanomancer smiled as he handed the accordion
over to the now nice-man.
        "Very good. Now if you will give me your name I can direct you to
your table for the ceremony."
        The Tejanomancer's chest swelled with pride as he was about to be
able to use his name in a conversation. "I am *the* Tejanomancer."
        The man raised an eyebrow. "I see. Yes, you were expected,"
the trooper chuckled lightly. "Now if you will step this way, I will show
you to your table."
        "Who will I be sitting with?" the Tejanomancer asked excitedly.
"The other grand villains, I would assume. Perhaps even Satan T. Lucifer
Jones himself! Or the Grey Lupine! He even
acknowledged my existence once," the Tejanomancer beamed proudly.
        "Oh, happy day, sir," the trooper sent back dryly.  "Actually,
you're not with either of those two, but do not fret. We've made sure that
you will be the center of attention at your table."
        "Perfect," the villain replied, "I will regale them with stories of
my villainy."
        Five minutes later, the Tejanomancer was seated quietly with his
hands clasped together on the table -- by himself. And he was, in  fact,
the center of attention among the few remaining empty chairs that the
troopers hadn't taken away for use at other tables.
***
     "So, we're at the Grunions again," said Milton, looking around at the
festivities. The rest of the Tribe of Behn followed behind him, dressed to
the nines.
     "Sure are," replied Dickens.
     "Yup," said Spenser. "Best we'll win _just_ as much as last year."
     "Art did a good job on this, I'd say," said Aphra, smiling as her
picture was snapped. "I'd hardly notice the stress lines from dynamite on
the ceiling if they hadn't been pointed out to me."
     "That's kind of strange, isn't it?" asked Dickens. "Handing out safety
wavers and structural fault leaflets at the beginning of the evening?"
     "Nah, it's all the rage these days," replied Spenser. "Oh look, food.
I'm going to get acquainted with it before Astatine gets here."
     "We'll find some seats," said Gaskell. "Bring me back a Diet Coke?"
     "Watching your figure?" asked Milton, with a grin. Gaskell blushed.
     "Ohhhh, right, Grey Leopard's going to be here!" winked Spenser. "No
wonder she wore the blue dress."
     "It's not like that," said Gaskell, blushing more furiously. "I'm...
just... going to go stand by the entrance and watch it with hawk-like
intensity, okay?"
     "Have fun!"
***
     The Crimson Permanent Assurance docked at the Beanstalk's receiving
terminal. Its hatch opened, and a rather large group stepped out.
     "This is going to be *so* cool," Transit said, bubbling. "Think of the
people who will be here! Andy Awesome! Shannon Druidia!  Chalandra
Harkness! Do you think Ramrod will give me his autograph?"
     "No," Healer said, walking arm-in-arm with Trashman. "He'll tell you
to piss off. Which is much the same thing, from him."
     "Hey, these things aren't that big a deal," Unorthodox Girl said. "You
learn to just come to them as a matter of course."
     "Why?" Frigid Girl asked. "You guys are up for Best Series and Best
Supergroup."
     "But we won't win them," the Masked Bruce said. "We never do. We're
blackballed. We get nominated but that's as far as it goes. And it wasn't
one of our better years anyhow."
     "Yeah," Unorthodox Lass said. "Heck, last year Radian and Shadebeam
took series -- villains for Cryin' out Loud -- and they're up again this
year *and* their series ended *and* Radian's dead. So that's a foregone
conclusion."
     "And Team Cynical and CalForce *tied* for Best Supergroup," Spandex
Babe added. "Both beating us. And Team Cynical's up again.  Sorry guys. I
didn't mean to have my trial destroy our Grunion shot."
     "It's not your fault," Dangerousgirl said. "Our production schedule
was for crap."
     "Furthermore," Portentous Piranha cackled with unholy glee, "the rank
depression and cynicism that repeated failure sows in your souls shall
continue to crack and rot the foundation of your solidarity, eventually
leading you to the disunion that shall be the degradation of your
friendships and your eventual, utter and complete descent into a perdition
of your own making!" She laughed her hideously twisted laugh.
     "Right," Trashman said.  "Well, at least it's easier to find this
year. There are our tables. Shall we?"
     "We shall," Healer said. "And I want champagne and lots of it."
     "Maybe Fallout will be nominated next year," Mandy said. "You guys did
well on that."
     "Nope," Kid Electron enthused. "Next year's the Year of the Academy!
We have Best New--"
     "Kid-E, hush," Dangerousgirl said.
     "Will there be dancing?" Memorex asked.
     "At these things, who knows," Spandex Babe replied.
     "Right," the Masked Bruce said.  "Well, the one thing we *do* have a
shot at is Best Hair, so I'd better go freshen up. Be right back."
     "Sure, Green," Unorthodox Girl said. "Rub it in.  Just because I have
bad roots...."
***
   "Emma arrived at the awards ceremony in a stunning red dress that
accentuated her glamorous figure. The paparazzi created a virtual strobe
effect as she walked toward the entrance. Her escort for the evening was
her considerably less glamorous and completely non-photogenic husband,
Philip--"
   "Hey!" exclaimed Captain Dunne. "I'll have you know that I'm as
photogenic as the next guy!"
   "Emma blinked, confused at her husband's strange outburst," said Mrs.
Dunne. "She just knew that he would embarrass her on her big night...."
   "Mom? Can we go talk to some of the superguys?" asked Mickey. "Huh? Can we?"
   "And then can we stop off at the buffet table?" asked Astatine.
   "Emma buried her face in her hands and mmmph mmmph mph-mmmph why there
were never any baby-sitters around when you need one."
   "I don't want you kids going anywhere near those glorified vigilantes,"
the captain stated. "This entire event is a sham. Those amateurs don't need
recognition, and they certainly shouldn't be *rewarded* for getting in the
way of legitimate law enforcement and messing things up nine times out of
ten."
   "And saving the world the other time," Mickey whispered to his cousin.
   "Emma kept her eyes forward and tried to ignore her entourage," said
Mrs. Dunne. "She was nominated for two major awards including the biggest
award of them all, the coveted Best Narrator. It was her night, and nothing
could spoil it for her. Nothing at all."
   "Look, it's Spandex Babe!" exclaimed Mickey. "Let's go ask her about
that guy she murdered!"
   "Yaaaaaay!" shouted Astatine, as the two children ran off into the hall.
   "Emma sighed," said Emma, with a sigh. "At least, she hoped."
***
        "Hey guys," Bonehead called out while adjusting his bowtie, "I'm
not quite sure, but I think the doorman wasn't referring to your names when
he called us the 'Deranged and Morbid' party."  He continued fidgeting
uncomfortably with the bowtie.  "I think he was insulting us."
        Mr. Morbid turned around sharply to face Bonehead. "Why are you
always so paranoid, Jay?" After Bonehead had no verbal response, he decided
to take the question to a higher authority. Morbid punched Dr. Deranged on
the shoulder. "Why the *is* he so useless? Why the Hell(tm) did you do that
to me?"
        "What are you talking about?" Dr. Deranged asked defensively.
"Everyone loves Bonehead the way he is. Why do you think he was nominated
for Best Supporting Character?" the Doc asked as if it somehow explained
everything.
        "Um, I wasn't nominated," Bonehead tried to interrupt.
        "And I'm betting it all on B.H. here," Deranged said while slapping
the hapless Bonehead on the shoulder. The force of which sent the young
character to the floor. "He's going to walk away with that Grunion. I just
know it," Deranged continued semi-interestedly.
        *Bonehead was not nominated, Doctor,* Eugene informed as he hovered
near Mr. Morbid's head. *In fact, I understand some ballots wanted to take
votes away from him.*
        "That's not true," Bonehead pouted as he stood up again.
        Dr. Deranged paused. "You mean ... this guy here," he said
while shoving Jay to the ground again, "isn't nominated? Oh well, who cares
anyway?  As long as we are, right?" Deranged and Morbid laughed. The jovial
mood didn't last long, however, as the Author reexamined the character's
choice of outfit. "Y'know, couldn't you have dressed up, Morbid? This is
the Grunions. You're going to make me look bad in front of the other
Authors."
        "They only have to read your stuff to get enough of that," Bonehead
mumbled as he dusted himself off.
        Both Morbid and Deranged chuckled slightly at Bonehead's witticism
before pushing him down yet again. Morbid then stepped back and held his
hands out. "What is wrong with this?"
        "We wanted to dress alike," Amber Staley, Morbid's girlfriend and
Grunion date added. She stood next to Morbid and inspected their outfits
which consisted of boots, black pants, their trademark jackets, and novelty
T-Shirts which had the front of a tuxedo drawn on in white.
        "Where is the problem?" Morbid asked obliviously.
        Dr. Deranged frowned. "Well, at least we're only going to be seen
together once a year," he rationalized. "I don't know about that outfit
though," he said while glancing over to Skinnybutt.
        Skinnybutt straightened his formal attire, consisting of a noose
tied around his neck which swayed side-to-side over his exposed  rib cage.
"When can I slay the giant?" he asked excitedly.
        "Skinnybutt," Betty Yeh replied frustratedly, "for the thousandth
time -- this is Task Force Aurora's Beanstalk.  There are no giants here."
        Skinnybutt pondered that for a moment. "Just give me five minutes
with Jack then. You'll get magic beans out of it."
        Betty sighed.
        Dr. Deranged pulled Morbid aside while all attention was on
Skinnybutt. "Why the Hell(tm) did you invite them? Don't they have their
own Author to hang around with?"
        "I did it for Bonehead," Morbid replied while hanging his head
slightly. "I thought that if Skinnybutt were here then Jay wouldn't be the
ugliest guy at the table." There was a tense moment of silence as character
and Author stared at each other trying to figure out if the mess they had
gotten into was really worth it. "Oh yeah," Morbid continued as if
remembering something very important, "they're my friends too. Of course."
        "Of course," Dr. Deranged agreed. "Yes, well ... I see your
point. Good thinking." With that, the Doctor smiled and turned to Betty and
Skinnybutt. "I'm pleased you two could join us this year. I'm sure you two
will be here next year to have your fifteen paragraphs of fame."
        "I don't think so," Betty replied doubtfully, "the disclaimer at
the beginning of our episodes keeps growing as the complaints roll in. It
won't be long before the warning is the entire first part of each episode.
Maybe that should tell us something."
        "Yes, it should," Deranged replied sternly, "it tells you that...
people are reading it! Don't change a thing," he smirked.
        "Exactly," Betty smirked back. "You should see some of the projects
that are in the works. We're breaking new ground in the realm of Internet
indecency."
        "Indecency," Morbid repeated excitedly, "can we do a crossover when
you get to some of that? I'm a big fan of that sort of thing."
        "Speaking of indecency," Amber added, "I wonder if Tina has arrived
yet."
        "Well, let's find our table and see," Dr. Deranged suggested.  "I
have some fiendish plotting to do with Demento Man, some other Authors to
greet, and this sign to tape to Frobozz's back -- all before the ceremony
starts," Deranged said as he raised a paper sign reading: "Shut Me Out".
        The group began to walk to the entrance, but Dr. Deranged stopped
them. "Will someone pick him up off the floor?" he asked referring to the
unconscious Bonehead. "I'd hate for Tina to come along and find him lying
there in that state."
        *Yes, who knows what would become of an encounter between an
unimaginably malevolent force of nature and that of a common domestic
dweeb.*
        Morbid laughed. "Was that a joke, Eugene?"
        *Of course not. I am deadly serious.*
        "Yeah, well maybe if you told a few more jokes -- you'd get
nominated like me," Morbid smirked.
        Eugene's shadowy black mass followed Morbid. *I am not amused.*
***
[Continued In Part Three!]