You wanna know what goes on in my head when I have a mental block?

Here you go.

Note: It's a one-shot, so if I get any reviews saying "I can't wait until the next chapter" or "update really soon ok bye"... I will feed those souls to the box. Yes. Fear the box. -backs away all spookylike- Feaaaaaaaarr iiiiittt... Doom doom doooo-ooommm...

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It was a one-sided fight, a vendetta -- a war against the omnipresent and a battle against the over-creative. Sure, he was outnumbered, five million to one and a half; and sure, he was outmatched. But he was determined to see this to its cruel, bloody, painful end; to die like the honorable warrior he had never had the chance to be. And if the enemy didn't kill him... well, whatever the hell these rabbits had would. Who knew what sort of bacterium festered in wild, probably psychotic considering their location, freshly charred bunnymeat. Fine, roasted rabbit was as good as sterile, but the point is -- this was hopeless.

Useless.

Just plain idiotic.

And yet...

Here he was.

Still sitting on that box.

It wasn't that impressive of a box, for starters - just sturdy enough to hold his weight, just tall enough so that his feet dangled above the ground, made from seemingly normal cardboard with "IDEAS" written crudely on one tawny flank in black Sharpie.

But he was protecting it like a mother lion does her cubs.

Not because it was important to him, no.

Because it was important to her.

The Creator.

His one-sided vendetta was actually a stubborn strike of revenge.

And in his opinion, it was well-justified. She had promised him something, and since she was failing to keep that promise - what with the dillying, the dallying, and some nonsense named "homework" - he was keeping her from her precious distractions. Other "fics", starring other people -- it was simply unjust to keep him waiting for so long and not even lifting a spindly little finger to do something about it.

That was why, for God only knows how long, he had been sitting on this box.

It was a good thing she kept so many small, furry animals around - idea bunnies, she called them - this empty chasm known as a mind.

Rabbits aren't very fireproof, after all.

But, you see... now it had gotten even worse.

There was this strange guy, staring at him. Some guy with red hair, red eyes, and this really tacky red "old world" outfit. It wasn't only that he was staring at him, beady little eyes seeming to pierce straight into his gut and through his soul, naturally unnerving the crud out of him. It wasn't just that this... guy hadn't moved for the past few whenevers of this war.

That guy wanted the box.

There was a crazed look in those blood-colored eyes that just screamed "You're goin' down, foo."

Or something like that.

It was about as much as he could take.

"Oi," He growled darkly while shifting a bit atop the box, attempting to get some bloodflow back within his sleeping ass.

The guy didn't move, blink, or say anything.

"I'm warning you," He continued, tensing to do something -- Ultima, Firaga, Trance, anything -- to get this guy to quit staring.

Silence.

"If you don't stop staring at me, I swear on my facking manthong I will have no control over what I'll do."

The silence persisted... then was broken by a trill of maniacal laughter from the other.

"I mean it," The guy was still laughing, "This box is mine until I get what I want." The laughter stopped. "I know that's why you're looking at me like that -- it's mine, you impudent loser, ALL MINE!"

So maybe he was putting it on a bit.

The other guy didn't seem to think so, however.

In fact, he looked... bored.

"Such a little crybaby," The man sighed. "A spoiled brat who thinks she can persuade the Creator into giving into her childish demands."

There was a moment of shock, here. Followed by a rush of savage, bestial rage, bubbling to the surface like volcanic bile and nearly causing him to lose his seat on the precious hostaged box.

"GODAMMIT!" He roared. "I'M A MAN! M-A-N! NOT WOMAN, MAN! I LIKE BOOBS!"

The other only raised a smooth, reddish eyebrow.

"And yet what you're holding that box hostage for clearly states you like testicles, not boobs."

Once again, he almost fell off the box.

"You knew I was a guy the whole time?" A surprisingly calm, if dangerously so, voice, considering the fact that the rage was still there. Sephiroth's rage, if you could dig it.

"Obviously." He stood up, and all of a sudden he was right in front of Kuja, two inches away from the hostaged container. "Now, down to business... I want the Creator to continue work on my idea - an original idea, one she can get paid for."

"So what?" A bit of brevity on his part constituted a flying loogie, splattering on the other man's rather pallid features. That's nasty by his standards, and this guy was probably even more vain than himself, hard to believe as it is. And yes, said other man let out a shriek and started clawing at his face to get the phlegm off. Naturally.

For a moment, he felt like he was on top of the world.

Said moment ended when the guy's fingers cinched around his throat.

"So? SO?" Aw, shit. Puppy looks angry. "I came first. She was still a juvenile when my idea was running rampant in her addled little brain. She didn't even know you existed while she was working on it. And you dare to take that away from me by putting on a little hissy fit, a temper tantrum, a childish squall for her attention!"

By the way, with every word, those oddly strong fingers tightened, and so he was having tunnel vision by the time the words and spittle ceased to fly.

The other let go.

He ground his buttocks into the cardboard, glaring defiantly at the creep.

"A challenge."

He had expected more yelling and choking, really.

"Eh?"

"To see who deserves her attention more."

He thought a moment, trying to remember who the crap this guy was - and when he hit on it, he didn't like what he got.

"That's not fair."

"Eh?"

"You're a vampire, and I'm-"

The other smiled pleasantly, showing off his fangs. "And you're a you."

"Dickface."

The vampire ignored this, turning on his heel and trotting away from the box, probably concocting a great and painful plot to take Kuja down. He paced and he paced, and he gnawed on a not-roasted rabbit absent-mindedly while he thought (blood spewing out of its pierced jugular, splattering ground, box, and anything else it could get on -- the rabbit, of course, constituted its own series of high-pitched complaints).

Now, Kuja was not known for his patience. This pacing and gnawing and bunny curse words was getting on his nerves.

He threw out the first words he could think of, even as the other opened his mouth to speak: "Beauty contest."

It was the vampire's turn to nearly die of a heart attack. If vamps could do that, of course.

"What the hell?"

The genome put on a crazed, Cheshire cat grin. "You know, a contest to see who's prettier."

"And it will be judged by who?"

All of a sudden Kuja and Arliss (the vampire) were in an actual beauty contest -- catwalk, judges table, screaming audience who weren't rabbits or bleeding from their jugulars. Sadly, the box had to sit this one out. Boxes are not attractive in any way, no matter how much pretty panties they wear. Or try to. Ye gods, the stretching.

"These nice fictional people, of course."

There was a look on the other's face that would normally require the Heimlich maneuver.

He quickly recovered. "Ladies first." Even made a little bow.

"No, no, you," And he pushed the vampire to centerstage.

"Erm..."

"Out of the way, losers." A voice growled.

The voice turned out to be Seifer. In a speedo.

Followed by a few chicks and, of course, Jenova. Jen-jen just couldn't wait this one out with Boxy.

"We may have some trouble here."

"You said it."

As the contest rolled on and peoples' dreams were cruelly crushed beneath the steel-toed boot of finicky perception, it ended up with the vampire, Kuja, and the "mystery contestant". Ooh.

"Now," Said the announcer, who actually looked a bit more like a fifteen-to-sixteen year old blond girl. But with a man's voice coming out of her mouth. An annoying one. "We're down to the last three contestants. Instead of just letting you pick them, we're going to ask them one question each. They answer wrong - THEY LOSE!"

Both's feelings on this expressed by Kuja: "Shit."

"Contestant number one," Looking at the vampire. "If I were a burrito with cheese and a side of curly fries, topped with Worstershire sauce and cat urine, what is the state bird of Uranus?"

Silence.

"TOO LATE!"

Kuja's competition was launched out by a spring-propelled trap door. Thing.

"Number two," Directed toward Kuja. "What color is my underwear?"

He couldn't lose. Well, he practically already won, considering the other was sailing through the troposphere by now, but...

"Erm... blue?"

"CORRECT!"

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Number three - if you multiply the binoptic trinomial of the exponent of three trillion five million six hundred thousand ninety-two by the subcoefficient of the paradox of triangulated pattern of red, orange, and purple, subtracted by the zeros of five to the six bazillionth over c squared, rounded to the nearest thousandth and added to four cubed over eighteen-twenty eighths, what would you get?"

There was only a slight pause, then the robed creature calmly replied, matter-of-factly: "Forty-two."

"Correct! Simply amazing, number three!"

The announcer mangirl turned toward the audience. "Only two left, folks!"

The crowd began screaming something. Kuja couldn't hear what it was, surprisingly enough.

"ONG! DEATHMATCH OF DOOM? ARE YOU CERTAIN?"

The crowd gave a loud affirmative.

The genome's heart flopped into his left boot.

"ALRIGHTEH THENN!"

A huge-ass cage rose out of the floor.

"LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUUMBLEE!"

The mystery contestant was already in there, and then, so was Kuja.

After much hair-pulling, name calling, and other painful painful horrors he would not like to relive, the fight was over.

"And the winner is -- THE MYSTERY CONTESTANT!"

Said creature suddenly decloaked itself, revealing its true identity.

And he was wearing a miniskirt.

"What's your name, doll?"

The other muttered something.

"Eh?"

"Kadaj."

"KADAJ EFFING WIIIIINS!"

The people yelled happily. And then it was back to the dark chasm with the box. And the vampire. Who was not staring, only nursing his wounds like some demented cat.

"Well?" He inquired saucily.

Kuja grinned. "I won."

"Where's your trophy?"

"Lost it."

"Damn."

A moment of silence, then...

"Hey, wait a minute...something weird about that statement..."

Kuja stiffened.

Arliss suddenly brightened. "You forgot the pronoun I!"

"Sure, let's go with that."

So, from that day forth, Kuja's ass remained glued to the box. The box that held within it phantasmagorical ponderings that had never a chance to live or die while being suffocated by a certain monkeybutt.

The end.

No, really.

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What it said.

It's why I can't update Integrity, doncha know. ..