Author: Ten Past Twelve PM
Grubbs is a hardened criminal with a stupid family. Dervish is the alleged Hero of Prophecy, and stockpiles unlikely and sometimes utterly useless weapons to this end. Bill-E is still a fat twit who's out of touch with reality. Is now officially dead. Welp.Rated: Fiction T - English - Parody/Humor - Grubbs G. & Lord Loss - Chapters: 5 - Words: 9,140 - Updated: 05-30-12 - Published: 04-25-12 - id: 8057709
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A Demonata Parody
"So let me get this straight. You're a talking nunchuck."
"Yes," confirms the floating wooden staff.
"And you're magical."
"Not just magical," corrects the nunchuck, "I'm demonomagical."
I rub my forehead to ward off the approaching migraine. "Of course. Right. How could have I forgotten."
"You forgot the question mark at the end of that sentence," my conversational partner chips in.
"Yes, I did," I say emotionlessly. "Of course."
"Is that sarcasm I detect?" says the nunchuck sharply.
"Yes," I say sarcastically. It whacks me over the head. "Ow, what was that for?"
"I can't stand sarcasm," the talking weapon says cooly.
I consider this for point five of a second. "You can't stand either." I'm whacked over the head again for my troubles.
"Look, Grady, we need to get serious here."
"I think all these whacks on the head are going to make me forget what serious means," I complain loudly.
"I hear that a second thump often rectifies that," replies the nunchuck innocently.
"Right, seriousity. All in the bag."
"Is that a word?"
I nod quickly. "So is transdemonicological, or so I hear."
"Cease this gay banter," orders the nunchuck. "I need something from you."
"What?" I ask warily. How is talking about nonexistent words gay?
"I want you to..."
I mean, they're just words. The only gay words are 'gay' and 'homosexual', I mean seriously. Oh, and I suppose 'queen', when I think about it. And I hear that 'flaming' has some kind of euphemistic relation to it as well. Lesbian is as well, I just remembered, and dike too, and-
"Are you even listening?" demands the nunchuck. When I nod dumbly, he asks me what he just said.
"Uh. You. Made the... um. Your plan was... uh..."
"I am going to break your neck if you spend another paragraph thinking about synonyms for 'gay', alright? Is that fair?"
"It wasn't just synonyms!" I shout, outraged. "There's only one anyway, it's homo-"
"Do you like your neck?"
"Yes," I gulp.
"Would it be bad for me to break it?"
"Will you shut the hell up now?"
"Yessir," I say immediately, in fear for my life. I hate nunchucks.
"Alright. Now listen up, you useless tool. We're right now in what that idiot Dervish would call a transtemporodemonic alternabubble in the demonofabric of cosmologicality. More accurately, it's a time bubble, stretched around the area of Carcery Vale, in which time and space have been temporarily destabilized. Are you following so far?"
"The what in the what now?"
The nunchuck somehow manages a sigh and attempts to simplify. "Carcery Vale has been turned into a maze, but the walls aren't made of stone or steel- they're made of time and space."
"Uh," I say, still not quite grasping the concept. Is it talking about time travel?
"Okay, suppose I take a step forwards. In the normal world, I would just move a metre or so forwards in space, and maybe a second forwards in time. Here in Carcery Vale, though- I might take a step forwards and end up in Africa on the back of a goddamn dinosaur."
"Ah, so every step I take will teleport me somewhere?"
"Yes, but that's only part of it. Every second we spend here, we run the risk of further teleportation. Every metre we travel here, you run the risk of just randomly having your heart torn from your chests and deposited on the face of a crying three-year-old in Peru. Or even Sweden."
"And there's more- the reason that I'm telling a brainless arse like you all this information is that I need to find something."
"Which is what?"
"I'm looking for the boy. Billy."
I make a confused noise. "The hell? What's he got to do with anything?"
"Oh, you'll understand soon enough," it says vaguely.
I shake my head, disgusted, and before I know what's happening, the world is falling away.
Some tiny village in France or something- wherever it is, I can't understand a word they're saying.
"Nac ouy pleh em odomes nedrag?" asks one of them.
"Get lost," I scream in his face. "I need my personal space!" I run for the hills, and only make it halfway before I have to stop to catch my breath. I have a stitch in my side, and it sends piercing pain up my side every time I inhale. To solve this problem, I stop inhaling.
"Si ehyako?" I'm roused from my slumber by one of the French people.
"GO AWAY!" I holler. "I DON'T LIKE FRENCH PEOPLE ANYMORE!" I vault out of my bed like a freaking Olympic athlete, aiming for the window. Kicking a French nurse out of my way, I swing my fist around and catch the window a glancing blow- nevertheless, it shatters and the shards of glass fall out onto the street below, slicing into the skin of a street cleaner. With his weird, backwards screams of pain as a smokescreen, I jump out of the freshly broken window, aiming for the street cleaner to cushion my fall.
"Y'M ECAF!" screams the street cleaner, a sure sign that I've made my target. Rolling off his prone form, I dash down the pavement to avoid any approaching police officers. Another cunning Grady escape, seamlessly enacted by none other than the best. Houdini, put down your stupid chains and handcuffs, you're dealing with a pro escapologist here.
I'm so wrapped up in my incredible success that I trip over a badly placed wall.
Well, actually it's more like I run into it full tilt. "Argh! Stupid wall!"
"Ha," laughs a strange voice. "First time I've seen anyone run at those speeds into a wall. If you'd been any less thick, you might have gotten hurt!"
My head injury is such that I ignore this jibe in favour of falling unconscious.
"Mih niaga?" asks a man through the fog of slumber.
"Seh deniartser," says another, "t'nod y'rrow."
I snap awake and immediately attempt to flee again. But when I lurch upwards to reach my window, a crushing grip appears around my throat. Shocked, I fall back, and my neck is released. I try again, but the hand closes back on me, seemingly intent on throttling me to death. "RELEASE ME- GHRK I drop back to the floor, gasping for air. Looking around, I attempt to locate my merciless attacker- there's no-one there but a weak, pasty-looking nurse and an even weaker, pastier-looking doctor. They seem oddly familiar, and the nurse has an arm cast. Weird. I turn my gaze to my chest- perhaps some monstrously strong munchkin is there?
"Oh. A chain," I observe. So much for the munchkin theory.
"Seh ekawa!" titters the nurse, as if she hadn't noticed my violent escape episode. "Stel nigeb eht lufniap noitarepo!" The doctor grins wickedly and holds up a giant syringe filled with some green liquid.
"That's anaesthetic, right?" I ask weakly.
He cocks his head and says, almost soothingly, "Ti si nehw ouy kn'iht tuoba ti."
After a drug-addled bout of madness that I'd rather not get into, I find myself back in Carcery Vale with a blond wig, a wallet stuffed with matchsticks, twelve Cathay Pacific plane ticket stubs and a single Mexican peso in my pocket. You will never learn why.
"Oh, it's you," says a snide voice behind me. "I'd thought that your heart was in Ecuador while the rest of you was in Auckland."
"I've never heard of these ridiculous places," I snort. "If you want to freak me out, at least give me some names I'd know!"
The nunchuck pauses in its taunting, unsure. Ha, round one to Grady! "Okay, look, I have no time for this stupidity. I've found Billy, but-"
"You have? Let's go, I-"
"I only said I found him," it says testily.
"I know. I thought you only needed to find him anyway. Are you saying that you want him to come with you?"
The nunchuck clucks audibly. "By no means- it is merely that I must bring him with me."
"Wow, your life sucks," I grin. "Well, b-"
Seven seconds after I make my bid for freedom, I'm unceremoniously deposited on the ground with my arm bent at a really painful angle. "Why am I still conscious, this crippling pain should have knocked me out until tomorrow morning."
"Magic," says the nunchuck angrily. "It looks like a second window has been opened."
"I can't feel a draught," I mumble groggily, rising to my feet. The nunchuck thwacks itself against my other arm, and I fall back onto the floor.
"I mean a transdemonical tear in the magicfabrical alternality field!"
"A what in that where?"
"A portal between worlds," says the nunchuck resignedly.
In complete understanding, I nod. "Ooooh." A second later, I say quizzically, "What worlds?"
The nunchuck smacks me upside the head and winds itself around my neck. "Just do what I say, you brain-dead lump of fatty tissue."
So this is the situation, as explained by an asshole of a nunchuck with an inclination towards violence of the blunt sort. Lord Loss (yeah, that guy) has somehow managed to psychically distort the already-existing timespace distortion bubble even further, creating a little room in the very centre. This little room is somewhere in Delwish's house, and both Dweebish and Bella have been captured by the demons (who are where it's at). A platoon of the Lord's familiars defends the house from exterior assault, but have neglected to account for underground attack, which is how the nunchuck got in the first time. Before it could free Bobby, however, it was caught by Lord Logs and narrowly avoided being fed to a crocodile-headed dog by hitting everyone on the head and flying away.
"Wait, are you sure his name is Benty?" I ask. "I seem to remember him telling me it was Bill-E. With an 'E'."
"Oh my god," cries the nunchuck, "You know exactly who I'm talking about, so who gives a-"
Sorry, but this fic has just been terminated.
No joke, I'm afraid. From hereon, there shalt be no updates for this fic. Sucks, huh?