Characters: Charles, V.V.

Summary: A story about the Emperor and V.V., and the eternal crack that is lazy deities with penchants for unhealthy food (among other things).

Like Son

Charles thundered into the room, flinging the door open, only to be greeted with V.V. sprawled across the bed in nothing but boxers with the sheets strewn all over the places. The room, dusted and polished to a finish just the other day by the maids was now covered in bread crumbs, lettuce, and empty boxes of Big Macs. Blearily, V.V.'s eyes blinked opened and rested on Charles' fuming face. "What are you doing?" Charles demanded.

"Well... I was sleeping before you showed up. Now I'm trying to get back to sleep," V.V. slurred, turning onto his side and closing his eyes again.

It had taken Charles years of practice to keep his eyebrows from twitching in exasperation. "Do you have any idea what time it is? It's two in the bloody afternoon!" he roared, his hand slamming a nearby endtable and consequently sent a Big Mac box flying off the edge.

"It's two already? So I've been sleeping for...twelve...eight...carry the one... How much is 2PM minus 8PM?"

"Get up! This instant!" Charles strode over to the bedside, yanking the blankets off. "I need you to make yourself useful!" V.V. simply shrugged at the lack of blankets and responded by grabbing a nearby plushie of a large, purple blob.

Charles sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, slowly massaging his temple and wondering why he had to have this contractor out of all the possible contractors. He was certain that the others wouldn't be such a nuisance. Meanwhile, V.V.'s eyes snapped open in annoyance as he found himself falling towards the black hole of the emperor's butt. "Do you mind? Get off my bed, you fatass. You're turning it into a trampoline."

The behemoth merely scoffed, hardly fazed by a half century old insult. "I hope you remember that 'your' bed is my property. Now get up. I need you to capture someone for me."

"Hm?" The blonde sighed, and rolled onto his back again. "Ignoring me, using me to do your dirty work... You were much more fun when you were younger. Do you remember? Being so angry every time I criticized you, getting so riled by incompetent nobles... Heh. It's so nostalgic. Who would've imagined that that scrawny teenager who hated the useless, corrupt system of nothing but rich men's sons, would turn into this lardass gramps with an empire based on social evolution. Humans age so quickly. To think…that time actually holds meaning and value. Makes me feel like living for the sake of living."

"Are you finished pretending to be philosophical yet? I need you to capture this girl; Nun—"

He was completely ignored and cut off. "And your hair has gotten more and more atrocious by the year, by the way. I feel a bit bad for that handsome little boy C.C.'s made a contract with if he inherits your hair genes. She'd never have the patience to deal with it like I do. Honestly, why don't you do something about it, Curly? Get the fittest hairstylists to fix it."

"Honestly," Charles replied through gritted teeth, "Why don't you do something about your hair? What is with that disgusting rag mopping the floor? Cut it!"

"Ah," V.V. grinned slyly, now kneeling next to Charles and wrapping his arms around Carles' neck, "but all the better to tempt your inner pedophile with, little red riding hood."

"Get off of me, you pervert." The emperor pried the tiny arms off his neck. "And meanwhile, put some clothes on. This is the capital of the world's largest militant empire; not some brothel."

"Well, if you insist." The boy like figure promptly leapt off the bed and reached for the doorknob, "I guess I'll just go and grab my clothes from the court dryers. And maybe take a few detours to the dining room and the powder room... Would you believe it; eternal youth comes at the cost of absolutely no navigational skills. And hm, maybe I'll happen to trip and hit my head on the way and my memories will get all fudged up. Now, what am I? Your illegitimate child? No, you already plenty of those. Oh, I know. I'll be your sex slave. Now, be a dear and hand me something sharp. I'll scratch myself up a bit for show."

With crossed arms and a clenched jaw, Charles replied, "Fifty years, V.V. Fifty years. Haven't you gotten tired of trying to embarrass me?"

"I don't know, Charlie. That depends; have you gotten tired of trying to keep me from embarrassing you?" His contractor simply huffed and pointedly ignored him. "Tsk. A greater man would say touché and admit defeat. Now, I'm tired. Gimme Grimer," he held his hand out towards the purple plushie expectantly, waiting impatiently for the emperor to cater to his will.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Get it yourself. You'll get fat. And no, I don't want to hear about your magical metabolism, or how I shouldn't be saying that. Now, I'm a busy person; I don't have time to be entertaining your every whim and then some. Once I give you the command, you are to capture Zero's sister alive and bring her to Kamejima and await further instructions from me. She goes by the name of Nunnally Lamperouge; she should appear blind and crippled, and is currently residing in Area 11. You track her down and capture her with whatever methods. Got it?" With a final hmph of command, he stood up and gaited out with a dramatic swish of his cape.

"Don't show off your disgusting back with three folds, fatass." V.V. called after him, and then flung himself down on his bed sighing. "And since when was I officially demoted from accomplice to slave? Geez." In both hunger and retaliation, he flung his door open, and screamed to a passing maid, who was completely startled by a little boy with just boxers on, "Hey, you! Get ten Big Macs here! Now! Move it!"

The door slammed shut and he stalked over to the computer in the corner of his room. "Now... Which store's inventory am I going to buy out with the royal treasury; Abercrombie or American Eagle? Decisions, decisions..."