Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. My brain. Not even I understand how or why it comes up with this shit.
Anyway, I like this chapter. So shut up and read.
And maybe review if you're so inclined. But if you aren't that's okay. Slopes are stupid anyway.
DISCLAIMER: I'm not wearing pants right now. Wait. That's not what I wanted to say.
CHAPTER 5 – Of Vampires and Men
Bill stared at the looming castle wall he had just run face-first into. It was a pretty nice wall overall. Significant height, just enough thickness, rough enough to avoid looking boring, but smooth enough to be difficult to scale. It was certainly a wall to last the ebb and flow of time. It was a wall to be admired.
But bill is unfortunately not refined enough to appreciate a fine wall when he sees one, and started walking parallel to it in order to find a way around. He eventually reached the section of the estate where the wall ended, meeting with another similar wall headed in a direction of perpendicularity. And yes. That is a word. I didn't even know until I used it, and spell-check said it was A-OK. The things you learn while writing fan-fiction. Let. Me. Tell. You.
Not that I actually know whether or not I'm using it right, because I can't be bothered to actually look up an accurate definition.
Anyway, Bill started walking in his previous direction once more. At least until he found himself standing outside the front entrance (albeit in the wrong direction) of the rather large, dark, scary, castle that for some reason unknown to man generated it's own synthetic, all-consuming darkness.
Not that the entrance of the castle particularly grabbed Bill's attention. Because as already mentioned earlier, Bill is not refined enough to care.
And I hate you for it, Bill. I hate you for it. I'm going to kill you in your sleep.
What actually grabbed Bill's attention was in fact the extremely upset pale guy dressed in fancy clothes sitting on the ground by the entrance. Now because all unhappy pale people are generally completely safe and okay to talk to, Bill approached the man to see what was wrong.
And while Bill is a thoughtful and caring pixel, he still accidentally murdered a helpless old man. Oh yeah, and he has no taste for walls. Mother fucker.
"Hello random pale-skinned guy, randomly sulking outside of this huge random castle made of walls that I have no interest in! Why are you so sad?"
Captain Pale of Planet Whitey looked up, surprised to see anyone caring about his feelings, let alone communicating to him at all in ways that didn't involve whips, crosses, daggers, axes, holy water, and any other sub-weapons I forgot because I'm fucking dumb.
Unless I didn't actually miss any, in which I command you to bow down to me as your leader for all eternity because I'm too fucking amazing for words.
Actually, you know what? Do it anyway. I totally deserve it regardless.
Oh right. Captain Pale has dialogue. Where was I? Oh yes.
The pale guy looked up at Bill. "You really want to know?"
Bill shrugged his shoulders. Or at least he would have shrugged his shoulders. Pixels don't have shoulders. You should know that by now. I'm going to have to deduct five points from your score since you can't seem to comprehend the concept of a colored square. You brought this on yourself you know.
Score? Who the fuck cares about score anymore?
"Of course I do!" replied Bill.
The pale guy looked uncertain, but cleared his throat and began his tale anyway.
Now this is the story all about how
My life got flipped, turned upside down.
Oh god, no.
And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there.
I'll tell you how Simon took my spot as the prince of Transylvania.
In a small west-side town, he was born and raised
Training to be a hunter is how he spent most of his days
Chillin' out, maxin', relaxing all cool
Whippin' some zombies outside of the school
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
When a couple of vamps that were up to no good
Started making trouble in his neighborhood
He got into one pretty big fight and his mom was proud
And said 'You're slaying that Dracula down in Transylvania'
I'M THE NARARATOR! LISTEN TO MY COMMANDS!
He grabbed a horse-cart and when it came near
The horse's name was 'Fresh' and there was no mirror!
If anything I could say that the lack of mirrors should be obvious
But he jumped in and said "Let's go! There's a vampire in Transylvania!"
He pulled up to the castle about seven or eight
And yelled to the cart-driver 'yo, holmes, smell ya later!'
He looked at my castle, he was finally there
To kick me off of my throne as the prince of Transylvania
…Is it over?
"So basically, he beat you up, stole all your valuables, and kicked you out of your house?" asked Bill, summing up Dracula's horrible piece of media that was mostly my fault for assembling half-assedly in the first place. And no, assedly isn't a word. But I'm using it anyway. Fuck you.
It's not my fault he sung it though. I swear. Just because I'm the one that writes every piece of anything that comes out of anyone's mouth in this thing doesn't mean that I made him do it.
Wait, yes it does.
Whatever, forget about everything that happened above.
Now continuing in 3…2…1… GOOOOOO!
"Pretty much." Said the bummed-out Dracula with a sigh.
"That Simon guy sounds like a real jerk!"
"Let's beat him up and reclaim your home!"
"Ye-" Dracula's head perked up. "What? You mean it?"
"Of course! As a florist, I am bound by my duty to assist in the act of house-recovery during exact circumstances pertaining to bummed-out pale people in fancy clothing that may or may not be of vampire lineage!"
"Uh…right." Dracula found this particular pixel to be rather odd. And not quite completely together. Why the heck is he ranting about being a florist? Ah, but the pixel did offer to help him get his castle back, and sleeping outside in the dirt was bad for his perfect complexion. And the fact that he couldn't go very far away from the castle, since he was weak to sunlight. He snapped out of his thoughts. "Anyway, I accept your offer. If we succeed in this manner, I will make you my official undead florist!"
"Woo! I get to be a florist! Let's go!"
And so an unlikely team was formed. A lost, unrefined pixel with no taste in walls and probable brain injury, and a pale, fancy-pants man that might or might not have been a vampire but probably was. A team formed because they had something to gain by working together.
Dracula would get his home back.
Bill would live his dream of being a florist. Minus the living part. Undead aren't living. They're undead. So I guess he'd be undeading his dream of being a florist. But that doesn't sound as good. And no, undeading isn't a word. Stop asking.
They stormed the front entrance of the castle, determined to undermine the wicked Simon Belmont.
Shit was getting real.