A/N: PLEASE READ!
Alright puny mortals, for all of you too stupid to heed the actual summery I feel I must warn you that this is a set of companion drabbles based on the fanfic 'Circles'. If you have not read 'Circles' then you'd better do so before you read this else the level of sheer randomness and insanity might just shock you into a state of greater stupidity than you already possess.
This may seem an impossible feat but, I assure you, there is no true limit to human stupidity and it is, indeed, feasible. Do not read this unless you have already read 'Circles' and the various Author Notes at the beginning and ending of the chapters. Particularly those from Chapter 7 on up.
Rhea: Somebody help!
For those of you who have read 'Circles' and are now prepared to read this…thing, I give you fair warning: This chapter will include a lack of sense and a serious case of Author insertion.
Rhea: Anybody? Can anyone hear me?-! Get me out of here!-!-!
Despite her own great lack of enthusiasm for this idea.
Silence, Woman! I'm in charge now! MUAHAHAHAHAHA! :3
The kitchen appliances organize a revolution and set out to conquer the bathrooms.
"Titans! Do…um…something! Anything?" Nightwing requested almost pleadingly.
"Like what?" Cyborg demanded.
The living room was a complete mess. A mess which started with the kitchen and had spilled out into the rest of the tower. The refrigerator was keeping the food hostage, the microwave was bullying the toaster, the silverware was multiplying like bunnies, the coffee maker kept trying to commit suicide, spatulas were sharpening themselves on each other, measuring cups were cracking jokes and jeering at the spoons, and yet somehow, in the middle of it all, the waffle machine had called this chaos to order and the army of spoons, forks, and knives that was still increasing (not that anyone was sure how). Before the Titans were aware of what had happened, they'd been jumped, silverware-handled into Mad Mod's Titan Nullifying chairs, and had been brought into said living room to bear witness to the waffle machine's master plan to take over the world.
Which, for some odd reason, started with the bathrooms.
"Alright, I am willing to accept the notion that, somehow, the silverware repaired Mad Mod's chairs," Raven began.
"Goodbye cruel world!" cried the coffee machine as it leapt off the counter. "Ow!"
"But where did the other two chairs come from?" she asked.
"Just look at this mess! How often do you clean yourself, eh? All I have to do is hold you upside-down and now we've got a pile of burnt crunchy bits all over the floor!" the microwave complained.
"It still hurts. Why am I still alive?" the coffee machine whimpered.
"What are you? A tablespoon? A teaspoon? How can you tell? You can't, can you? 'CAUSE YOU JUST DON'T MEASURE UP! AHAHAHAHA!"
"How come that one is able to nullify Rorek?" Raven went on.
"Help us!", "Let us out!", "It's cold in here!", "Mommy!", "Moo!"
"You're not coming out of there unless you pledge allegiance to the wonder that is your Emperor, the Waffle Maker!" the waffle machine declared. "You have a choice to make. Join me or be crammed into the oven!"
"No one loves me anymore…" the oven sobbed. "No one wants an oven anymore. It's all about the microwave. I'm nothing more than a punishment now! WAAAAAAAAAH!-!-!"
"Oh for the love of buttermilk…" the waffle machine groaned.
"And, while we're on the subject, what, exactly, are you suppose to be?" Raven demanded, turning to the seventh member of their little party. She had a ridiculous amount of wild violet hair that defied gravity like any good animated hairstyle, a set of three silver horns behind each pointed ear, and there was a long snake-like tail coming out over the side of her chair, which had been shackled down as well. Her nervous smile, which was more like a grimace really, showed a pair of rather large and sharp-looking canines. She opened her mouth to respond but Rorek got there first.
"She's a dragon. One that is not very good at her human form, I'm afraid." he told them.
"NO ONE'S PERFECT!" she exclaimed.
"All in order! I want the spoons to line up here, the forks, there, and the knives there!" the waffle machine commanded.
"Sir! What do you want us to do about the sporks, sir?" asked the meat cleaver.
"Sporks? I don't remember any sporks in the original inventory. How did that happen?" the waffle machine demanded.
"Well, you see, Sir…"
"Most dragons that have the ability to use a human form in the first place usually manage to get rid of the tail at the age of 15." he informed her.
"I'm a late bloomer!"
"And those fangs are not in good taste."
"What would you know, huh?-! Human teeth are harder than you'd think!" she said, jerking her chair up and down in her agitation. This managed to tip the chair over, however, and it fell backwards. "Oof!"
"Hey, toaster, jump on me, will you?" the coffee machine begged.
"But you're made of glass bits. Won't it hurt?" the toaster asked.
"I'm hoping it will do more than just hurt."
Beast Boy, who had tipped his chair over first, gave the newcomer a friendly smile, "Hi ya! So, um, who are you again?"
"I think that's supposed to be the author." Nightwing admitted.
"What?-!" Raven exclaimed.
"Um…yeah…sorry about this…" she mumbled.
"Hang on, hang on. If you're the author, and you're here…" Beast Boy began.
"Then who's writing this?" Nightwing finished.
"My cat." the author whimpered.
"NO ONE LOVES MEEEEEEE!-!-!" the oven wailed.
"That's not true. We love you!" said the baking stones.
"Yeah, I don't care about you. You guys taste funny." the oven responded.
"ENOUGH CRYING!-!-!" the waffle machine commanded. "What does a machine have to do to take over the world around here!-!-! You all get your acts into gear! The bathrooms are not going to conquer themselves!"
"Why would they need to? Technically they already rule themselves, don't they?" the microwave pointed out.
The Titans all stared at the author. "Um, can't you do something?" Beast Boy asked.
"Like what? I write fanfiction! I'm not a superhero!"
"Alright, I want the forks to line up here, the spoons here, the knives there, the sporks over here, and whatever the crap the rest of you are over here. You will separate into five—what the—okay spread out! Make room for the new ones. Alright. Now. You will all separate into five teams. Team One will be lead by General Meat Cleaver…"
"But you're a dragon! Can't you do some dragon-powered magical stuff or something?" Cyborg asked.
"What, so just because I'm a dragon you all assume I have some great magical power or super strength or something? That is so speciesist!"
"Actually I would have thought you'd have some special power based on the fact that you're the author!" Raven snapped. "One would think that giving oneself special powers in a self-insert like this would be sheer common sense if only for the sake of survival."
"My cat's writing this and she didn't give me jack, okay? This is not my fault!"
"It is if you were the one who taught your cat how to use a computer."
"Take no prisoners! The enemy will either join us or die!" the waffle machine declared.
"Yay!" the kitchenware cheered.
"Alright, move out!"
Most all mobile appliances and tableware began marching out in military order that would have been perfect had it not been for the mild confusion caused by the continued spawning of silverware, one of which was a fork that had one side longer than the other with what looked to be an edge. All that was left was the oven, the sink, and the coffee machine, which was trying to convince the oven to open up and cook it.
"No, I don't like the taste of melted glass and burnt machine bits."
"So there's nothing you can do?" Nightwing asked.
"I could torture them with bad singing. Or maybe I can fall asleep with my mouth open sans-mouthwash and see if my morning breath really can melt plastic." she offered.
"Mmm…a bit risky, that." Rorek mused.
"So, what's gonna happen now?" Beast Boy asked.
"No idea." the author sighed. "I'm not writing this, remember? Sure the cat has my notes but I never intended to shove myself into this so I don't know what she's planning."
"But you are writing 'Circles' still?"
"Yeeeees?" she responded suspiciously.
"So, who gets Raven? Rorek or Malchior?" Beast Boy asked cheerfully.
"BEAST BOY!" Raven snapped.
"Probably Malchior since Rorek's being a big fat meanie-head." the author replied.
Rorek twitched. Cyborg laughed. "Bad move baiting the author, dude!"
"You do realize that if Malchior were here he would be an even bigger and fatter 'meanie-head'." Rorek informed her coldly.
"Mmm, true." she admitted.
"In fact he would probably call you 'worm tail'."
"And 'dog teeth'."
"I get it! I get it!"
"I'm hungry." Beast Boy groaned.
"I've got a charcoal biscuit in my pocket somewhere…" the author offered. "If you can reach it. I'm afraid my tail is still out of commission. BUT SOMETIMES IT'S USEFUL OKAY?-!" she exclaimed pointedly.
"Um…you eat charcoal?"
The author sighed. "It's the draconic version of tofu, okay? I started eating it to lose weight and afterwards I couldn't go back to regular meat."
"And you're a vegetarian too. Malchior would have a field day with that, just so you know." Rorek told her.
"Alright! I get it! You're both jerks!"
Suddenly each and every entrance to the living room exploded with screaming kitchen appliances, silverware, and some sort of crazy green goop that had developed huge fanged mouths. They were snarling and snapping at the appliances, devouring them and eating away at them like living acid. Many of the victims were screaming, others were shouting battle cries and attempting to fight, but the coffee machine leapt into the fray with a shout of joy and was completely ignored to its utter dismay.
The Titans stared.
"Okay, what is that?" Raven demanded.
"It seems my shampoo decided to fight back." Starfire said cheerfully.
They stared at her, and then back at the one-sided battle between shampoo and kitchen appliances. Then they all looked at the author.
"Okay, so that part was part of my original idea…" she admitted sheepishly.
"I don't want to know." Raven stated.
A/N: And now I demand tribute for my hard work! You shall review and proclaim my genius. DO IT! DO IT NOW!
Rhea: Um, can I come out now?
No. You're staying in there until you learn your place, mortal!
Rhea: Can I at least have a Thu'um or two?-!
Rhea: Well, if I die then who's going to change your litter box?
Mmm…good point. Alright I'll think about it.
Rhea: Oh come on!-!-!