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Post by Sixteen on Aug 7, 2009 11:13:38 GMT -5
Yes. Please.
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Post by Libitina on Aug 13, 2009 22:32:10 GMT -5
Chapter Six: The White House lawn was a dark stretch in the night. Clearing it, they would be free to sneak nonchalantly into the White House through a back entrance. With the country more or less in a panic, their task was slightly easier. Trillis, being extremely thin, lean, and limber, not to mention fiendishly attractive, slipped through a crack in the fence and unlatched the hook for the rest of his housemates.
They slithered across the lawn army-style. It had that sticky feeling of nighttime grass. Blarlotte grimaced. “I so am not dressed for this,” she said. Then she crawled over a particularly sticky bit; it was a trail of vomit left by BWam, who had been drinking heavily all the way to the capital.
Finally, they reached the back door of the kitchen. Cory Baxter’s father was there, huddling up against the door.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Baxter?” Trillis asked. “I love your TV show. You are just excellent, and I love the dramatic interpretation of the spin-off from That’s So Raven.”
Rondell Sheridan grabbed his shoulders. His eyes were so bloodshot that they appeared wholly red. “Get outta here, kid. This town isn’t what it used to be. Get out! Save yourself!” Then he ran away to catch the next train out of that sorry town.
Trillis shrugged. “Come on, guys, let’s go as long as there’s nobody guarding the door,” he said. They tiptoed inside, shutting the door slowly behind them so that it barely creaked. All the lights in the kitchen were off; indeed, from what they could tell upon entering, the entire building was eerily silent. They crept forward. Never having navigated the White House before, they were rather unsure as to where to find their friends.
“This place gives me the spooks,” Wijahu said. Blarlotte smacked him with her purse. The housemates continued out of the kitchen and into the corridor, Clixteen in the lead. Along the walls were portraits of former presidents.
“I’d rather like to have my face eternalized on one of these walls,” Blarlotte sighed. Clixteen hushed her and gave her a look that reminded her of their purpose. She grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around to face her.
“I don’t think so, brother,” she said, and raised her fist to deliver a sweet punch to his mouth. Clixteen tried desperately to hush her to hurry the group along, because there behind Blarlotte was that same man with the bag over his head who had taken Tinabiania from their flat. He waved his arms frantically. “Try to fly as much as you want,” Blarlotte screamed, “but I won’t take it! Just because you’re of legal drinking age doesn’t mean you can push--”. But she was cut off because the man slapped his palm over her mouth. Her eyes grew wide in fear as the man once again fled with the girl before anyone could stop him.
Clixteen, BWam, Trillis, and Wijahu faced one another with looks of grim despair.
“Wiangle is really serious about this, isn’t she?” Wijahu asked. The others answered with slow nods. Trillis thought in rapid flashes of the fond times he had experienced with his kidnapped friends. Making fun of Filan for being rich; defending his drinking to Tinabiania; talking about television with Blarlotte--no. He would not lose them, no matter how bad it might look to punch somebody who was in a wheelchair.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s follow that man! I won’t lose them.” And he broke into a sprint in pursuit of the mysterious masked man.
Meanwhile, the man carried Blarlotte in his arms to the oval office. Wiangle Fries was busy constructing walls to make the office another shape because she was really into geometry.
“I’m thinking about making this the hexagonal office, what do you think?” she asked the man. Then she wheeled around to face him. “Oh, excellent! You’ve got another! Stick her in the basement with the others.” She went back to her work.
“Ugh, boss?”
“Yes?”
“You may want to take a second look. This one is different.”
Wiangle turned around again and studied Blarlotte’s face. A slow smile of recognition etched its way onto her face.
“Well done, comrade,” she told the man. “Put her in the area we have designated. Apart from Filan and that other one, of course.” And Blarlotte was locked into a tiny room adjacent to the hexagonal office.
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Post by Sixteen on Aug 14, 2009 18:55:54 GMT -5
Thank you for another brilliant chapter.
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Post by Libitina on Aug 15, 2009 13:23:11 GMT -5
You're welcome.
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Post by katekor on Aug 21, 2009 11:35:03 GMT -5
I logged in just to tell you I love this and I'd like more
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Post by katekor on Sept 3, 2009 17:09:13 GMT -5
Chapter 7?
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Post by Libitina on Sept 6, 2009 0:05:06 GMT -5
Chapter Seven: Trillis’s heart pounded as he ran through the corridors of the White House. He was kind of winded, but this was totally worth it. Wijahu, BWam, and Clixteen followed at his heels. The halls twisted this way and that, and the only sound was the slap of their shoes against the linoleum floor. Most of the lights were shut off for lack of that maintenance which the building experienced under normal conditions. They were looking for the maniacal Wiangle, but in the giant building, she seemed impossible to find during such a tumultuous time.
Wiangle, meanwhile, was hard at work in her office trying to finalize her plans. She hadn’t expected everything to fall into place so quickly. Had she been able to sit in the president’s chair instead of her wheelchair, she would have scarcely warmed the seat before everything was exactly as she needed it to finally get her revenge. The masked man was sitting beside her. As Wiangle sat pondering, a look of deep concentration on her face, the man kept his eyes fixed intently on her. She finally noticed and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Can’t you let me think in peace, Kicket?” she barked at him.
“I can help you!” Kicket squeaked. Wiangle sighed.
“You’ve helped me quite enough. The ladies are here…and…Filan. Your job is done,” she said. Kicket scooted his chair closer and leaned his face in toward her.
“You want to know how you could really get revenge? Do you want to know the weakness?” She stared at him but did not answer. His voice had fallen to a deep bass that frightened her, and a shadow seemed now to cover his face. “Kill him. Kill the boy,” he hissed.
“Kill him! I couldn’t, that would defeat the purpose!” Wiangle screeched. She wheeled away from him and faced the window. It was dark; she couldn’t see a thing outside. Kicket rose and stroked her shoulder. She flinched at the touch.
“Think about it,” he whispered. His mouth was close to her ear, she felt his hot breath. “That would be revenge on him. And you’d destroy the others, not only the girls, but the rest of them.”
Wiangle was uneasy. She knew he was right, but she couldn’t bear that. And after all, he didn’t even really know her, did he? But she had come so far. Nothing would send a message and secure her power like this.
She looked up into Kicket’s eyes. “Very well. We ought to prepare.” Kicket grinned and kissed her nose.
Just then, the door burst open. Standing in the frame was a dashing young man who looked as though he had just run a marathon, and behind him were three more who were equally handsome and looked ready for battle.
“Geslie! Aha!” the young man, Trillis, screamed.
“Geslie?” Kicket said, puzzled. Wiangle/Geslie was red with fear and shame, but she attempted to retain her power.
“What do you think you’re doing here, Trillis?” she growled. “This office happens to be off-limits to people like you.”
“And what are you going to do about it, Roley Poley Oley?” Trillis shot back.
“Why, I oughtta…” Wiangle began, rolling toward him. Just then the door on the other side of the room opened. Groucho Marx leaped out.
“Hello! I--” he began, then stepped back. “Oh, sorry, wrong room.” He flashed past Trillis and his housemates and was gone.
“Er, anyway..” Wiangle began, but it was too late. Groucho Marx had come from the little room that held Blarlotte.
“Blarlotte!” the housemates cried, running to rescue her. Kicket did not stop them because he had run after the comedian to get his autograph, and Wiangle was, of course, wheelchair-bound.
“Blastio’d,” she said as the men untied Blarlotte. Blarlotte spat repeatedly on the floor to get any remnants of Kicket’s hand out of it.
“You witch!” she cried, pointing at Wiangle. “I would use different language, but that would be inappropriate for our audience!”
“Stuff it,” Wiangle shouted. She then attempted to charge the girl with her wheelchair, but the strong and able-bodied young men easily stopped her. They grabbed her wrists and held them down while Trillis cradled Blarlotte in his arms.
Just then, Filan and Tinabiania walked into the room. They had rope burns on their wrists and legs and looked terrified. Groucho Marx sailed past them in the hallway, shouting, “Hehe! I’ve set them free!” Wiangle looked at her former captives and then to the rest of her old housemates in defeat.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” she asked. They nodded.
“Why did you do it, Geslie?” Clixteen asked, his voice rough. Wiangle scowled and did not speak.
“You’d best give it all up now,” BWam told her. She scoffed but complied.
“You all don’t understand it,” she began slowly, hushed. “All those years, I was in love with that foolish Filan. I loved him dearly, passionately. And finally I was in his own house! But you,” here she pointed at Blarlotte, “he loved you! And you’re not even that cute!”
“She’s pretty cute, actually,” Filan said.
“You and your hormones!” Wiangle cried. “You never change! Oh, all this is in vain. I’ll never love again. Bring Larack back in.” With that, she began to weep.
Filan stepped forward and took Blarlotte’s hand. The others huddled together in a most satisfying group hug. They were reunited at last. Then Wijahu stepped out from the group.
“Geslie?” he started. The girl looked up. “You know, it doesn’t have to be like this. Why don’t we catch a baseball game sometime?”
Wiangle sniffled. “I’d like that. As long as I’m not in jail, I mean. This is kind of hairy business. Do you think they’ll forget about it?” The housemates shook their head. “Oh well,” Wiangle sighed. “I guess I better go turn myself in.” With that, she wheeled out of the room. Hand in hand, the housemates skipped out of the White House and prepared for the journey home.
A few minutes later, Kicket ran into the room waving the autograph high above his head. “I got it!” he cried. Then he noticed that nobody was in the room. “Wiangle?” he called. “Wiangle Fries?” There was no answer. Kicket shrugged. Then he sat down at the presidential desk and vetoed the health care bill.
The end.
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Post by Linda Rhaldeen on Oct 10, 2009 13:35:51 GMT -5
I can't believe no one's commented on this final chapter. This is the best one yet!
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