Chapter 4: The Road Trip Begins
Lavie burst into the room, ripping off a cactus costume. “There weren’t any free bagels for cacti in New Zealand!” she roared.
“Is that a yes, then, Jell-o?” Thieu asked.
Zelo closed his eyes and counted to a sufficiently high number beforereplying.
Thieu put her hands on her hips. “nobody cares! You could even ask ‘em.”
Zelo turned to Nobody. “Nobody, do you care?” he asked.
Nobody shrugged, and in a sullen voice he said, “Not particularly.”
Thieu grinned triumphantly.
“Oh, hello, Lavie.” Death said as he loaded his belongings into the back of Zub’s new eighteen-wheeler.
“Hi,” she said grumpily.
“Hoy there, lovebirds,” jested Ran as he threw his Mallet ‘o’ Communism, as well as Ned the Surprisingly Chill Zombie.
“I’m glad my opinion is so valued,” muttered Ned from the confines of the truck.
“You have an opinion?” asked Ran.
“I repeated multiple times that I don’t want to go.”
“Oh well, nobody really cares,” shrugged Ran as he slammed the rear door down.
“It’s true,” said Nobody with an aura of downcast.
“Hurrah for proof!” decreed Death.
“Harumph,” harrumphed Lavie harumphedly.
“I believe you’re supposed to roll that ‘R’ a little,” intoned Death helpfully.
“And the emphasis is on the ‘-rumph’, not the ‘ha-‘,” added Ran.
Lavie glared at them both.
“Why are you so upset?” asked Death.
“I hate the number eighteen,” she growled. “Such a horrible number!”
Death smiled appealingly, snapped his fingers, and a nineteenth wheel was added to the left side of the truck.
“Works for me,” she shrugged as she climbed into the cab, the intent to drive imminent.
“Uh oh,” gasped both Death and Ran simultaneously.
Lavie whipped around at a blinding speed. “WAS THAT SEXISM?!” she demanded.
Note; We here at Zub 2: Road Trip to the Funny Farm do not condone sexism in any way whatsoever, but merely use it for jokes. JUST KIDDING. Sexism isn’t funny, and neither are we.
“Perhaps I can settle this dispute between you two,” offered Gordon the Groudon.
“No.” hissed Death. “You’re not in this chapter.”
“Fine,” Lavie crossed her arms. “Do any of you males want to drive?”
They both knew it was a trap, clearly.
“I have to go…. help someone finish a cat,” Ran said meekly.
Lavie turned expectantly to Death.
“I, too, have a perfectly fathomable explanation!” he proudly proclaimed. “If you’ll just give me a second to, ah, remember it…”
Lavie glared at the two, before freeing Ned from the storage area of the truck.
“I’m free!” he cried.
She then stuffed him in the cab, saying simply, “Drive.”
She looked around, spirits lifted. “Say, where’s Zub?”
Death shrugged, hoping she didn’t here the muffled yelps or the banging in one of the crates of the truck.
Eventually they slowly realized that they could not go anywhere without the truck, so they all clambered in, noting how well furnished it was.
“…With my brand-new Ocelotcorp Wris****ch!” finished Death.
note; this advertisement has been paid for by the ocelot corporation
“Don’t you need wrists for that?” asked Lavie.
Death widened his eyes sockets and slumped against a wall. “I think I need some fresh air,” he choked.
“Man, I wish I wasn’t a robot so I could breathe some of this Ocelotcorp-brand oxygen,” sighed Ran as a fly landed on him, causing him to die and instaneously be replaced.
“I love how non-promotional we are,” nodded Lavie.
“Good news, and bad news, everyone!” proclaimed Death, bursting in from a side door.
“That was fast,” noted Ran dejectedly.
“What’s the bad news?” asked Lavie as she reclined on the couch.
“Oh, we’re being chased by some cultists,” Death explained nonchalantly. “But the good news is, I got plastic wrists so I can wear my wris****ch finally!”
He showed them all his plastic wrists.
They all admired them, admitting they were pretty sweet. The Ocelotcorp-brand wris****ch really completed the look.
“Oh, wait, cultists?!” exclaimed Ran.
Death paused for a moment, then said hesitantly, “I thought I already mentioned that part.
Ran checked the previously typed words and couldn’t help but notice this fact was true. “After checking the previously typed words, I can’t help but notice this is true,” he said redundantly.
“Aha, see!” Death exclaimed proudly.
“See what?” Lavie asked from the couch, flipping a page on her magazine.
“I have no idea,” said Death as he took a moment to survey her beauty; her perfect, light chocolate skin was covered in an ethereal white robe, with platinum-blonde hair sweeping down her shoulders.
“Yo, Ned, make a pitstop at the nearest town!” Death called. “I’m seriously bored!”
“Dorf Town?” asked Death. “That’s a bit redundant, no?”
The passerby shrugged. “It is as it does,” he said, with a tone that suggested he was extremely… mellow. “Say, you got any food on you?” he asked, scratching his shaggy hair.
Death looked him over. “Not for you…” he paused, squinting at the man’s name tag. “RICHARD!”
Richard shrugged and then dully climbed into the truck.
“….Right,” said Lavie after a few minutes. “Ned, would you be a Deerling and fill up the gas?” Ned the Surprisingly Chill Zombie shrugged in compliance.
As soon as he stalked off, a figure wearing a bloodred cloak flew into the small clearing in the middle of the quiet village, riding on a Ledian. The Pokémon, contrary to its appearance of a docile ladybug, hissed and snarled at our heroes.
“Hello, mates,” the figure said as he flashed a toothy grin through the shadows masking his face. “Do you know a chap named Gordon the Groudon?”
The trio understandably shook their heads.
“Oh, you dirty little liars,” chuckled the figure, drawing a Pokéball. “Musharna, destroy them all!” he cackled. Ledian mimicked his actions, right to his miniature salute following his toss.
A small, pink elephant-looking Pokémon appeared, menacingly drifting a lazy haze out of a hole in its head that did not look natural.
The worst part, by far, was that it was sleeping.
“Why does it get a break but we don’t?!” cried Death, wiping away tears.
“It’s not even a minor character!” spat Lavie.
The Author, being the dashing devil of handsome he is, swooped in to explain it. “Lavie, Death, we’ve been over this; you don’t get any breaks until your life debt is passed.”
“Awww,” they muttered, not unlike small children.
“What about me?” Ran asked. “I don’t owe you my life.”
The Author smiled, broadening his purple-coated arms. “You owe me your firstborn, of which you cannot give birth to. Therefore, I own you.” He gave a reassuring shrug. “It’s no fault of your own.”
“Musharna, Psychic!” commanded the hooded figure, with a slight cackle that vaguely clued in the fact that he was evil. In case you have yet to figure it out, he was evil. Secretly, of course.
“Togekiss, I command you to murder!” cried Lavie, releasing her own Pokémon.
“I love that battle cry,” sighed Death.
The dirt clearing they were standing on became terse with excitement as a crowd slowly began mulling about its edges, looking fir a deathmatch to spruce up the morning of doing questionable activities and eating cheesy snacks.
“Togekiss, Aura Sphere!” yelled Lavie, as the winged chicken launched a blue sphere of destruction upon the Drowsing Pokémon, who managed to sleep regardless.
“Did… did you even hear me?” asked the shady fellow tersely.
Musharna let out a long snore as another barrage of Aura Sphere hit it, knocking it out. This isn’t to say it had any visible difference, as it was still sleeping through the unconscious. Its trainer sighed, indicating this wasn’t a first time occurrence. “Ledian, take the lead.”
Ledian smiled wickedly, showing off several wicked fangs as it leaped forward, facing Togekiss.
“Since when do Ledian have fangs?” asked Lavie as Ledian leapt forward menacingly.
“Since…. ah, Bullet Punch!”
Ledian barked ferociously, then slugged Togekiis as hard as it could. The resulting impact is comparable to hitting a large watermelon constructed solely out of platinum with a slinky.
“That was sad,” noted Lavie.
“We have more! Use your secret attack!” cackled the figure as a coup de grâce.
The Togetic imploded on itself, creating a black hole.
Death checked his small books about personal facts about people he knew that he kept on his person at all times. “Ah, look at this, how funny. We’re all allergic to the same stuff; fur, peanuts, macadamia nuts, and black holes!”
“What a coincidence!” said Ran.
“Life’s just weird like that,” sighed Lavie.
“C’est la vie,” laughed Ran. Unfortunately, completely contrary it his actual intelligence, the intelligence required to understand that joke was beyond Lavie, Death, and even Ran.
None of that mattered, however, as they had all been sucked into the black hole, which neatly closed itself back up.
Death, Ran, and Lavie stepped out of the truck’s back garage door. “Whoa, what happened here?” asked Lavie, surveying the carnage.
Death shrugged. “Good thing we sent out those duplicates beforehand.”
“I shall have my revenge!” cried out the cultists, realizing he was defeated. “Does next Tuesday at around 3:00 sound good?”
Death rubbed his skull. “Actually, I sort of have a cooking class around then.”
The cultist tapped his chin with a pencil as he brought out his calendar. “I think I have some free time the following Thursday…”
“I have Tae Kwon Do then,” admitted Ran.
The cultist looked down at his calendar, flipping a few pages. “Ho hum. I suppose you’ll have to shoot me an e-mail as soon as you get some free time….” And with that, he was gone.
“Let’s go to the supermarket,” said Death, walking off to a fairly modern-looking building. “ I need some flame, some more scythes, some flaming scythes for the nephews…”
Ran shrugged and began following him. “I could use some more bread and eggs. And more Communism.”
“Wait, did you ever say where Zub was?” Lavie asked after a pause.
Zub burst out of his crate, gasping for breath.