sickle_stories: (Hero's Manual)
[personal profile] sickle_stories
A/N: This chapter was written after the dungeon ones, and was done much less freely than most of my chapters, because I had a certain information and exchanges I had to put in. This made the chapter too long, so now I have four tea/confrontation chapters, not that I’m complaining.



Chapter 7: Tea with the Enemy


Gwen and Hero approached the large gate with apprehension. Hero moved the basket he was holding to his left hand and rattled the gate.

“Are you sure there’s a Universal Tea Time?”

“Oh yes,” said Hero, squinting at the gate’s lock, “everyone knows about the UTT. That’s why everyone’s always saying, ‘Come over for tea,’ not, ‘Come over at such-and-such time for a tepid drink of steeped dry leaves.”

“Maybe we’re early?”

Just then they saw a figure crossing the garden towards the gate. Though young, it appeared this was the butler. Without a word the man pulled from his pocket a large number of keys, the sight of which corrected Gwen’s initial assumptions, and opened the gate with a quick bow.

“I am Victorious’ butler. He calls me Quasi. I suppose you might as well, or he’d be terribly confused.”

The visitors introduced themselves and followed Quasi across the lawn to Vicky’s home. It was a very big home, with many rooms (most of them empty or painted an appalling colour), built by Vicky’s father (or his money, but Vicky had never made any distinction regarding that). The building had suffered recent alterations, and here and there could be seen piles of rubble and sand. In the orchard stood a lone sofa, covered by a purple cloth, on which sat a shovel and garden gnome.

Quasi led them into a living room (painted apple-green with an orange carpet), where Vicky stood waiting.

“Ah! Welcome, dear Enemy! And hello there, Damsel. I trust you’ve brought your belongings with you?”

“Hello Vicky,” said Gwen taking the proffered seat.

“Hello there, Villain, how’s business?” said Hero, shaking Vicky’s hand.

“Oh, same old, same old. Still working on those World Domination plans.”

“Really? I heard that Barbarin Cohen’s Take What’s Yours is quite helpful.”

“Nah, it’s just as bad as her first book, Take What’s Coming to You, ‘cept she makes it sound like it’s something you want. I’m using Frank Lydaid’s book, and a Handbook Extra.” Vicky reached for the book that lay on the coffee table. “Here, take a look.”

Conquer the World, and Keep it Too,” read Hero, squinting at the subtitle, “Because You Deserve It. Never heard of him.” said Hero

“Oh, well, that’s a shame. He’s dead, now, of course, but I met him a few years ago. Back when he was alive, I mean.”

Gwen reached for the book and nudged Hero with the crumpet-basket.

“Ah! Yes. This is for you,” said Hero, offering the basket to Vicky. “Crumpets, as promised.”

“Wonderful. I’ve always had a thing for Muppets.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Gwen put the book down. Hero peered into the basket, just in case he’d made a mistake at the store.

“Crumpets.”

Since Vicky would never share this with anyone besides his therapist (who is, as yet, MIA), the narrator feels it her duty to clarify. Vicky did, as it were, “have a thing” for Muppets. It was a recipe book.

He’d once tried setting up a Muppet ranch, but had to shut it down after a series of unfortunate events. It first got raided one Christmas Eve by desperate parents, tomatoed by an anti-faux-fur mob, and finally the Muppets were pecked by nest-building birds desperate for material. Vicky’d let the surviving Muppets go, and now the surrounding forest was famous for its soft and colourful forest-floor.

Vicky had then tried crime, and infiltrated a Muppet show to steal a few specimens for his tea. He’d subsequently spent a horrifying forty-five minutes as Uncle Vicky. He still had nightmares of being forced to wear the cowboy hat. The ones where he was overtaken by large fluffy balls of colour were thankfully forgotten by daybreak.

Instead of telling his guests these sorrid stories, Vicky called out for tea. He was secretly pleased at having asked his Enemy over: it was the only way he could justify to Quasi the need for tea.

Over tea, accompanied by buttered scones and crumpets, the Villain and Hero exchanged stories of their first days at their respective academies. Vicky told how he’d seen the ad for the Villains Academy the very evening he’d received his rejection letter from the Heroes Academy. He didn’t fit the HA requirements (age, for one thing). The VA, on the other hand, was more open with requirements: it just required one to have a secret desire to rule the world (and really, who doesn’t?).

The VA was desperately seeking new students, as the graduation rate had decreased dramatically ever since the HA had opened. After a few months of struggle in which just staying open was a triumph, it was experiencing a sort of renaissance. Its severe budget difficulties, solved thanks to the mysterious deaths of various prominent society members, who had apparently willed all their estate over to the VA, ensured the continued survival of the academy.

“Sometimes,” mused Vicky, “I flip through the Advanced section, just to find ways of controlling the post office. Or of causing the postman serious harm.”

“He’s stolen you’re companion booklets as well, hasn’t he?” sighed Hero.

“Yes! Damn it, yes. I was really looking forward to my own copy of Damsels: How To.”

“So was I. And I’m sure that’s not all the post office has taken.”

“Think maybe they’re a Secret Society intent on World Domination?” said Vicky over the lip of his teacup.

“Of course.”

Gwen, who hadn’t said a word since Quasi had brought the scones (unless “ooh”, “mmhm” and “ah” were words), choked on her one-of-many scone at the thought of postmen everywhere gathering in smoky rooms to plot world domination. Stamps would be the new currency.

“They already control world communications,” continued Hero. “They’re well organized, know where everyone lives… I’d hate to get a letter saying the Post Domination has begun.”

“A sobering thought,” agreed Vicky. “I always get Quasi to open the mail. Just in case.”
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