*Author's tedious and annoying notes*- Weeeee! My very first story! Well, not really, but my first one posted. I'm not one for technicalities. :P Ahem. As I am one strange thing, I highly warn you NOT to read this fic without some sugary beverage next to you, within arms reach. Not that this story is sugar-high, of course, but the humor is......... whacked. I mean, a pink haired boy in a closet? (yes, pink) Now that is WEIRD!!!! Wow, I never thought I'd actually call something weird. That title is only for me! :D BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Now, on with the fic! ::continues to cackle evilly::
Now, without further ado............
JAMES? ARE YOU IN THE CLOSET?
An original production..........
As he walked through the huge manor, James felt an uneasy kind of foreboding, and an unfeeling chill freezing his left hand. He blinked and looked down. It was his frozen cherry slushee from 711. He quickly moved the cup to his warmer right hand and took a loud slurp. The refreshing ice wet his tastebuds and he tingled all over. There was nothing like a nice cold slushee on a winter morning. He merrily continued on his way to the stairs.
Walking around in this old mansion, one always felt a bit intimidated. James had come to ignore the loneliness the house generated during the cold winter months after a few days, but normally there wasn't a need to do so.
The owner was on a business trip, and had asked James and three friends (which consisted of the owner's butler, Biz (*cough*selfinsert*cough*) and the owner's young prodigy). They had all obliged, mainly because they had nothing better to do, and half of them lived here anyway.
His footsteps echoing slightly as he climbed the large winding staircase up to his bedroom on the second floor, James looked down at his now unfrozen hand. Though still a mixed shade of light pink, it looked well on it's way back to becoming a pearl white. He lifted his gaze to his ring finger, glancing at the mood ring on it; it was still purple.
Somehow, purple always stuck to James. Whether it was his mood ring or a post-it note Biz had stuck on his back that brandished 'kick me', purple was always there. He was seriously thinking of getting a restraining order on it.
When he reached the top of the stairs, James took another long slurp of the slushee. Maybe next time he would get banana-kiwi-mango, he thought.
James continued on and took a left from the main upper hallway. From there he took another left and came to the first door on his right; inside was the room he was staying in. James was just about to grab the doorknob when he heard a loud, slow creaking noise from downstairs.
Ever curious, James paused in front of his door, slurping his slushee in quick, short gulps.
After standing around for five minutes doing absolutely nothing, James realized that he must look like a complete idiot (which was fairly common for him) and opened the door to his room. He looked around outside one more time before, checking to see if any chainsaw wielding maniacs were lurking about. When satisfied with his search results, James walked into his room and shut the door.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A shock of purple met my eyes.
"Dang it!" I cried, my voice reaching an unstable pitch, "She did it again!"
Littered around my temporary bedroom was what must've been a hundred thousand purple post-it notes. They were everywhere: on the canopy of the bed, on my Macintosh laptop; even my hair care products weren't safe from that demented girl's paper spree!
"Biz!" I screamed, directing my voice to the room next door (the walls were thin enough to hear through), "Why the hey-na-ne-na did you-"
A loud banging to my right stopped my yelling, and Biz shouted back through the weak plaster:
"James! I am TRYING to do my homework!"
"But look what you-"
"I can't hear you!" was her reply, and within a millisecond I could hear her portable stereo banging out some country song.
I sighed and took anouther feeble look around the once spotless room. 'Good gravy,' I thought, looking up at the ceiling, green eyes wide, 'She even got the fan!'
I sighed again. Alfred, the butler, would throw a hissyfit when he saw this. Since this was also my fault (I HAD left the room vulnerable for a lengthy period of time), I decided to help poor old Alfred out and clean the room back up a bit.
As I started to pull the little sticky notes of my bottle of Panteen Pro-V, a thought struck me. I immediately fought back and a lively fight ensued. After the smoke had cleared, I got a great idea! I could suck the post-its off (calm down, I meant with a vacuum)!
As an American, it is my sacred right to be provided with a quick and easy answer to my problems, and by golly! I was gonna use it!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I crept down the stairs, making my way silently towards the storage closet, where the cleaning tools were kept. Surely the vacuum would be there.
I giggle quietly with glee at my own genius. Biz's prank had backfired; the joke was on her!
"Ehahahahahehe!" I cackled, but then mentally shushed myself. It wouldn't do if Biz found out my plan, now would it? She'd probably rip out the vacuum cord and strangle me with it if she ever found out I was trying to outsmart her. But that's a risk you take when you befriend a psycho.
By now, my slushee had melted into a warm, red liquid, but I still kept sucking the straw absentmindedly. My slurping echoed off the walls, making the large, dark manor seem even more giant.
As I was approaching the storage closet in the main hall, I yet again became aware of a slow creaking somewhere behind me. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, but right after the creak, I heard soft footsteps softly walking... somewhere..........
I refused to be scared, but the temptation to do so was quite large. But I was NOT going to be a chicken! Biz would think it was some joke if I came bursting into her room, looking like some reject actor auditioning for Scooby-Doo.
"Be brave, be brave..." I chanted to myself, chewing on the slushee's straw, "Just grab the vacuum, then run..."
I quickly opened the closet door and flicked on the light switch inside.
"Hmmmmmmm... no vacuum..." I muttered, looking around hurriedly, "Strange..."
"It's over there, underneath that case of soap," a mysterious voice said behind me, their words dripping with evil intentions.
"Oh, thanks, I-" I stopped and turned around, my jaw hanging limply. In front of me was a giant masked figure, grinning broadly at me like a dog at a bone.
"I-uh, um," I stuttered, my words tripping over each other
The figure just evilly smirked even more.
"My, um... what lovely teeth you have," I joked weakly.
The figure just smiled even more, if that was medically possible. I was about to say something about getting the name of his dentist when he shoved me into the closet.
I fell onto a large carton of bubble bath, and the did the only intelligent thing I could think of.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
After what seem several hours, I woke up in a some what... awkward position. My head was throbbing from the fall, but other than that I seemed to be living.
I jumped up immediately and nearly broke my neck tripping over the vacuum. I mumbled a couple of swears, cursing my own clumsiness. I stood up again, more slowly then before.
I groped for the light switch, my head pounding (I wanted to turn the light on first so I could see where I was actually falling).
"Ack, need aspirin," I mumbled, rubbing a temple with my free hand as I flicked the switch.
I flicked it again. Nothing.
After flipping the switch repeatedly for a few moments, I came to realize that the light wasn't working. So I'm not the fastest thinker in the world, sue me!
I sighed, wondering what I had done in my past life to deserve this, when I heard someone walking by the door. I was saved!
I started to bang on the door, yelling wildly for help. The person outside apparently heard me, and I heard them yell back "James?"
Crud. It was Biz. Oh well, I thought, beggars can't be choosers.
I hurriedly replied: "Biz! Help me! I'm stuck in here!"
"James..." she paused, "Why are you stuck in the closet?"
"Someone pushed me in and locked the door, all right? Now please let me out! It's dark, I dropped my slushee, and I smell like bubble bath.
But Biz didn't reply. There seemed to be an argument outside the door. I leaned my head against the frame, but I couldn't hear much of the conversation, only bits of it.
Oh, Robin's here! And... yes! Alfred too!
With all the people out there, I decided to make my 'stuck in closet' statement again. I took a breath and... there was no air. I gasped and sputtered, and managed to suck in enough air to say, "Could somebody... please... let me out? I think...gasp!... I'm running out... of air!"
Colors were swimming before my eyes... what a lovely shade of pink. The closet was swimming before my eyes. This place wasn't meant to circulate air. There wasn't anything living in here, and unless a soap colony sprouted up over night, there wasn't any need for oxygen.
"Guys?" A little... help?" I choked out. I leaned on the door to support my frame, but I quickly slid down to the floor just the same.
So I was going to die. I was going to die with my room full of purple post-it notes and with myself covered in bubble bath.
Since when did life dictate an idiot's death has to be humiliating?
As I rapidly slipped into unconsciousness, I thought a heard a door click open...
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"James! James! Snap out of it!" Biz cried as she slapped James' blue face from left to right, "Wake up, you goon!"
Seconds after James' departure into near-death land, Biz had opened the door. Reminding herself to synchronize her and James' time schedules later, Biz then set to work waking up James' the only way she knew how.
"James! If you don't wake up right now, I swear I will stick a post-it note soooo far up your-"
"Um, Miss Biz?" Alfred asked gently, standing in front of her in full butler garb, maybe this would help?" He offered her a glass of water.
"Oh, thanks Alf!" Biz said gratefully, grabbing the glass, "My throat was getting sore from all that yelling!"
"But wait! It's for waking him-"
Biz chugged down the water in one gulp and resumed yelling at poor near-deaf James.
But she didn't need to slap him anymore; James had revived himself. For good measure, though, she slapped him across the face one last time.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Ugh," I muttered painfully, trying to inhale air, "Am I... am I in heaven?" I squinted hard, trying to focus on the figure in front of me.
"Gasp!" I, well, gasped as I recognized who it was, "Oh no! I'm in the other place! It's Biz! NOOOOOOOOOO!"
"James, you're-" the demon said to me, but I was too smart for it's tricks.
"Listen, you're not-"
"James!" Biz yelled, pummeling my face into what I now perceived to be the floor, "This isn't heaven, I'm no angel, and you're not dead!" she screamed in my ear, reminding me strongly of a drill sergeant I had seen on MTV. I was going to point out that I thought I was down *there*, but then decided against it. You never tick off a insane maniac on purpose.
"You know, Bizzlizini, I-" I started, hoping to get a thought out.
"Bizzlizini," I repeated, my voice growing stronger now that I had air, "You know, I should be the angry one right now, not you."
"How's that?" she said, giving me some what of an evil eye.
"Well, I had my room covered in purple post-its, I was locked in a closet-"
"Oh, by the way, Robin was the one who locked you in there," Biz interrupted, "He's upstairs crying, I think."
"Um, all right... as I was saying, I had my room vandalized, I was locked in the closet, I spilled my slushee, and for some strange reason, I smell like bubble bath!" I screeched, my voice rising with every word, "If some one deserves to be angry, I think that that right should belong to me! WHEN DO I GET PITY? DO I EVEN GET ANY?"
Biz's look softened, and she gently lifted my head of the ground. She looked deep into my eyes, took a breath, and with an air of finality in her voice, she softly said...