FOREWORD: I LIIIIIVE!! ...Just a quick intro this time around, simply to say that this is but a blip on my ff.net submission screen. Don't expect more for quite a while, if ever... just felt silly and physically able to write tonight. This fanfic is the result.
NOTE: This fic assumes you've read the entirety of the comic, "Everything Can Be Beaten," as it starts up right where the last couple of pages of the book are. If you haven't yet, shame on you. But if you don't want spoilers, don't read on.
...And no, it's probably not what you think. For those who feel flames are necessary, even before they've actually read this thing: it's not rated PG and Parody/Humor for no reason.
LEGAL HULLABALOO:
"Everything Can Be Beaten" and the characters therein are the property of Mr. Jhonen Vasquez ('o' optional, call for details) and Mr. Crab Scrambly, aka.... um... [panicked look] Aw, cripes, and I met him, too...! Well, to whatever the non-pseudonymed Mr. Scrambly's name is, who I also owe an apology now for forgetting his name. A good artist, he is. Please do not fold, spindle, mutilate, or sue the Gerbil.
Now let's get on with it!
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EVERYTHING CAN BE BEATEN (Slash Version)
terminally abridged by Apricot the Gerbil
IT could feel the blood rushing to his head (his own blood, for the first time in quite a while) in giddiness as he stepped through the door of The Nameless Factory on the Hill, noting the comforting, familiar feel of the pounding, wet machinery and quiet, quick squeals of tiny kittens.
But who was this? IT was startled to see this new being standing where he had so long ago... IT gasped in awe at this creature's prowess, as the fluffly wuffly kittens were rended into no more than slimy kibble within mere seconds. He felt a blush creeping up under his mask as he gurgled a hesitant "hello...?"
The figure before IT lashed around in irritation, a breath of fetid air rushing over IT's face. THEM scowled from behind his mask at this intruder. The glistening, heavy axe THEM held over IT shined... Even in the dim light of the room, its danger could be seen without difficulty.
But IT saw none of this! All IT could see was the face of his destined companion. Those millions of years, spent exploring the countryside (disappointing as it was in the end), all the new faces he saw and made equal under his mallet-- IT had never seen one so perfectly like himself! Even if THEM was wearing his mask kinda crooked.
Emotions he'd never knew he could feel coursed through IT's being. He must be with this strange other half of his, there was no question. IT ran up, shrieking with even newer newfound joy as he bounded into THEM's arms, taking care to dodge the axe-end as he did so.
THEM grunted a bit, stunned. The face behind the foreboding mask twitched a bit; THEM turned his head to look for a moment at the kitten-pile, then turned back to look past IT's joyful shoulder. Perhaps he was thinking if duty should be overlooked, just this once.
Or maybe it wasn't. You never know with characters that don't talk.
THEM tensed his body then, the muscles in those kitten-feared arms pushing IT away from him as if by some instinct.
IT still smiled hopefully. "You're the only one for me! Even in this huge, wonderful world-- oh, we have so much we could talk about!" Oblivious to how he had just said more dialogue than in the entire comic so far, IT continued. Tears welled up to create thin, sparkling rivers across his face, driving away the clotted flesh from his cheeks like Scrubbin' Bubbles through a drain made of SPAM.
...that was kind of a stupid analogy. Anyhow, IT continued: "You can't deny the bond between us two! I know we've just met, but... but we'll find a way! Even if it turns out we don't have any sexually defining organs under these worksuits-- we'll FIND a way!!"
You could almost hear the Celine Dion music in the background as THEM stood there, silent. IT's heart could be felt in his throat as he waited for a sign of agreement, of anything.
A low, gravelly sound purred from deep in THEM's throat. He reached up, in what might be an invitation to a hug...
...and then hacked out a horrifyingly loose-sounding cough. Bits of kitten-parts fell out from THEM's mouth, some still dangling on the mask, until THEM swept a meaty arm across his face. (Buildup like that tends to happen after you've worked for a million years without a lunch break.)
IT grinned. Perhaps a kiss would come soon?
THEM finally opened his mouth, just a tiny bit...
"Duck."
The axe was in THEM's hands within the blink of an eye, and gone in... well, the next time that eye was blinked, I guess. It whirled through the air... and met the skull of a small pink gerbil sitting behind IT with a sickening SQUICKK.
IT blinked at this animal, confused. He hadn't seen that creature before. Had one of the kittens gotten loose? But why would a kitten have a computer and a keyboard there with it? Kittens can't write.
Then again, if IT could read, he would have been even more disturbed at the fact that the words on the screen of the computer were the very lines he'd been gushing to this big snarly guy with axe proficiency. But he didn't, and thus missed one of the massive ironies of this story. Such is life.
As if a page had been turned... as if an eye had been blinked... as if a fanfic author's puppeting had been erased and rewritten into an infamous line from Monster-a-Go-Go... IT turned to THEM, and for some odd reason, all feelings of romance were suddenly gone. "What was that?" IT said to THEM's blue mask.
THEM simply shrugged. "Not from here. Bad."
IT paused, nodding awkwardly. What was he supposed to do now? "Um... still want to talk? Got a lot of great stories!"
THEM stood silently.
IT shrugged. "Trade phone numbers?"
THEM sighed...
"Pen pals...?"
...and split IT's skull in two with his trusty axe.
He then turned to the kittens, grunting tiredly at how he'd need to work faster to catch up for the last few minutes. Stupid new... thing. And what was that... not kitten thing? He didn't want to think about it. He needed to work.
Argh... all this thinking was starting to wear him down, THEM thought to himself. Maybe he should take a vacation or something. If only there was something other than this room...
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The Obligatory Moral: Some things should just be left alone. Especially personality-ambiguous beings who've done nothing but dice kittens with axes for the past million years.
THE END
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PS, to other slashfic writers:
...Beat you! [grin of irony]