Numbervania: 1000 Tricks & Treats

[BeakerSqueedom]

*Gnaws on Eddie's fic--for no reason at all* XD

 

[The Count]

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Page 16: Bell-Ringin'.

Upstairs—still inside the sealed B-Tower—Ed was sonorously sleeping after an afternoon's worth of box office treats. Without noticing it, his pants' pouches filled up, six storms at a rate of three in his left and now another three in his right. The last one to snuggle itself there gave a gentle jolt—not wanting to harass her owner—to which he drowsily demanded to remain resting. Another addition snuck inside, making use of the flushed floor's underlying escape hatch. Big enough to block the passage, a barreled bear, the hunchback approached the doombells hanging inside the arched apartment's uppermost reaches. "Hmmm" Quasi muttered to himself, "it's not the Liberty Bell I used to ring back in Philadelphia... But I'll give it a swing." Swinging and ringing resonated—loud enough to wake the dead—if they weren't already and roaming the master's monsterly manor—rousing Mr. Castle from his slumbering state. "Wha huh? What's that infernal..." "Oh sorry" the hunchbear apologized, "didn't mean to bother you sir. I'll just be going..." "No, wait, I'd like to know who you are." Standing as straight as he could—or as straight as his inwardly-doubled body would allow—this spook held out his pawed hand. "Quasi" was only the half of this haunter's essence. An ear—the right one—bent backwards signaling that auditive organ's deafness. Hairline cracks graced the top of his bare forehead, sunken eyes peered outwardly between his eyebrows and weathered baggy cheeks, his frame fused together giving him that distinctive haunched back. Ed put his own into the milky chocolate furred fingers, careful of the small claws. "Quasibobo's the name... Ringin' bells is my game." "Ah, the famed Hunchbear of Notre Dame." "Whoa! You know about me?" "Of course, you're one of the biggies. Come on, I bet Count's got dinner ready for us by now" Ed offered after a quick update from his wristwatch. "Sure hope they've got my faves" Quasi said. "Which are?" "What else, jalapeño bell peppers!" Sharing a grimace, both descended downwards to dine, the bell-ringer depositing his marble 16 into the host's hands.

 

[BeakerSqueedom]

More eggnog fer you, Eddie.
*Gives him a cup*

Quasibobo!
YEEEEE!

 

[The Count]

Oh... Thanks. *Mmm, delish with the frozen strawberries and just milk and cream, like mom used to make.

 

[redBoobergurl]

Quasibobo! I love it! I think this may have been my favorite so far, could be because I have a soft spot in my heart for bears.

 

[The Count]

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Page 17: Dancing Queen.

Dinnertime done with, Ed and the Count relished their good fortune. Servant bats whisked the dishes and glasses back to the kitchens, where the cookware cleaning took place unaware to their sated selves. In need of a good breather, both guests departed from the table—the remaining haunters dispersing to their own devices. The Count guided his fratmate past a hidden door—marked by the familiar batty insignia, glitzed and glossened to achieve a psychadelic sheen. They harkened upon the Midnight Belfry Ballroom, perfect for parties or dancing the night away. Some of their fiends had found their way into the covert chambers, waiting for the music to start. A lean lavender lady approached the gutsied-up gliding floor's center, silven microphone in her hands. She put the instrument close to her blacken-iced lips before taking up the song.

Last dance.
Last dance for love.
Yes, its my last chance.
For romance tonight.

Beautiful blonde hair flew behind, in time to her musical motions. Silver speckled upon her face—as well as all the silver that shone as part of her costume, including silver stars on her wine red blouse—leaving her bare belly daringly yet defiantly in full sight. Decorative disco balls accentuated her attire, jingling from the ends of her sleevecuffs and dangling in her right ear as a lone earring. These along with the dual-horned crown—sporting a smiling disco balled skull—gave creedence to her truly being a dancing diva.
Oh, I need you, by me.
Beside me, to guide me.
To hold me, to scold me.
Cause when I'm bad.
I'm so, so bad.

So lets dance, the last dance.
Lets dance, the last dance.
Lets dance, this last dance tonight.

By this time everyone was digging the scene, jumpin' and jivin', crowding the trampled square. Festively colored lights blinked on and off as the music pounded throughout the ambulent abode. Sections of the board even lit up in fancy flickering patterns.
Last dance.
Last dance for love.
Yes, its my last chance.
For romance tonight.

Oh, I need you, by me.
Beside me, to guide me.
To hold me, to scold me.
Cause when I'm bad.
I'm so, so bad.

So lets dance, the last dance.
Lets dance, the last dance.
Lets dance, this last dance tonight.

Yeah, will you be my Mr. right?
Can you fill my appetite?
I cant be sure.
That you're the one for me.
But all that I ask.
Is that you dance with me.
Dance with me, dance with me, yeah.

Oh I need you, by me.
Beside me, to guide me.
To hold me, to scold me.
Cause when I'm bad.
I'm so, so bad.

So lets dance, this last dance.
Lets dance, this last dance.
Lets dance, this last dance tonight.

Oh I need you, by me.
Beside me, to guide me.
To hold me, to scold me.
Cause when I'm bad.
I'm so, so bad.

So, come on baby, dance that dance.
Come on baby, dance that dance.
Come on baby, lets dance tonight.

So lets dance, the last dance.
Lets dance, the last dance.
Lets dance, this last dance tonight.

Once the song finished, Abba leaned over to give her counting cousin a happy heartfelt hug—not to mention the marble 17 that awaited to be his. Greeting and eyeing his guest over, she tended her hand for him to take, smile still gracing her lovely lips. "Mmm, like I think that bolting bulb's for you." The dancer pointed a slim finger upwards, directing Ed's head to where the sight of his own collectible, seventeenth storm slid across the air into his grip. Their dance cards filled for the night, most of the monsters retired to their doomicile dormitories, chattering about the previous day's events to their companions.

 

[BeakerSqueedom]

*Does John Travolta dance to the tune Stayin' Alive*

This was just shagadelic...
like, far out, man!

Zoinks, I can't wait for the next chapter.

Like, woah, you're just amazing in writing fanfiction...y'know that?

 

[The Count]

Huh? Then why can't I get you to write more of your own? Or the other fanfic authors for that matter?
*Sadly waits for the other stories to be updated.

 

[BeakerSqueedom]

Awww.
*Huggles the saddened Eddie*
Not tah worry, sir!
I'll...er...think of something...




X_X

I got nothin'.

 

[The Count]

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Page 18: Druid Recitation.

Parting ways off to their respective private quarters, the Count headed off to the lounge area in search of a soothing stab at relaxing near his vintage 20's spookbox. The tunes would wash over—memories moving him to counted contentedness. His attention was drawn to the stranger seated or standing towards the far open end of the barside counter, cloak as blue as cobalt, it's hood masking the wearer's visage. "Are you the master of this manor?" came a deep gravelly voice, somewhat similar in tone to that usually smiley guy—renound as "America's favorite TV game show host!" "Yes, I am the Count von Count" replied the vampire. "Mmm, good. For a moment I thought I was going to have to wait until the next eclipse to meet with you." The newcomer flipped through the pages in his book, consulting and concentrating on remembering the ingredients. "Do you mind if I serve myself?" "Not at all, go fright ahead. But what is your name?" "Huh?" he asked, back half-turned towards us as his grossly yellowed fingers inched along the bracketed shelves... Fumbling for a second with the gillyweed leaves, he looked back to answer our host. Blood rimmed eyes stared out, his skin just as grossly yellowed as his hands. Sweeping a swaft of his greasy black hair over his ears he answered "Darkly Pallor". "That's my pet ferret Cryptal down there" he indicated, pointing at the rodent left near the once occupied barstool. Her rotting bandaged body gave off an air of decay, evident by the gnawed patches of fur and the sewn tail. Her eyes glowed red—a little angrily at the Count—sniffing his hand beneath her rodentlike nose. She would've bit him with those fanged buckteeth, but relenting, Cryptal merely nudged the peanut shells currently feasting upon near the grand counter as she allowed him to pet her. Glouring down at her, the druid's second fellow traveler uttered his complaints. When searching for the source of it's voice, he merely gestured at the skull on his book's cover. This, known as the Loquacious Spellbook, threatened to rain down on the animal, jabbing at her with it's pointy bolt-tipped horns. Cryptal prepared to fend off this latest antagonism, purple gemstone beginning to brighten. It was unnecessary—her attacker calmed into submission—as soon as Ed's cloud asserted its ruling reign as peacemaker. "Heh... Let the children play at their games, we've more important business to conduct Count." Listening to Pallor's comments, our host noticed there now stood a flask filled with solution next to a doughy shape of an 18 atop the bar's ledging. The glinting gilded skull brooch cinching his hood lower, this masterful mage proceeded with his experiment. Pouring a few drops onto the lumpen mass—careful not to spill any on the tabled surface—it solidified into a newly-wraught marble consistency. Both onlookers amazed to find the carved contours creating a perfectly sculpted number—its form finely defined with nary a crack nor chink scarring its purity. "Well, at least it's better than turning gold into cottage cheese." "Yes, but the good news is that now I can add yours to the other numbers I've received." "Ah well... No noose is good noose" Darkly Pallor mentioned jestingly as he drank what was left of the paultry potion. "Hexcept for the hangman, his good noose is when there is a noose to hang." The two laughed at the same time, joining in on the humor of the conversation.