The Quantum of Plastic
Title: The Quantum of Plastic
Author: Faline
Summary: Two old foes long removed from one another meet again in an unlikely yet strangely appropriate place.
Word Count: 1164
A/N: There ya go Sarah. I hope it's a good trade off for me being lame. I'm working on another short for you, that I was originally writing instead of this one, so that'll show up one day. Maybe. Lol :)
In the mountains of Nepal, where the winds blow cold and the natives aren't used to visitors, a monestary sits lonely against the craggy rock. It's doors are shuttered and the windows boarded. It is night.
An outsider might think the solitary structure a work of absence, lacking in human life and begging for someone to come and light a fire or two.
Inside the walls, a different story plays out this dark evening.
There are men; serious monks in serious robes watch the figure in the center of their main hall as he shifts and twists. He alone, the focus of their attention, creates the only sounds. The thwack of his modest shoes creates echoes through the hall ways and his grunts are the accompanying melody to the rhythm.
The monks watch as a cane is judiciously slashed through the air before it's wielder pauses and takes a deep breath.
Well, as deep a breath as a cup can anyway.
Mr. T Cup breaks in the middle of his evening kata, his scruffy face a study of quiet reflection. As quickly as he has stopped, he continues and the monks nod their approval.
As his movements slow and he starts the last round of his workout, a loud banging sounds through the monestary. The monks, as one, look to the large door that has been braced from the inside. Mr. Cup stops as well, his cane held aloof.
The terribly loud banging comes again and yet no one moves to answer the door.
If their guest wasn't such an inconsiderate fool, they would have heard the door bell.
A solid thump, and then another, before the door is kicked in. The cold wind rushes in to the room and the candles lighting the area flicker wildly. Mr. Cup's eyes rise slowly and he frowns at the sight before him.
A long cape. Hooded. That devil-may-care attitude that the stranger brings with him as he enters.
Mr. Cup knows who's come calling.
“Toast Master.”
Venom, and a slight disbelief, color the hero's words. His arch nemesis, the Toast Master, merely laughs and then closes the door. He shakes the snow from his robes and then turns to address his audience.
He always did love a good audience, Mr. Cup muses before he faces his opponent and falls easily in to a fighting stance.
“You were a hard one to track down Oh Hero. I have traveled the world to find it a bleak place when one has no enemy to speak of. It is especially strange when the only constant, my rock of irritation, has gone in to hiding. I have not heard nor seen you in eight years Mr. Cup and yet my hatred still flows strong through my veins. Shall we not finish our quarrel? Shall I not strike you down where you stand Oh Plastic One?”
The Toast Master's arms are flung wide and the cape he wears is thrown free.
Mr. Cup blinks in surprise at the strange attire the Toast Master has chosen for their final battle. As the laughter bubbles from inside of him, he wonders what sort of trial and error the Toast Master must have suffered to arrive as such.
“You talk far too much princess.”
The Toast Master adjusts his tiara and steps closer. Behind him, the monks blend in to one another, forming a circle around the combatants. Neither notice, preferring to keep their eyes on the other.
Mr. Cup brings his cane up. “If it's a fight you wish, then it's a fight you'll get.”
The Toast Master flourishes grandly before curtsying. “As you wish Mr. Cup.”
They come together as mad men possessed with strange and unknown anger always do, with a crash and a quick trip to the floor. The round Mr. Cup makes a difficult grappling partner. The Toast Master has no patience.
He throws Mr. Cup away from him and rolls to his feet. From within his billowy . . . skirts . . . he pulls a plain handgun. Cocking it, he smirks.
“I've learned much since we last met, the least of which being that the evil mastermind, which would be me, should never waste time on silly elaborate plots and should never bait the hero, that's you by the way, with pithy conversation once the fight has started. It's best to end things as quickly as possible.”
The gun shot is loudest yet of all the banging and Mr. Cup staggers backwards right in to the circle of monks. They hold him up, keeping him on his feet, as the Toast Master quickly empties two more rounds, then three.
His gun clicks empty and he grins. A cool and victorious grin.
It slowly turns to dismay as he realizes his enemy still stands intact. “How?”
It's the first time the Toast Master has ever been at a loss for words and it brings a grin to Mr. Cup's own face.
“After you cracked me last time I got an upgrade.” His small hand clinks on his body. “Bullet proof glass. It's also insured for fire, famine, and even flood. I paid a pretty penny for the extra flood insurance, but this one time in Philly it totally paid off-”
“Enough! I curse you Oh Mr. Cup! You are the bane of my life! One day I shall return and I shall finish you!”
Mr. Cup's eyes roll and the Toast Master makes a daring attempt to escape, back out the front door. Mr. Cup grabs his cane and sends it flying. The handle lands with precision at the back of the Toast Master's head.
Calm as the day he was created in that factory so very long ago, Mr. Cup approaches the fallen man, kicks him once to be good and sure he's unconscious, and then turns to the monks.
“He fell in to my trap better than I'd hoped. You may do with him what you will. I know what sort of strange food proclivities you all are fond of so I guess really don't want to know. But, it's time I'm on my way. I've still got that bat mitzvah in Jersey I'm supposed to entertain at. Why you humans are amused by a dancing punch bowl, I'll never understand but it pays the bills.”
His hat is handed to him and he stoops to grab his luggage bag. Properly suited for world traveling, Mr. Cup glances behind him once, cringes as he hears the screams, and sets off in to the wild night.
Author: Faline
Summary: Two old foes long removed from one another meet again in an unlikely yet strangely appropriate place.
Word Count: 1164
A/N: There ya go Sarah. I hope it's a good trade off for me being lame. I'm working on another short for you, that I was originally writing instead of this one, so that'll show up one day. Maybe. Lol :)
In the mountains of Nepal, where the winds blow cold and the natives aren't used to visitors, a monestary sits lonely against the craggy rock. It's doors are shuttered and the windows boarded. It is night.
An outsider might think the solitary structure a work of absence, lacking in human life and begging for someone to come and light a fire or two.
Inside the walls, a different story plays out this dark evening.
There are men; serious monks in serious robes watch the figure in the center of their main hall as he shifts and twists. He alone, the focus of their attention, creates the only sounds. The thwack of his modest shoes creates echoes through the hall ways and his grunts are the accompanying melody to the rhythm.
The monks watch as a cane is judiciously slashed through the air before it's wielder pauses and takes a deep breath.
Well, as deep a breath as a cup can anyway.
Mr. T Cup breaks in the middle of his evening kata, his scruffy face a study of quiet reflection. As quickly as he has stopped, he continues and the monks nod their approval.
As his movements slow and he starts the last round of his workout, a loud banging sounds through the monestary. The monks, as one, look to the large door that has been braced from the inside. Mr. Cup stops as well, his cane held aloof.
The terribly loud banging comes again and yet no one moves to answer the door.
If their guest wasn't such an inconsiderate fool, they would have heard the door bell.
A solid thump, and then another, before the door is kicked in. The cold wind rushes in to the room and the candles lighting the area flicker wildly. Mr. Cup's eyes rise slowly and he frowns at the sight before him.
A long cape. Hooded. That devil-may-care attitude that the stranger brings with him as he enters.
Mr. Cup knows who's come calling.
“Toast Master.”
Venom, and a slight disbelief, color the hero's words. His arch nemesis, the Toast Master, merely laughs and then closes the door. He shakes the snow from his robes and then turns to address his audience.
He always did love a good audience, Mr. Cup muses before he faces his opponent and falls easily in to a fighting stance.
“You were a hard one to track down Oh Hero. I have traveled the world to find it a bleak place when one has no enemy to speak of. It is especially strange when the only constant, my rock of irritation, has gone in to hiding. I have not heard nor seen you in eight years Mr. Cup and yet my hatred still flows strong through my veins. Shall we not finish our quarrel? Shall I not strike you down where you stand Oh Plastic One?”
The Toast Master's arms are flung wide and the cape he wears is thrown free.
Mr. Cup blinks in surprise at the strange attire the Toast Master has chosen for their final battle. As the laughter bubbles from inside of him, he wonders what sort of trial and error the Toast Master must have suffered to arrive as such.
“You talk far too much princess.”
The Toast Master adjusts his tiara and steps closer. Behind him, the monks blend in to one another, forming a circle around the combatants. Neither notice, preferring to keep their eyes on the other.
Mr. Cup brings his cane up. “If it's a fight you wish, then it's a fight you'll get.”
The Toast Master flourishes grandly before curtsying. “As you wish Mr. Cup.”
They come together as mad men possessed with strange and unknown anger always do, with a crash and a quick trip to the floor. The round Mr. Cup makes a difficult grappling partner. The Toast Master has no patience.
He throws Mr. Cup away from him and rolls to his feet. From within his billowy . . . skirts . . . he pulls a plain handgun. Cocking it, he smirks.
“I've learned much since we last met, the least of which being that the evil mastermind, which would be me, should never waste time on silly elaborate plots and should never bait the hero, that's you by the way, with pithy conversation once the fight has started. It's best to end things as quickly as possible.”
The gun shot is loudest yet of all the banging and Mr. Cup staggers backwards right in to the circle of monks. They hold him up, keeping him on his feet, as the Toast Master quickly empties two more rounds, then three.
His gun clicks empty and he grins. A cool and victorious grin.
It slowly turns to dismay as he realizes his enemy still stands intact. “How?”
It's the first time the Toast Master has ever been at a loss for words and it brings a grin to Mr. Cup's own face.
“After you cracked me last time I got an upgrade.” His small hand clinks on his body. “Bullet proof glass. It's also insured for fire, famine, and even flood. I paid a pretty penny for the extra flood insurance, but this one time in Philly it totally paid off-”
“Enough! I curse you Oh Mr. Cup! You are the bane of my life! One day I shall return and I shall finish you!”
Mr. Cup's eyes roll and the Toast Master makes a daring attempt to escape, back out the front door. Mr. Cup grabs his cane and sends it flying. The handle lands with precision at the back of the Toast Master's head.
Calm as the day he was created in that factory so very long ago, Mr. Cup approaches the fallen man, kicks him once to be good and sure he's unconscious, and then turns to the monks.
“He fell in to my trap better than I'd hoped. You may do with him what you will. I know what sort of strange food proclivities you all are fond of so I guess really don't want to know. But, it's time I'm on my way. I've still got that bat mitzvah in Jersey I'm supposed to entertain at. Why you humans are amused by a dancing punch bowl, I'll never understand but it pays the bills.”
His hat is handed to him and he stoops to grab his luggage bag. Properly suited for world traveling, Mr. Cup glances behind him once, cringes as he hears the screams, and sets off in to the wild night.