Interfic Continued?

[lizardgirl]

Now, if you guys feel that it's a real shame (as I do) to leave Beboots' interfic left hanging, just say and I'll copy and paste what's already been done and arrange for the next person to start writing the next chappy. ;D

[RandallBoggs]

Hmmm.....
I remembered I did the last chapter of that....

Hmm....
Since nobody had dibs on the next chapter....I guess I could do it....
I'll work on it along with Characters

[lizardgirl]

OK, I'll copy and paste as soon as I can. ;D

[RandallBoggs]

Oh boy....
I can bet after I finish the chapter there are going to be ALLOT of long ones.....
Phew....no one better make any more posts when that time comes phew....^_^

[lizardgirl]

OK, here's the first bit. I'll post each chapter every day.

Prologue

Any qualified scarer -or, indeed, anybody who's taken even a single curriculum-based history course in high school (in the Monster World, that is) can and will tell you who invented the door-system used in all modern Scream-gathering facilities: Henry J. Waternoose (the First), over a hundred years ago. But what most mons don't know is that that statement isn't entirely correct: it is a fact that the first Waternoose of that name did indeed own the first patent for the door system, but the truth is, he wouldn't know a scream canister from a doorknob, let alone be physically or intellectually able to figure out (or even understand) the complicated mathematical equations for the trans-dimensional portal to the human world.
Still, no-one's ever contradicted the statement. For who could doubt the word of the successful businessman, kindly, old, grandfatherly Right Honourable Henry J. Waternoose?
Ah, but that's the way of history, isn't it? It's over and done with, and everyone who could have told their part in the story are now dead.
Some died sooner than others, however, to prevent just such an occurrence...
...History unfolds...

The year 1853, June 18th.
James P. Sullivan hated automobiles. Hated them with a passion. They just weren't designed with large, furry, horned monsters in mind. Whenever he was in one, he had to keep his head ducked for the entire journey, to avoid impaling the flimsy canvas roof on his horns.
But that was the least of his worries. Technically, it wasn't even summer yet, but Mother Nature seemed intent of making him miserable by blasting Monstropolis with mid-summer like temperatures. Combined with the fact that he was covered with fur and was currently trapped in an even hotter, stuffier place than normal (the dreaded automobile), crammed into the backseat with his father (his mother had to go in a separate vehicle) and was having his ears deafened by the loud screaming whine from the scream-powered motor, did not a happy Sullivan make.
The driver didn't help matters. He was a relatively small green cyclops who had an unusual attachment to his car [1], and had hassled them before they had started the trip that if he saw a single scratch on his "Shmoopsie-Poo" he'd drop them off the top of a tall cliff. Needless to say, Sullivan kept a close eye on his claws.
Their destination was the ancestral manor house of the Waternoose family, currently occupied by Right Honorable [2] Henry J. Waternoose. According to his father, the Waternooses were, to say the least, notable allies. At this point in time, the Waternooses owned over a third of the businesses in Monstropolis alone, as well as several other profitable enterprises abroad. Again, according to his father, the Sullivans had been long-time friends with the Waternooses, so now it was his duty to "get in his good books", so to speak.
Sullivan remembered the last time he'd been told by his father to do something for the "good of the family business"; he'd ended up a janitor for one of the warehouses (an "exercise in humility" he'd been told). So it was no real surprise that he was hesitant, to say the least, to take on this new venture.
Still, it was an immense relief to the thirty-five year old monster when the automobile finally stopped with a jerk, parked in front of an immense manor. Wasting no time, Sullivan jiggled the door handle and stumbled out of the car, wincing as the tingling sensation in his tail informed him that it had fallen asleep.
He hated automobiles.
Sullivan shifted his attention from glaring at the source of his current misery to what would soon be the source of his boredom: the manor.
Tall towers protruded sharply into the sky like the sharp teeth of a yawning monster's maw, their turrets a bright green colour. The same colour stained the rough stone of the building all the way down to the ground; the metal the turrets were made of was obviously copper. From the ground, it looked more than imposing, almost threatening, in its size and the obvious expertise in it's design. Whoever had built the place knew what they'd been doing.
Behind him, his father took his mother's arm and walked passed him. Drawing himself up, ignoring his tail, Sullivan followed his parents up the stairway leading to the front door. Or, he should say, doors: they were double doors twice his height, ornately carved out of a dark, mahogany-coloured wood. Set deep into the wood where carvings of a hunting scene; several crab-like monsters holding weapons, followed by an entire court-full of monsters, chasing something that was never clearly seen between the trees. The carvings were abruptly cut off near the bottom by a plain piece of lighter coloured wood, leaving the one to question weather or not the 'hunt' had been a success. [3]
It was obviously at least as old as the manor itself, perhaps older. Yet another sign of the opulent wealth and power commanded by the Waternooses.
A large door knocker, again, obviously wrought from copper, hung in the center of the door on the left.
Joining his parents at the top of the stairwell, Sullivan felt the urge to stop and simply stare in awe at both the size of the doors and the intricacy of the carvings. But his father stepped aside, gesturing towards the door knocker, expecting him to knock for them.
With some trepidation, the youngest Sullivan reached for the knocker. It was a plain thing, in comparison with the rest of the door, being merely a plate of metal engraved with a faint crest (most probably the Waternoose's own coat of arms), and a massive loop of metal. The whole thing was over two feet in diameter. Grasping this loop, he lifted it up, and let it fall. The resulting boom echoed thunderously. The three furry monsters waited several seconds in silence.
Sullivan was just about to pick up the knocker again when the door to the right creaked open slowly.
"May I help you?" Came a voice from the inside. Sullivan couldn't see the speaker; it was as if the voice had come from mid-air.
His father took over from here.
"I am James Patrick Sullivan the second[4], and I am here with my wife and son at the invitation of Right Honorable Henry J. Waternoose for an extended visit."
The door opened wider.
"The master is in the study, the second door on the left of the corridor on your right." The owner of the voice had had an unusual accent that Sullivan couldn't quite recognize[5]. This time it had spoken, Sullivan had caught a glimpse of sharp white teeth (not crooked enough to really be a nice set), in mid-air. Nothing else. Still, he'd seen (or rather, not seen, in this case) stranger mons. "Your luggage will be brought in momentarily, sirs." The teeth disappeared soundlessly.
The family was left staring at what appeared to be a front hall empty of life.
But what a front hall it was.
It had a vaulted ceiling, easily two and half stories high, peppered with elaborate crystal chandeliers. An enormous staircase soared upwards to a balcony on the second floor. Running down the staircase like a ribbon of blood was a velvet carpet of the deepest scarlet that Sullivan had ever seen. The wooden railings were as intricately carved as the front doors had been, and were worn almost smooth by generations of mons walking up and down the stairs. The whole place was lit by what appeared to be tiny candles set in the chandeliers, throwing the rainbow-coloured light that filtered through the crystal over the oil paintings that were hung on the wall in such amounts as to appear to be wallpaper. Medieval suits of armor, still clutching swords and glaives in their metal claws, were set in small culverts in the wall. The carpet underfoot was softer and thicker than any carpet had any right to be, and Sullivan was almost hesitant to set foot upon them.
And there was no sign of the mysterious floating teeth or their accompanying voice either.

[1] Man, that sounded so wrong... -_-;
[2] This is actually a real title, just like 'Sir', 'Doctor', and 'Lord'. According to the Collaborative International Dictionary of English v.0.44, "Honorable is a title of quality, conferred by English usage upon the younger children of earls and all the children of viscounts and barons. The maids of honor, lords of session, and the supreme judges of England and Ireland are entitled to the prefix. In American usage, it is a title of courtesy merely, bestowed upon those who hold, or have held, any of the higher public offices, esp. governors, judges, members of Congress or of the Senate, mayors, and often also extended to lower officials, such as city council members. [1913 Webster]
[3] If you want to see this as symbolism or foreshadowing for something, be my guest. I really had no idea what I was writing when I wrote that. Man, I'm running low on inspiration. -_-;
[4] I'm making most of the names of my main characters family names, just because it'd get much too confusing if they weren't. :3 So, in case you couldn't tell by now, most of the characters in this fic are direct ancestors to the ones in the movie.
[5] Remember how 'Boggs' is a Gaelic (?) name? And the fact that Randall was originally supposed to have an Irish accent, in some of the earlier scripts? Well, why not let him have one in this fic?

OK, the next part'll come tomorrow. ;D

[Beboots]

Yay! People remember me and my work! ;D

...'course, now this makes me feel even more guilty about not being here and not updating my fics (when did I promise updates? Half a year ago?). ;

[RandallBoggs]

Of course we remembered ^_^.

Hey!
It's an INTER fic.....share the work share the blame.....Oh wait a mintue....I wrote a chatper! ^_^

[lizardgirl]

Ok, here's the next bit, by Light Rises-

*** *** ***

Mr. Sullivan looked the front hall over with an appraising air, then gave a small nod to himself. “Well…this place is something else, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, turning to his son with a pleased, impressed look.

“Yes, well, it wouldn’t hurt Henry to find some better help around here,” Mrs. Sullivan commented. “What a boorish creature, that doorman! To just rush off and leave us standing here like ninnies—didn’t even properly introduce himself. The nerve!”<br>
“Never mind him, dear,” her husband replied. “He’s just one of those…odd characters, flaunting that unnatural invisibility of his in front of guests,”—he shuddered visibly, as though at something unpleasantly bizarre—“that sort of thing. Can’t expect much from those types, you.” He then directed his gaze at the youngest Sullivan. “You picked up on that about that fellow too, didn’t you, Jimmy?”<br>
Noiselessly, Sullivan ground his teeth. It was bad enough to have the attention focused on him again, but to be thrust into a discussion he didn’t care to get involved in made things all the more unpleasant. “Well, I…I just think he went to get our luggage, honestly,” he answered awkwardly.

His father seemed to consider it a moment. “I suppose…” he conceded. “Still an odd character, though, that doorman.”<br>
“And rude,” his mother added. “You won’t see me running to ask for HIS help, that’s certain.”<br>
“Come along, let’s not keep Henry waiting,” Mr. Sullivan beckoned. He again took his wife’s arm and the couple started off toward the right corridor, as instructed.

“Don’t lag, Jimmy!” Mrs. Sullivan called to her son in a highly cheerful voice, as if speaking to a small child.

Sullivan sighed before treading across the lush carpeting to follow them. He was in DESPERATE need of a new nickname, and soon.

Momentarily, the Sullivans came upon the study’s entrance. Again there were tall and imposing double doors—“tall and imposing”, it seemed, being the general order of things around here—and seeing them already open, the family quietly let itself inside. Sullivan found himself stepping onto a thinner though still luxurious spread of carpet, a rich green this time. Around him towered bookshelves packed with dusty and faded volumes, which stretched to the high, dark ceiling above and took up the room’s walls, including the space on either side of the huge entry doors. One wall—the far one—was left shelf-less, instead making room for an elaborate fireplace that presently roared with flame, providing the room its yellow-orange glow. Why someone would even consider lighting a fire in this kind of weather was beyond Sullivan. But he soon forgot this seeming illogic as his eyes traveled upward to a painting above the fireplace: a large, veneered, and inordinately realistic depiction of a crab monster (again, most likely a past Waternoose) looming over a frightened human child of obvious Anglo descent. They were both menacing in their own way—the monster being of the acceptable type, whereas the child…Sullivan let his gaze slide over it, noting the furless, sallow, tissue-thin skin; the bulging and pale eyes; its tiny, skeletal build…it was the standard human child he’d grown up knowing: the unnatural, grotesque, and exceedingly dangerous beast from an alien world. And seeing it so vividly depicted made a knot of nausea rise to Sullivan’s throat which he found difficult to swallow.

After a moment, he tore his eyes away from the painting, working his lower jaw as he trailed his parents like a shadow. The elder Sullivans had meanwhile drifted toward the right side of the study, and soon stopped at a large oak desk which ran parallel with the bookshelf-covered wall behind it. Right Honorable Henry J. Waternoose himself sat there presently, seeming engrossed with the thick book in front of him as his finger skidded heavily across one of its open pages. Behind and above him, a red, bean-shaped, and backward-kneed monster was perched on a wheeled ladder at one of the mid-level bookshelves, apparently hunting down a particular volume.

As though sensing the eyes now upon him, Waternoose glanced up from his book. The distracted look on his face faded, replaced by happy recognition and a broad grin.

“James!” he exclaimed, chuckling as he stood from his padded stool (which was more obliging of his multiple crab legs than a normal chair) and offered a hand to shake. “A pleasure to see you again, my friend. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”<br>
“Quite,” Mr. Sullivan answered cheerfully (his son clenched his teeth at this, memories of the stifling cab and his prickling tail still sharp in his mind). “You seem to be doing well yourself.”<br>
Waternoose sighed, with a sudden, weary air. “Oh, as well as could be expected.” He then brightened as his gaze fell upon Mrs. Sullivan. “And Lily! Looking as lovely as ever, I see.”<br>
She smiled gently, placing her hand in his outstretched one. “Well, I DO try,” she replied as he kissed her hand.

[lizardgirl]

In the midst of his gesture, Waternoose’s far left eye flicked upward and caught sight of Sullivan, who stood a little ways from his parents. The other eyes followed, and soon the crab monster straightened to look his third guest full-on. A smile, which seemed carefully neutral, curled his lips as he regarded the furry monster.

“And…this would be ‘Young’ James, am I correct?” he asked slowly.

Sullivan raised a hesitant talon, but again his father took control before he could utter a word. “That you are! Turning into a fine monster, he is—loads of potential, eh Jimmy?” Mr. Sullivan had taken hold of his son’s shoulders and now shook them gently, flashing an encouraging grin at the younger. Sullivan returned the grin weakly and nodded, if for no other reason than to please his father.

Waternoose continued studying Sullivan in a strangely guarded way for a moment longer. He then smiled more freely. “It’s been a while since we last met,” he said, addressing the youngest Sullivan. “I think it’s about time we greet each other on a mutual level, man to man.” He held out a hand in front of Sullivan. “Of course, finding mutual ground between us is the point of this whole endeavor anyway, now isn’t it?” he added with an odd half-smile.

Prodded by a sharp nudge against his ribs by his mother, Sullivan recognized his cue with a start. He stepped forward and shook the crab monster’s hand—in a firm yet not overly excessive manner, just as he’d rehearsed with his father numerous times before today.

“Sir,” Sullivan addressed him simply.

Waternoose seemed to relax completely, as though he’d just confirmed something to himself and was pleased (or perhaps relieved) with the results. “A good lad,” he remarked, nodding to himself as he broke off the handshake. “Top notch manners, which is not unexpected. It’s been a top priority in your family for generations, you know.”<br>
“…And apparently not in others,” Mrs. Sullivan muttered.

Waternoose raised several eye ridges at her. “Pardon?”<br>
She shook her head, sighing. “Forgive me, Henry…I don’t mean to overstep, but your doorman wasn’t exactly an, uh, ‘exemplary’ model of good manners, if you know what I mean.”<br>
“You’re referring to Mr. Boggs,” he stated. There was the barest trace of what Sullivan could only describe as disgust in their host’s voice. “What did he do to offend you?”<br>
“Well, for starters, after he let us inside, he disappeared without announcement and left us alone. Speaking of disappearing…” She sucked in her breath, as though about to speak about something particularly delicate, then leaned forward. “It seems this Mr. Boggs likes showing off his strange little ‘ability’.”<br>
Waternoose hesitated a moment, as though not quite comprehending, then raised all five eye ridges in surprise. “Oh, no, he’s not showing off,” he explained. “He remains invisible because I ask him to.”<br>
The elder Sullivans gaped at him incredulously, exchanged glances with each other. “You…you ASK him to?” Mr. Sullivan sputtered.

“Whatever for?” his wife persisted, wide-eyed.

Waternoose bowed his head, rubbing the lids of his closed eyes. “He’s a modest creature, Mr. Boggs,” he sighed, looking up. “He doesn’t like getting in the way…so much so that his camouflaging’s become somewhat of a natural instinct for him—a defense mechanism, if you will. His previous employment arrangements have sadly left him inclined to remaining an unseen presence.” He paused, then continued in a brighter, matter-of-fact tone. “You know me, James, Lily—I’m a practical thinker, extremely economical with my resources when I can help it. If getting the most out of an employee—or in this case, a servant—means letting him walk around the manor invisible, then why SHOULDN’T I encourage it? It’s an arrangement that works quite well for both of us, don’t you think?”<br>
Mr. Sullivan frowned, brows creased. “Aren’t you worried someone might think…amiss of you for having a servant like him?” he asked.

“And you can’t forget he’s still quite rude,” his wife added.

Waternoose’s expression grew inexplicably dark. “Believe me, it’s much better for both Mr. Boggs and myself that he remain invisible than suppress that little quirk of his.” The darkness in his features vanished, now becoming pensive. He reached for the book that he’d been reading at his desk, which still lay open. “As for his ‘rudeness’…true, the boy’s a bit rough around the edges,” he went on, flipping the book closed and hefting it into his hands, “but I can’t deny his usefulness, with all the odd jobs he does around the manor.” He turned to slip the thick volume back onto a shelf behind him, then looked back at his guests with a sudden smile. “In any case, I’m certain you’ll hardly even notice him.”<br>

[lizardgirl]

He laughed at his own joke, and the elder Sullivans joined in. Their son managed a nervous chuckle, too, but only did so out of sheer politeness.

Waternoose caught a glimpse of Sullivan’s halfhearted reaction, briefly locking eyes with the younger monster. He seemed to decipher Sullivan’s discomfiture, for the crab monster stopped his laughter, frowning slightly, then cleared his throat.

“Yes, well…it’s been a long day for you, I imagine,” he said, subdued and businesslike again. “I shouldn’t keep you from settling in before dinner tonight. Your luggage should be waiting in your rooms by now.” He turned, looking up at the red monster on the wheeled ladder. “Fungus!”<br>
With a nervous little jolt, the monster scrambled down the ladder and jogged to his master’s side. He adjusted his three-lens specs, wheezing faintly. “Y-yes, sir?” he stammered.

“Would you kindly escort Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan to their room? I need to see to it that preparations for tonight are underway.”<br>
“Of course, sir,” Fungus answered. He started toward the study’s double doors, waving for the elder Sullivans to follow him.

“But…what about our son’s room?” asked Mrs. Sullivan. She and her husband remained stationary, directing puzzled looks at Waternoose.

“Don’t worry, he’ll come upstairs momentarily,” he replied. “I just need to have a private word with the boy.”<br>
Sullivan whipped his head toward Waternoose, who was looking at him intently. With a sudden surge of unease, the furry monster sucked in his lips.

Mr. Sullivan cracked a strained grin and chuckled. “Surely, whatever you’re about to tell Jimmy can be said in front of—”

“A private word,” Waternoose insisted, raising a finger. “We’ll all be together again, conversing freely, soon enough. For the meantime, however, I want you two to unpack and rest up for later.” He nodded at Sullivan’s parents, hands behind his back. “I’ll see you both again tonight, James, Lily. Good afternoon.”<br>
Reluctantly, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan followed their bespectacled guide, glancing back with marked uncertainty before exiting the study. Fungus peered inside once the others had gone through the open door, looking at his master as though awaiting a signal. Waternoose nodded, and Fungus proceeded to shut the door with a reverberating boom. For a long moment, all Sullivan could do was stare at the closed doors and listen as the fire’s loud crackling reminded him of the room’s new emptiness.

“Believe me, son, it gets much easier when you don’t have expectant parents breathing down your neck.”<br>
Sullivan turned to look at Waternoose, whose demeanor had considerably relaxed. The crab monster was now smiling with candid ease—which, although Sullivan still wrung his hands, lessened his anxiety by several degrees.

“Come, draw up a chair,” Waternoose said, settling onto his padded stool. Sullivan obeyed and dragged an armchair to the desk, seating himself in front of it. He shifted his weight, more out of sheer nerves than to make sure his tail fit comfortably through the hole in the chair’s backrest.

When he spoke at last, Waternoose was almost disarmingly upfront. “I get the distinct impression you’re not very…comfortable with your parents’ arrangement of this extended trip—much less with me, I’d wager.”<br>
“O-oh, sir, i-it’s not like that at all!” Sullivan insisted, mentally scrambling for a way to dispel Waternoose’s suspicions. “It’s just that I’m…you see…I-I’ve been…there’s…uh, indigestion?” He gave the crab monster a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck.

Waternoose hooded his eyes, the epitome of skepticism. “Really?”<br>
Sullivan opened and closed his mouth a couple times, then gave up with a sigh. “I’m sorry, sir—I-I don’t mean to offend you or what you do, but I just don’t think I belong here. Frankly, it’s…it’s like my parents dragged me into this, as if they think I don’t know what’s best for me.” He looked down, then went on in a more sullen voice, “But I guess that’s not any different from usual, anyway.”<br>
“I know what you mean,” Waternoose remarked solemnly.

Sullivan looked up, blinking. “You do?”<br>
“Oh, yes…surrounded by a family filled with success stories, everyone expecting the same from you and practically hedging their bets on the hope you’ll accomplish something great…” He shook his head, his expression clouding. “It’s not enough to make something of yourself, oh no, and sometimes it’s not even enough to match past successes. Sometimes, they see potential and assume it will surpass their own, simply because you’re something new. So they watch, scrutinizing your every move, even forcing a few out of you, and the specter of failure weighs you down with the knowledge you’re going to disappoint them at some point, disappoint everyone…” He sighed quietly, seeming much, much older than usual. “It seems being part of a proud bloodline is no easy existence, after all.”<br>
“Tell me about it,” Sullivan mumbled.

A sudden creak drew their attention to the doors. A female monster was peering into the study, looking back at them shyly with a cyclopean eye. The lavender-colored snakes that adorned her head were coiled tightly around her face, looking just as bashful as their host.

“O-oh, pardon me, sirs,” she apologized. “I hope I’m not intruding on any—”

“No, not at all,” Waternoose replied. He turned to Sullivan. “James, this is Miss Celia Mae Peterson, the housekeeper. She’s been on staff here for about seven years now. Miss Peterson, this is James’ son.”<br>
Sullivan gave her a tentative, polite wave. “Hello.”<br>

[lizardgirl]

“Hi…” she said, then looked again to Waternoose. “Sir, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go ahead and spruce up in here. I promise I won’t be in the way.”<br>
“Certainly,” he answered, flicking an approving wave at her. “Go on.”<br>
She nodded and quietly slipped into the study on tentacle legs, a wiping cloth in one hand and a duster in the other. She went straight to work on the lower levels of one of the bookshelves.

“Now, where did we leave off?” Waternoose asked Sullivan.

“Uh…family expectations and ‘the specter of failure’, I think.”<br>
“Oh, yes,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “Of course…” He rose from the stool and turned his back to the furry monster, standing for a silent moment that perplexed Sullivan as much as it made him antsy.

“James, you may not agree with me right now, but I want you to understand just how fortunate you are,” Waternoose spoke at length. “You’re still relatively young, have most of your life ahead of you—more than enough time to meet your parents’ expectations. But here I am, a Waternoose, and what I have done in almost seventy years’ time? Nothing great, or new, or different…just making the same millions in the same, tired ways. Business as usual.” He lifted his left arm, gripping the ledge of a bookshelf just above his head as though seeking support. “And I’m not getting any younger, James…” he added, trailing off on an utterly cheerless note.

Sullivan arched a concerned brow. “Sir…?”<br>
Now working near the room’s center, Miss Peterson briefly lifted her head from cleaning a small study desk. She then bent down again, wiping away the dust from the desk’s wood as vigorously as before.

Waternoose straightened, sucking in a long breath, then turned to his guest. Seeming much more composed now, he gestured for Sullivan to follow him and started crossing the room, the furry monster a few steps behind him. He halted near the fireplace, patterns of red-orange light and shadow flickering across his deeply lined face as he gestured upward. Sullivan followed Waternoose’s upturned hand to the large painting he’d seen earlier. Again, something cold and unpleasant curdled at the pit of his stomach.

“An age-old tradition, scaring,” Waternoose stated, also looking at the painting. “Almost an institution unto itself, and certainly almost as old as marriage.” He chuckled a little at that, then turned to Sullivan with a half-lidded, knowing look that was strangely unnerving. “Funny how things work out sometimes, isn’t it?”<br>
Sullivan shook his head. “I’m not quite following you.”<br>
He laughed again, eyes flashing with veiled zeal “Don’t you see?” he asked, flinging a hand toward the painting again. “Just THINK about it: less than two decades ago, fossil fuels were the sole means by which we could produce electricity. Almost everything about those damned resources was problematic—both coal and oil were dirty, wasteful, labor-intensive to obtain and refine, and there never seemed to be enough to go around. But now…” He swiveled to the right, flipping the switch of a lamp standing on a round study desk near the fire. Miss Peterson, dusting furniture a few yards from where the male monsters stood, was watching them out of the corner of her eye as the lamp’s bulb flared to eerily brilliant life.

“Twice the brightness for a sixth of the electricity,” Waternoose continued with quiet, indulgent fervor. “One tiny light bulb embodying optimum energy efficiency—all thanks to the miracle of scream energy, no less. And I’ve found it to be enough of a miracle to believe in what it promises.” He tapped a finger on the lamp’s thick cord, then traced its length indicatively with the same, outstretched digit to the wall where it was plugged in. “That outlet there? There are dozens like it throughout the manor, and electrical wires running in most of the walls. All of them are, at this very moment, relaying scream energy to every electrically-powered device in this building—for the home of a Waternoose, you see, wouldn’t run on anything less superior.”<br>
Momentarily captivated by the light bulb’s brightness as Waternoose spoke, Sullivan looked up at him then, quirking a skeptical brow. “Maybe I’m missing something, but isn’t scream energy supposed to be too, um, ‘unstable’ to power little things like lights?”<br>
“For the most part, yes, unfortunately,” Waternoose answered, sighing. “And it’s been an uphill battle to get things to work even this well. Power surges are the most frequent nuisance, and it doesn’t help much that they also tend to wreak the most havoc. We installed a transformer some time ago that we were told would control voltage levels from scream, and we still have a couple surges each week that manage to overpower it. Its repair expenses and replacing all the devices that blow out is getting rather costly, not to mention the bill we pay each month to use scream energy in the first place.”<br>
“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through,” Sullivan said unthinkingly, then caught his breath, afraid he might’ve offended Waternoose. But the crab monster only chuckled, the strange gleam from earlier reappearing in his gaze.

“Oh, yes, that’s what it certainly looks like,” he replied, a smirk curling his thin lips. “But unlike the conventionalist majority—no offense to you, James—I’m not so short-sighted. I can see where this technology is headed, what it could do once we discover how to tap into its full potential.” He leaned forward, then went on in a hushed tone. “The moment scream is easier to harvest than fossil fuels, it will be revolutionary. EVERYTHING will run on it, EVERYONE will clamber for it, because not only will it be clean and efficient, but it will also be that affordable solution everyone’s been moaning and bleating for somebody to develop. Just think of all the possibilities…of all the profits…” His gaze became unfocused as he trailed off, and his demeanor almost entirely self-absorbed. But it all dissipated in the next instant, when he abruptly pulled away. “Don’t you understand?” he demanded, eyes fixed on Sullivan as he backed toward the table with the lit lamp. “This is more than some mere fad, more than a twisted marriage of civilized technology and some archaic ritual only practiced by backwards tribal societies anymore.[1] No, James—THIS”—he reached for the lamp—“this is the future!”<br>
Holding up the lamp, Waternoose clamped two fingertips around its bulb and unscrewed it—just loose enough to allow a single, shrill scream to seep out. Sullivan looked from the crab monster, who was flashing an unsettling grin, to the painting above, at the pale human face with its agape mouth and wide eyes, whose expression seemed to reflect the same gut-wrenching terror of the scream now piercing the air…<br>
Waternoose made a sudden movement, and Sullivan glanced back in time to see him fling the lamp to the ground, smashing it near the other side of the table. Miss Peterson, who’d apparently been crouching in that same spot mere seconds before, was sprawled on the floor just to the right of where the lamp had shattered. She gawked at Waternoose, the strands of her loosened snake hair mirroring her wide-eyed shock.

“That will be quite ENOUGH!” Waternoose stormed at her. He loomed over the housekeeper menacingly, for a moment looking as though he were about to strike her. But he stopped short, and in a slow wave his tenseness ebbed, his fury seeming to melt away along with it. At length, he leaned back on his rear crab legs, clasping his hands and gazing at her in a much more controlled manner.

“We’re…no longer in need of your services here,” he spoke to her, as though making a gentle elaboration of what he’d said moments before. “You’re free to go.”<br>
Still seeming a bit shaken, Miss Peterson nodded and picked herself from the floor, soothing her faintly shuddering snake hair back into place. She then headed wordlessly toward the doors of the study.

Waternoose called to her after a moment. “Oh, and Miss Peterson?”<br>
The housekeeper looked back at him, already partially through one of the doors.

“Would you tell Mr. Boggs to come down here in ten minutes and…take care of the lamp?” he queried, waving a hand at the crumpled mass on the floor.

Again she nodded, and with that she slipped through the door and shut it firmly behind her.

Waternoose let loose an exasperated sigh. “Busybodies…” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”<br>
Sullivan, equal parts taken aback and disquieted at what he’d just seen, stared at the crab monster’s back with a slackened jaw, words failing him for a moment. “You…you didn’t just—” he began.

“—Fire her?” Waternoose finished, turning around and sputtering into disbelieving laughter. “Oh-ho, HEAVENS no! How silly that would be, to fire someone for something so trivial as sticking her nonexistent nose where it doesn’t belong.” As if realizing his tone of voice had grown strained and edged with irritation, he checked himself with another, more subdued sigh. “I…I’m sorry you had to see that, James,” he apologized. “You’d think success would make things easier. Hmph. The only thing it makes easier is for certain things to get under your exoskeleton. Oh, the poor dear…I’ll have to send a fruit basket to her quarters…”

Eyeing his host uneasily, Sullivan began to edge away from him. “Well, sir, I-I don’t think my staying here is really all that appropriate right now,” he managed. “So, I, I’ll just start heading on upstairs—”

[lizardgirl]

Anyone else interested? ;D

[RandallBoggs]

*cough*
Light Rises and my piece please?

[lizardgirl]

Well, I'm not gonna post any more until we get a few people saying that they'll follow it on. ;D

[Mirage]

I will.