Al Tastes Revenge: Part Three

Where We Left Off...

“I am Alexander T. Chia.” He stated, in a shaky but firm voice. “Party of two.”

“Whatever.” The Acara muttered from behind the podium, upon hearing Al's shaky request. Whatever (for that was the Acara’s name) picked up a menu and led Al to the solitary table, pulling back the chair for him so he could jump up onto it and sit down comfortably.

Al stared at the Acara with the eyes of a dead man.

“What is the soup of the day?” He asked.

“Oh, I’m not sure you’ll be...

wanting...

that.”

All heads turned towards the doorway. The bell hadn’t rung, but there stood an all too familiar green lupe in a black cloak. He smiled, ever so subtly. A teaspoon and three straws fell out of Soupaw’s apron. Whatever felt his braces tingle, and a wire snapped. A pteri flew into the glass door and bounced off, leaving a large smear on the freshly cleaned glass. Nobody moved to polish it.

The green lupe swaggered towards Al’s table, his claws clicking on the checkered tile.

“You’re going to be quite stuffed with the meal I have in mind, Alexander.”

Al squinted, making it even harder to see in the dim lighting.

“Shall we have some appetizers?”

“Actually, yes. Maître d'! Some breadsticks to start.”

Hannibalpaw curled his paws under his chin, glowering thoughtfully at the chia sitting across from him. “So, world traveler, eh? I understand you’ve improved greatly since our last meeting.”

Al smiled weakly. “Well, sure, a little here and there, you know. And you?”

“Oh, I’ve been practicing, yes indeed. Not every day one gets to plan and set up an eating contest such as this. You do remember that I am a master food critic, and that I’ve tasted some pretty vile and disgusting things in my day. I’ve had some of the worst ingredients known shipped here for...

Our...

Little...

Game.

Think you’re up to it?”

“Certainly.” Al picked up his fork. “Let’s do this thing.”

“Alright then. You know the rules, I’m sure.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well then. Let’s begin.”

“Yes.”

“Alright then.”

“Uh huh.”

“Garcon! First course, please!”

Al’s House...

Fluffy’s nose was pressed against the window of Al’s study, his eyes wide and anxious. His owner had disappeared this morning, without any warning. No post-it note on the refrigerator, no food in his dish.

He expected the worst. One of the more hostile lupes he had been studying had probably caught up with him and eaten him, perhaps. Or maybe he had been kidnapped. There were signs of a scuffle; a painting had been knocked off the wall, the door was left hanging open, there were tracks of dirt all over. But who, and why?

Fluffy tried to remember everything that had happened to his owner yesterday. He had gone out for dinner…that he recalled. He had returned home in a rather dismal, distracted mood…

The cobrall pulled his nose off the window. He nodded to himself. If he were to track down his owner, he’d have to start by getting to that restaurant.

But how? It would be a long slither, Fluffy knew THAT for sure. He’d have to find an alternate mode of transport.

This is about the time when Fluffy looked down and saw a rather horribly beaten-up pteri lying right outside the window on the ground.

Soupaw’s Soup Shack...

“BEING BEHOLDING!” Soupaw squawked, stepping aside with a sweep of his arm. Whatever pushed forward with a small trolley with a magnificently horrendous feast upon it. All sorts of gross foods were stacked up, one on top of the other. Eyeballs, snot, dung dishes, things made from bugs and worms and spiders, sand and dirt. Most of it wriggled, still alive.

“Hrm,” Al noted, as one of the dishes burst into oddly-coloured flames. “So, I just have to eat everything you order?”

“Precisely,” Hannibalpaw reclined in his seat. “Without falling ill, or dying, of course. Do this without failure and we’re even, and I’ll try not to find cause to disturb you once again.”

“Well then! Let’s start.”

Al lifted a feeble fork as the first few dishes were loaded up in front of him. A viscous dung stew bubbled and steamed before him, a lone eyeball staring lovingly up at the diner. A salad made of rather stale, dry, brown leaves, with bits of what appeared to be dandruff mixed amongst them, sat next to a bowl with nothing in it but sleeping cockroaches.

And as for the drink...water on the rocks.

Al dipped his fork gently into the soup, fishing out the eyeball. With a nod to and then from Hannibalpaw, he slurped it up and swallowed it whole. He then turned his gaze to the lightly snoring cockroaches...

(THE FOLLOWING 15 AND A HALF PARAGRAPHS, DESCRIBING AL’S DINNER HAVE BEEN EDITED OUT BY THE NEOPIAN COMMITTEE FOR COMMON DECENCY. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY PLOT HOLES THAT MAY OCCUR THEREOF.)

Al stared at the empty plate, feeling the last creature scrape its way down his esophagus. He turned to a plate of normal-looking mashed potatoes. He sighed with relief, at least until Hannibalpaw kindly poured the snot-gravy over it for him…

(THE FOLLOWING 25 PARAGRAPHS HAVE ALSO BEEN EDITED. WE JUST WANTED TO TEASE YOU A BIT WITH THIS ONE.)

…as the fingernails crunched in his teeth. He could still taste the earwax-coated maggots…

(WOAH. THAT WAS A SLIP-UP. APOLOGIES. WE’RE ARRESTING THE AUTHOR AS WE SPEAK. NOW, WE NOW RETURN YOU TO THE REGULAR STORY.)

With a final squeal from his intestines, the last bit of soap scrapings was digested by the melancholy chia. Al felt his stomach gurgle. He looked at all the empty plates, seeing leftover legs wiggling, juices eating their way through the china, smelling all sorts of wondrously murderous smells.

Hannibalpaw grinned rather deviously.

“...

...

...Full?” He asked.

“Well, almost, but not very quite nearly.” Al said, patting his full stomach. “Enough for a few more bites, I suppose. It WAS a big, gummy, unpleasantly spicy dessert.”

“Well then...there’s one more thing I think you’ll

Enjoy...

Very...

Much.”

Hannibalpaw reached down under the table and pulled out the pink cooler. He slammed it onto the table, smashing a few dishes and making Soupaw wince.

“This little beauty will be the last dish you will have to eat, Al, and the last you will EVER eat. Stomach this, and...

I will be...

...

Content. And, you can have some of my breadsticks.”

Hannibalpaw pulled on rubber gloves with loud, snapping noises.

“If you should die...

Well, I’ll STILL be content. And all the breadsticks will be MINE...

...

Now...

Get ready...

For...

MY MASTERPEICE!”

With a flourish, the lid was thrown off the cooler. A smell like no other filled the room, causing poor Soupaw to pass out where he stood. Whatever rolled his eyes and swiped at the air, while Al’s face fell into a look of abject horror.

There, lurking at the bottom of the cooler, was a certifiable, eight-month-old, and un-refrigerated pineapple. Al could see his reflection in its skin. It was impossible to tell from its current state what it had been, but Al definitely knew anyway.

Hannibalpaw reached in with his rubber glove, pulling it out. Surprisingly, it held together, much like a water balloon.

“Alright, Al, hold very still...

I want to make sure I get you...

Right

In

The

Face with this...”

But just as Hannibalpaw drew back his paw...

Just Outside...

Fluffy leapt from the back of the pteri just as it collided with another midair. As the two feathered neopets plummeted, he spread out his hood and glided through the air, soaring straight towards the large glass windows of Soupaw’s Soup Shack. With a war cry, he smashed through them and dive-bombed Hannibalpaw, smacking him in the face.

Wasting no time, he clamped his teeth into the arm holding the pineapple. Hannibalpaw growled, dropped the pineapple onto a plate where it VERY nearly blew up, and grabbed Fluffy by the tail.

“Oh, you little...I’m going to ENJOY eating YOU!”

As they wrestled, crashing and rocking about the entire room and knocking over various things, Al realized he was alone with the pineapple.

He stared at it, once again seeing his reflection. He saw a small chia, inexperienced, wearing a white jacket with red letters. He saw the chia nod and smile.

Al beamed back. Slowly, his paw reached out, scooping up the viscous what-once-was-a-pineapple. He raised it to his lips.

Gently, carefully, he slid it into his mouth.

“AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!” Came the general cry of everyone save Whatever, who crowed “WHATEVER!!”

Al sloshed the pineapple around in his mouth, his eyes tilted upwards.

“Oh, lovely texture. Most rancid thing I’ll ever eat, but that is SUCH a lovely texture.”

With one loud gulp, he swallowed it down.

The room fell very, very silent. It was a very awkward silence, with Al lightly dabbing his face with a napkin and Whatever stepping forward with a haz-mat barrel and a gas mask to clear up the plates. Soupaw trembled with fear and reverence, crawling away to write up the bill and sweep up the glass.

Hannibalpaw tossed Fluffy aside and fell to his knees, clasping his gloved paws together with a weird squishing noise.

“Al...I’m

So...

So...

SO...

Sorry. I didn’t think...

You’d...

Stomach...

THAT. I can see you are an eater worthy of my respect now.

...

...

...

...OKAY!

I must go now.

...

...

Later!”

Hannibalpaw turned to make his exit, but suddenly the affects of Fluffy’s venom struck. He froze in midrun, paralyzed, his tail sticking out rigidly, his arms in a jogger’s pose, his face in a self-satisfied sneer. He stayed this way for a minute before falling over onto the ground like a plank of wood.

Al beamed as Fluffy slithered to his side.

“Another trip to Lupe Forest Penitentiary, I suppose. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really, REALLY have to use the bathroom.”

He covered his mouth and fled. Outside, a crash of thunder announced another pteri being struck by lightening as the rain began pouring outside.

THE END