Post by gamemastergrimwarden on Jul 29, 2015 6:13:04 GMT
(( Here's the first part of a short story I wrote! Yes, its supposed to be ridiculous. Enjoy XD ))
Patrick Lesmalls was thinking about his parents as he stood there, outside of the monstrous orphanage that loomed before him. Poor little Patrick had never met his parents, they had died when he was a baby in a dentist appointment gone terribly wrong. He didn’t know much about them, but they were the best people that had ever been, the boy had always been sure of that. And if they were there with him today, they would tell him not to be afraid, this orphanage would be just as great as the last one... except less not great. Patrick reassured himself with these words as he was lead, shoulder to shoulder with other orphans, up to the cold stone gates of the orphanage. An old sign hung from the gate:
“Beethoven’s Last Stand: Orphanage for Musical Orphans”
Patrick felt an unearthly breeze hit his face as he passed over the threshold, almost like a space breeze. If there was breeze in space, which there isn’t. Desperate to break the silence, Patrick tried to make conversation with one of the orphans near him.
“Did you feel that space breeze?” Patrick squeaked.
The runty orphan turned to face Patrick, his eyes were wide as over-sized saucers, “no,” he said, coldly.
“Oh... ok” Patrick murmured, his eyes slowly panned down to the floor. He tried to think about something other than the terrible future unfolding before him.
“I did, I felt the space breeze!” a voice whispered behind him. Patrick turned to see a tall boy with a mess of blond hair covering his face, grinning down at him. The boy held out his hand, and Patrick gave it a little shake.
“I’m Michael!” the boy said in a hushed voice.
“Ooh, Patrick, thats a good name. I do like that name, Patrick.”
“I... I do like it too, thank you.” Patrick felt a wave of relief rush over him as he spoke to the boy, at least there was one decent soul here.
The throng of orphans were led into a great hall. Seated along the sides of the hall were other orphans, all in the black and purple colors of the orphanage’s crest: a picture of Beethoven fighting off a hoard of zombies with a machete.
“What are we supposed to be doing?” Patrick asked Michael.
“I think they are going to do some sort of... welcoming ceremony for us new comers” Michael whispered back, “I do like welcoming ceremonies. Make you feel so welcome.”
As the two boys seated themselves in the corner of the room, there came a great trumpet blast from the back of the hall and the teachers and staff processed in. They were all dressed in lavish gold and black robes, with tiny little tinfoil crowns upon their dainty heads. Bringing up the rear, a golden litter, carried by four well-dressed men. Patrick had never seen anything so beautiful, embedded in the gold were real diamonds with pictures of angels and kings dancing together forged into them. There was even a miniature farm on the top, complete with cows and several chickens. It was surrounded by a golden curtain, obstructing Pat’s view of whoever was inside, but he somehow felt that they were staring at him. Staring into his very soul and evaluating in a glance Patrick’s whole self. As the litter entered the room, a chant rose into the air: “Prin-ci-pal, prin-ci-pal, prin-ci-pal”. As the litter was placed at the front of the hall, the chant died off. One of the teachers, a fox-faced lady, stepped forward, clearing her throat into a microphone.
“Good morning, orphans,” the lady spoke, her voice was sharp.
“Good morning, Ms. Belsnif!” The orphans dutifully responded.
“Today, we are bringing new, musical orphans into our orphanage for musical orphans. We welcome them whole-heartedly, and look forward to housing them here at Beethoven’s Last Stand!” Ms. Belsnif made a grand motion, something between jazz hands and the middle finger, towards a tiny brass band in the corner of the hall and they began to play the orphanage’s anthem.
Everyone in the hall stood, taking off hats and singing. The song wasn’t anything that Pat could keep up with, and he promptly forgot most of it. It might as well have been in a foreign language. There was an uproarious applause as the song came to an end. Ms. Belsnif stepped back up to her podium,
“And now for our acapella group, presenting “Its a Hard Knock Life” from Annie!”
There was an awkward smattering of applause from the new orphans, Patrick included, not sure whether this was meant as a welcome or warning.
Post by gamemastergrimwarden on Jul 31, 2015 5:45:00 GMT
(( Part #2! ))
After the welcoming ceremony, which went on far into the night, Patrick and the other new orphans were led to their dormitories. Unaware of how tired he really was, Patrick fell asleep upon contact with his bed. The next day he was rudely awoken by a pillow in the face. He sat bolt upright, spitting feathers out of his mouth and looking frantically about for his assailant.
“Wake up, kiddo, you got your first class today!” the cheeky little kid who had hit him said, still holding the pillow.
Patrick leapt out of bed in rage, grabbing the pillow-wielding culprit by the collar. Another kid stepped between the two, giving Patrick a light shove,
“Whoa, kid! Don’t take it too personally. Pillow here does that to everyone. Right, Pillow?” the kid turned to the pillow-wielding lunatic, who nodded in turn.
Patrick frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, “his name is Pillow?”
“Its his nick-name, everyone here has a nickname,” the kid said, “for instance, I’m Dribbles.”
“Why are you Dribbles?”
“And that kid over there,” Dribbles jabbed his thumb at an elfish looking boy, “his name is Breakfast; he has two brothers, Lunch and Dinner.” Dribbles went around the room, telling Patrick the nicknames of everyone there.
Patrick found this a very odd tradition. He didn’t exactly understand it, nor did he think it very proper to adopt another name, especially if that name was Dribbles.
“What should we call Patrick?” Dribbles asked the guys.
“How about... SqueeGee!” one boy, Clorox, called out.
“Yeah! SqueeGee! Thats perfect!” everyone seemed to agree with this name.
“What? How is that perfect? What? SqueeGee? What?” Patrick began to feel strangely self-conscious.
It was unanimous, Patrick’s new name was SqueeGee. SqueeGee Lesmalls.
Ms. Popplebottom met the orphans in the music room the very next day for class. Patrick felt a bit out of place, everyone was so excited to show off their singing skills on stage, and young Pat didn’t quite get it. Ms. Popplebottom cleared her throat into the microphone, leaning into it so that her curly red wig slipped over her eyes,
“Singing.” she said, lips puckered, “singing is like... like kissing, it involves excessive use of your mouth!”
The orphans groaned, awkwardly shifting around in there seats.
“Today, I, Ms. Popplebottom, will be teaching you the three rules of singing,” she straightened her wig, narrowing her eyes at the orphans, “if you, one day, hope to be a great singer, you must remember these rules and practice them every day.”
Patrick wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, staring at his feet.
“Rule number one: you can only sing out of your mouth, which is located on your face, right below your nose, if your wondering.” “Rule number two: singing is like driving a car, it’ll suck if your drunk. “Rule number three: every song must have an ending, you cannot sing forever.” Ms. Popplebottom sipped a glass of water. Coughing violently for a long while, before leaning back into the microphone,
“Now, I know you’ve all been waiting for this moment, I invite you all to come onstage and sing a song.”
The deadly silence was suddenly broken as orphans rushed to form a line onstage. Patrick sulked behind them, making sure to come in the back. The first person to walk onstage was a little blond girl, hair bouncing behind her.
Ew, cooties! Patrick thought as he saw her go onstage, she isn’t pretty at all. Not one bit, not at all. I don’t find her the least bit pretty. She’s a girl, I don’t like girls at all. And she’s a terrible singer too! But Patrick did in fact find her pretty, and he did in fact like her singing, and he did in fact stand there for a very long time before he noticed that it was his turn to go up. He jerked himself into the spotlight, terrified.
“Well?” Ms. Popplebottom asked, tapping her foot, “what are you going to sing?”
Patrick turned to the teacher, “S-sing? Oh... oh yeah... I’m gonna sing a song now...”
Pat tapped his foot, trying to find some sort of beat to go by. The truth was, that he didn’t know many songs.
“Let it gooo... let it gooo....” Patrick squeaked, watching the faces of his fellow orphans fall.
“SqueeGee Lesmalls isn’t a musical orphan!!” someone shrieked, and the very air seemed to explode with screams of terror. Someone grabbed Patrick from behind, and he fell into a crowd of orphans. He didn’t know what was going on, someone was dragging him across the floor, people were screaming and running around. Tables were flipped, blood was spilled, valuable school property was destroyed. And then Patrick was at the door to the principal’s office, and Ms. Popplebottom threw him in. Patrick lay there for a second, facing down the golden litter that he had seen the night of his arrival.
“Principal,” Ms. Popplebottom knelt before it, the cows and sheep glared down at her from the miniature farm, “this boy, Patrick Lesmalls, he is not--is not musical.”
Lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating a twisted silhouette behind the gold curtains. A dead, emotionless voice spoke, sounding almost robotic, “He is an imposter?”
“Yes, oh great Principal,” Popplebottom hissed between her fake teeth.
Patrick got the feeling that the creature behind the curtain was staring at him now,
“Is what she says true, boy?” it said.
Patrick gave a short nod, hugging his knees.
“How did you get into my orphanage, then?”
“I--I’m sorry sir, there must have been a mistake! I was never a great singer!” Patrick said.
“I’m afraid we have no choice but to throw you out onto the street.” “Oh, please, sir! Don’t do that! I’ll learn how to sing, sir, I promise!”
“Do not irk me, boy! I do not like to be irked!” the voice boomed, and Patrick immediately silenced. “Now,” it spoke softer, “I have been watching you for a very long time, Patrick... in a non-creepy way.”
“Y-you have, sir? Why would you be watching me?”
“BECAUSE I WANTED TO, THATS WHY!” it boomed again, the whole litter shook about in its anger. “No, I’m just kidding. I’ve actually been watching you because I think you have potential.”
Patrick, seeing his chance, nodded fervently, “oh, yes sir! I have the potential to become the most musical orphan of all time, right?”
“NO, YOU FOOL! I AM THE MOST MUSICAL ORPHAN OF ALL TIME!”
“Oh... the 2nd best, then?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Lets just say, you have the potential to become a musical orphan.”
“Oh.” Patrick bit his lip.
“Yes, Patrick. I’ve been non-creepily watching you sing in your sleep, and your actually not bad. You were singing some song last night, and it graced my non-existent ears.”
Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but the principal shushed him, “I’m going to give you three days, Patrick Lesmalls. Three days to become a musical orphan. If you are not musical by the end of those three days, you can live on the streets like the cockroach you are!”
“I won’t disappoint you, sir,” Patrick said, trying to remain calm. He couldn’t believe he was being given a second chance.
“Good, Good. Turn left at the round-about.”
Patrick blinked, what had the principal just said?
“Oh... uh... I mean... thats really good, Patrick, you can leave now.”
Ms. Popplebottom quickly lead Patrick out of the room, giving him a quick shove out the door and locking it behind him.
Post by gamemastergrimwarden on Aug 3, 2015 6:28:45 GMT
People were being unusually generous to Patrick the very next day. At breakfast, Michael offered Patrick his chocolate corndog, claiming that Pat needed it more than he did. Patrick just nodded and said,
“yes, your right”
He liked chocolate corndogs. At lunch, Clorox gave him his chocolate corndog, and at dinner, Breakfast gave him his. It was a good day for Patrick. That is, until the girl the had seen in music class came over and talked to him. He felt his heart leap into his throat.
“Hey, its SqueeGee, right?” she asked, her voice annoyed the crap out of Patrick.
“No, its Patrick... Go away, I don’t want cooties,” Patrick sneered at the girl, trying to keep his cool.
The girl knitted her eyebrows together and pursed her lips, “thats not very nice...”
“Your mom’s not very nice...” Patrick muttered, flushing red.
“My mom’s dead.” she said bluntly.
“Well aren’t you special,” Patrick took a sudden interest in the floor as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
The girl stared at him for a while, and Patrick felt the top of his head burn with her gaze. Then she wiped her eyes and hurried away in a tornado of blond hair. That should teach her, she won’t bother me again, Patrick thought, and he felt disappointment rise up inside of him, which he quickly kicked backed into its cage. The truth was that Patrick kind of didn’t mind her bothering him.
“Instruments! Instruments are like... like...” Ms. Popplebottom was waving her prosthetic arms around, trying to find the words, “like the human brain! If you set them on fire, they won’t work anymore.”
Today, the orphans were learning how to play instruments. The word on the street was that this was in preparation for an upcoming band competition, and the entire orphanage was buzzing with excitement. Many of its inhabitants had already started forming their own bands, Patrick had tried several times to join one but nobody seemed to want him. The boy seemed to be the only person here who was feeling down today -- In a matter of eight hours he had lost all hope of becoming a musical orphan in time, he didn’t really think there was any point in trying, he would fail anyway and embarrass himself in the meantime.
“Wha’ssa matter, Squeege?” Michael asked him from his place at the piano.
Patrick half-heartedly plinked his triangle with the stick thing, “oh... it’s nothing...”
Michael frowned, “if it’s nothing, what are you looking so sad about?”
“Maybe my grandmother died, ok?!?” Patrick shot a dirty look at his friend.
Michael didn’t get the hint and continued, “your grandmother died? I didn’t think you knew your grandmother.”
Patrick sat there, glaring daggers at Michael. He sighed and turned back to his triangle whacking it with the stick again. After class, all the other orphans dispersed into their little band groups. Patrick was the only one left in the classroom when Ms. Popplebottom began to shut the lights off. Spying him sitting there, all alone; she felt sorry for the boy.
Ms. Popplebottom plopped down in the seat next to Patrick, adjusting her wig, “whats wrong, Ryan?” she asked.
“Patrick. Right. Whats wrong, Patrick?”
“Nobody will let me join their band, and I don’t have any friends...”
Ms. Popplebottom laughed softly, flopping her prosthetic arm onto his shoulder, “Friends are like eskimos, Patrick -- they’re mortal.”
Patrick looked at the teacher, “what?” She smiled at him in a motherly way, “its true.”
The boy managed a half-smile, trying to look encouraged, “yeah... th-thanks Ms. Popplebottom... Thats really good to know...”
The teacher polished her glass eye, “and if its any encouragement to you, Sam, the principal said he especially liked your singing last night. He reminded me to tell you that if your not a musical orphan in the next three days then your going to be thrown out on the streets like the cockroach you are.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes, being reminded of the snotty principal suddenly filled him with determination. He was going to stay in this orphanage, and nobody, not even his stalker principal, could change that. Patrick set his jaw, “I won’t disappoint him.”
Patrick had given up all hope of ever becoming a musical orphan. He had tried and tried to no avail, but he had a vocal range of two. The last thing he wanted to do at the moment was sit there and listen to other people sing, especially if they were good. The little blond girl whom Patrick had insulted the other day was first up, she looked about the classroom for a second before giving a cheery smile and bursting into some pop song that he had never heard before. She was amazing, even though the boy refused to admit it. She’s fine I guess... I probably sleep-sing better than her, Patrick thought to himself, trying to remain unimpressed. Really, he knew that she was good, and he knew that she was probably the best singer in Beethoven’s Last Stand, and he knew that if he wanted to stay he would have to become as good a singer as her... in the next two days. Patrick was struck with an idea, an idea that he detested, but an idea, nonetheless, that might be his last chance at becoming a musical orphan.
After class, Patrick caught up with the little girl, awkwardly tapping her on the shoulder as she was leaving the classroom.
She gave him a look that nearly burned a hole in his face, “what do you want?” she said, clenching her fists.
“Oh, nothing. I was, uh... just wondering... if you would, like... if it would benefit you...” Patrick stumbled through his words, mentally slapping himself with each syllable that escaped his mouth. He hadn’t planned this out. The girl stood there, as if waiting for the precise moment to sock him in the jaw.
“What I’m trying to say is,” Patrick finally blurted out, “is that your a good singer...” The girl raised an eyebrow, slightly amused, “congratulations, you’ve completed your first sentence.”
Patrick dropped his hands by his sides, looking at her desperately, “listen, this is hard enough for me to say without you being all sarcastic.”
“Better get it out quick, then.”
“your a good singer, and I’m not such a good singer. And I need to be a good singer, so can you teach me to sing?”
The girl laughed aloud, “you insulted my mom and said I had cooties!”
“Yeah... well,” Patrick huffed, looking up at the ceiling in frusturation, “maybe I was kidding.”
“Maybe you were being a jerk.”
“And maybe that too... but you didn’t care, did you? Its not like that hurt your feelings or anything!”
“I cried.” Patrick ran his fingers through his hair, puffing out his cheeks, “gah, why do you have to make this so difficult?”
“I would like an apology.”
“If I apologies will you teach me how to sing?” “Probably not.”
“Then why should I apologies?”
“‘Cause if you don’t there’s not a chance.”
Patrick glared at her for a long while and she glared back. The other orphans backed away, and Ms. Popplebottom readied the fire extinguisher.
“Fine! I’m sorry I insulted your mom and said you had cooties, happy now?” Patrick deflated, giving up.
“Quite,” the girl gave him a rosy cheeked smile, “meet me in the band room at five and we’ll begin.”
Before Patrick could say another word, she had skipped off down the hall and was swallowed up in a hoard of her orphaned friends. Patrick stared after the girl, wavering in his place, trying to suppress the blissful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Patrick couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous as he approached the band room later that day. There was an ominous drumming sound coming from behind its door, and Patrick thought he heard the sound of several people talking inside. For a second he stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was being tricked into joining some cult, but he quickly dismissed such thinking. Patrick gingerly opened the door, timidly peaking in.
“Hey! Its Squeege-o!” a familiar voice called to Patrick from behind a drumset. Michael gave him a beaming grin, setting down his drumsticks, “what brings you here, Big Squeege?”
Patrick scratched his head, looking around for the girl. Had she forgotten?
“uh... I’m supposed to meet somebody here...” he said.
Clorox and Pillow, who were seated with guitars, stared quizzically at Lesmalls from across the room.
“Really?” Michael frowned, “who?”
“Some girl. Maybe she forgot.”
Michael gave him a knowing wink, “Ah, I see. The Big Squeege is on the prowl, mm?”
“What? Nononono,” Patrick waved his hands around frantically, “no, I don’t like girls.
“Hey guys!” Another voice said, and Patrick felt a wave of relief rush over him.
Patrick whirled to face the girl as she entered the band room, “your late!”
“No, you were early.” she glanced at him in disgust, whipping off a pair of pink gloves and throwing them into the corner of the room like some cast off skin. Like some strange, pink, cast off skin.
“Hey! Its Alyssa!” Michael grinned at the girl, and to Patrick’s surprise she smiled back.
The girl, Alyssa, set down a large violin case and began to open it. To Patrick’s disappointment, she pulled out a violin.
“I thought you said it was just going to be the two of us,” he said to the girl.
“I said nothing of the sort,” she fiddled with her violin, tuning it or doing some sort of zen crap like that, “we needed a lead singer, and nobody was desperate enough to join us except you.”
Patrick frowned, “lead singer? Wait, are you guys making a band for that competition?”
Michael nodded fervently, “yessir! And we’re gonna win it too!”
So Patrick had been tricked into joining a cult.
“You know I can’t sing, right?”
Alyssa looked up from her work, “yeah. I thought you came crying to me because you wanted to learn how to sing.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me that I would have to sing...”
“Well, you have to sing, Patrick. Happy now?”
Patrick stared at his feet, “fine. Whats the band called?”
“You had to ask that, didn’t you? You big, stupid idiot!” Pillow muttered.
“Its called the ‘Banana Buccaneers’,” said Clorox, looking at the others as if daring them to deny this.
“No its not, thats a stupid name!” Pillow said, tossing his namesake at Clorox.
“Come on, guys, we already went over this! The bands called ‘Momma and the Monkey-troop’!” Alyssa growled, pointing her violin stick at the two.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Patrick stepped between Clorox and Pillow, “lets go about this in a diplomatic fashion. Everyone come up with a name, and we’ll all discuss it.” “Thats what we are doing,” Pillow said.
“Yeah, but without all the shouting and throwing things”
“Fine. Everyone come up with a name thats not stupid.” Pillow glared at the others.
“‘Carl and the Crustaceans!’” Michael chimed in immediately.
“None of us are named Carl,” Clorox muttered.
“And none of us are crustaceans, either.” Michael huffed, “fine, but I doubt any of you can come up with anything better...”
“How about ‘Socrates is Mortal’!”
“What does that have to do with anything?” “Nothing, but it sounds cool.”
“So does Carl and the Crustaceans.”
Hours passed in this fashion, many names were suggested and then butchered. It was a bad day to be a band name. Finally, they agreed on five: “Pillow Defector”, “Newspaper Lobotomy”, “Fools Errand”, “Hacksaw Prophet” and “Waiter, There’s Food in My Hair”. However out of these, no one could be decided. And soon all diplomatic ties were broken and the yet unnamed band began to descend into chaos.
“OK!” Patrick cried over the whoosh of pillows, “EVERYONE CALM DOWN, I KNOW WHAT WE’RE CALLING THE BAND!”
Pillow stopped mid-swing, looking to Patrick, “What?”
“We’re calling it ‘The Diarrhea Sleeves’! And if anyone doesn’t like that, they’re going to have to deal with it.!”
“‘Diarrhea Sleeves’, huh?” Clorox spat a clod of feathers out of his mouth, “thats got a nice vibe to it.”
“Yeah! And we could wear shirts with green sleeves!” Michael said, peaking out from behind his drum-set. Everyone seemed to agree, the band would be called ‘The Diarrhea Sleeves’.
Post by gamemastergrimwarden on Aug 9, 2015 9:55:42 GMT
(( And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the conclusion to the epic of Patrick Lesmalls! ))
Two days had passed. It was both Patrick’s deadline to become a musical orphan and the day of the big band competition. Two birds, one stone, Patrick had told himself. He had been training his musical talent under Alyssa and the rest of his band non-stop and he finally believed that he was ready to sing in front of the entirety of Beethoven’s Last Stand and in front of the principal and all of his livestock.
“Ok, now, Pillow, what are you doing while Clorox is on his guitar?”
“Making whale noises.”
“Right,” Alyssa nodded checking off something in her notebook.
They were waiting backstage for the competition to begin, huddled in a group. Alyssa had had a mini freak out last second (Patrick had thought it was rather cute) and made them all walk through everyone’s part in the song they were going to sing. There was a roaring multitude of voices, those of the whole orphanage, as they filed into their seats to watch todays performance. Somewhere out there, Patrick thought, was the principal, waiting patiently from inside his giant gold-curtained litter. Waiting for Patrick to come out and make a fool of himself. He tried to shake such thinking, but it stuck to him like super glue on anything.
“Good morning students!” Ms. Belsnif’s monotone voice came over the intercom, and the hall immediately silenced. As did all the band groups backstage.
“Welcome to Beethoven’s Last Stand’s seventy-fourth annual band competition, our contestants have been working for several days to create bands, and today they’ll face off for the title of the most musical orphans in our orphanage. Our first band... the ‘Mango Hemorrhoids’.” Ms. Belsnif made her signature grand motion towards one of the wings backstage, and a group of designated “cool” students came strutting out.
The “Mango Hemorrhoids” sapped any hope of winning out of Patrick. They were good. Really, really good. Pat glanced back at his group; they too seemed to feel the same, faces drained of color. Alyssa stood with her arms crossed and her lips pursed, glaring at the floor. Patrick felt sorry for the floor.
“You ok?” he asked, walking over to her.
“Yeah. These guys are pretty good, huh?” she muttered.
Patrick nodded, “sure... but we’re better right?” he wasn’t sure, himself.
Alyssa looked up at him, they locked eyes, “Maybe,” she said with a sigh and her gaze fell back to the floor.
Patrick found himself strangely disappointed, for a second there he had half expected her to confess an undying love for him. He nodded, muttered “ok”, and walked off. Plopping down next to Michael, who was sitting in the corner. “I think I’m in love...” he sighed.
“So your in love with who exactly?” Michael said, leaning back against the wall.
Patrick rubbed his shoulder, flushing red “its a girl, I don’t wanna say who.”
“Its Alyssa isn’t it?”
“No!” he exclaimed, suddenly defensive. Was it really that obvious, Patrick wondered.
Michael raised an eyebrow, not buying it, “a-a-nd why are you telling me this?”
“Because your my friend?”
“Thats not what I mean. Why are you wasting your time telling me, when you could be telling Alys- the girl.”
Patrick hadn’t thought about it that way, before. The idea of telling Alyssa that he liked her had never crossed his mind. Luckily, Patrick was saved by the bell, or more, saved by Ms. Belsnif’s monotone,
“And now for our next band, the ‘Diarrhea Sleeves’!”
Michael leapt to his feet, motioning frantically to the others. Patrick suddenly was having second thoughts about all of this-- he couldn’t sing, he never had been able to! He was going to embarrass himself in front of the principal, in front of Ms. Popplebottom, in front of the whole orphanage!
“You can live on the streets like the cockroach you are!” the principal’s voice rang through Patrick’s mind.
Life on the streets. He couldn’t do it. he’d be eaten by starving children within the first few days.
Whats it gonna be, Lesmalls? Patrick thought to himself, are you gonna get thrown out on the streets, or are you gonna go out there and sing?
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself onto the stage, into the spotlight, towards the microphone. Patrick cleared his throat, the entirety of Beethoven’s Last Stand was watching him.
Patrick’s Last Stand, he thought, and then he spoke, “we’re... uh... we’re the ‘Diarrhea Sleeves’, and today we’re gonna be singing ‘Astroknots’ by... by...”
“By us, Patrick, we wrote it!” Alyssa hissed from behind him.
“By the ‘Diarrhea Sleeves’... which is us, we’re the ‘Diarrhea Sl-”
Before Patrick could embarrass himself further, the others began playing. Patrick turned around, looking to Alyssa, confused.
“What was that for?” he mouthed to her.
“Sing you little-” he couldn’t make out that last part.
Patrick whirled around, and facing the mob, he began to sing. Patrick was so caught up in the embarrassment of the moment, that he didn’t realize how good he really was. His voice was carried across the hall, bounding off the walls like a magical, singing, antelope. Jaws hit the floor, women swooned, men wept, cows moo’d, and Ms. Belsnif ordered a new pair of pants. Slowly, Patrick began to realize what was happening-- they were loving him! KABLAM, the music came to a thunderous end via Michael and his drums, and the entire hall, even Patrick, sat there in shock. Ms. Belsnif was the one to end the silence, tottering back onstage, still in a bit of a daze,
“Ahem... well... that was fabulous, big thank you to the ‘Diarrhea Sleeves’...” she swallowed hard, blinking several times, “ah... ahem... uhh... next up we have-”
Patrick and the rest of his band shuffled awkwardly off stage.
“So... did that go well?” Pillow asked, after a long time of sitting backstage in silence.
“I... yeah, I think it did...” Michael rubbed his head. He looked to Patrick as if suddenly realizing something, “dude, you were really good.”
“No I mean like, freaky good.” “Yeah, thanks.”
“Like, I was in physical pain, good.”
Patrick nodded, rubbing his eyes, “yeah. I’m-I’m not really sure what happened there.”
“I do.” an older voice said.
“Ms. Popplebottom!” Patrick scrambled to his feet, staring at the teacher.
“Patrick,” Popplebottom said, screwing in her prosthetic arm, “the principal would like to speak with you in his office. The rest of you can come to.”
“The principal, speak to us?” it was Alyssa this time, “what about?”
“He wishes to congratulate you on your fabulous performance,” the teacher said, gesturing for them to follow.
--------------- The principal’s office was dark as ever. The golden litter lay in the center of the room. Patrick could almost feel the principals eyes upon him (if he even had any eyes) as Ms. Popplebottom hurried them in.
“The ‘Diarrhea Sleeves’, oh great and powerful principal,” Pat’s teacher made a sweeping bow before the litter, “you requested to speak to them.”
“Yes... yes...”, the voice of his stalker principal made Patrick’s skin crawl, “they’re the ones that did so well in the competition.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Popplebottom spoke, backing into the corner.
Patrick felt that something was off.
“E-e-e-xcellent. You have truly proven yourselves, ‘Diarrhea Sleeves’, you have proven yourselves to be musical orphans. Your dead parents would be proud of you, but their all dead, so that, sadly, is impossible,” the principal took a moment of silence before continuing, “yes, you are indeed musical orphans. Even you, Patrick Lesmalls, who I had little hope for, originally.”
Michael beamed at Patrick, patting him on the back. Pat kept his eyes glued on the litter, the feeling that something was awry sticking to him.
“You are so musical in fact, that it worries me,” the principal said, “you see, being the most musical orphan in the world, and the principal of the finest musical orphanage on the planet, I simply cannot allow some... lesser beings, like you, to upstage me, now can I?”
“What are you trying to say?” Patrick spoke, narrowing his eyes.
The principal sighed, “your making me look bad with your singing, Lesmalls. All of you are.” Pillow jumped in, “we’re sorry, sir! We didn’t mean to insult you in any way!”
“Its too late, parentless child, my fragile feelings have been hurt,” the voice said, from the litter, “I did like your performance, it was the best I’ve ever seen. Thats what worries me. I’m supposed to be the best, not you.”
“Thats not fair!” Patrick said, jabbing a finger at the principal, “you told me if I didn’t sing then you would throw me out on the streets!”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me you were going to be that good.”
“How was I supposed to know?!?” “IT DOESN’T MATTER, LESMALLS!” the whole litter shook with the principal’s rage, “I’M THE MOST MUSICAL ORPHAN OF ALL TIME! I AM-- NOT YOU! I CANNOT HAVE YOU TRAIPSING ABOUT, MAKING ME LOOK BAD WITH YOUR OH-SO-FANTASTIC SINGING!!”
“YEAH, WELL, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?!?” Patrick screamed. The others backed away, looking from the litter to their band-mate, unsure of what to do.
Chuckling softly, the principal said, “in the words of Peter Pan, ‘death will be an awfully big adventure’ for you, that is, and the rest of your friends” Patrick eyes widened.
“You can sing to your parents, IN Heck!” the principal shrieked with laughter behind his curtains.
Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw Ms. Popplebottom take something out of her jacket. Someone screamed and Patrick was shoved to the floor. There was a loud bang and Patrick saw Michael tackle Ms. Popplebottom. Jumping to his feet, Patrick charged the litter, grabbing the curtain and ripping it down!
“GAH!” the principal yelped, “don’t look at me, I’m hideous!”
Patrick’s hands fell by his side, staring at the thing before him. A pulsating brain, strung up by wires and whirring, ticking, devices.
“What are you?” Patrick scratched his head, “your not even human!”
“Thats racist, I’m german!” the brain shrieked, but Patrick wasn’t sure where the voice came from.
“Your a german brain?”
“I’M BEETHOVEN, YOU IMBECILE! I’M JUST NOT AS SEXY AS I USED TO BE!”
“Beethoven? Like that guy the orphanage is named after?” If the brain could’ve slapped its head in frusturation, it would have, but brains don’t have arms, “of course! I thought you would have this figured out by now.”
Patrick frowned, spotting a tiny device hooked up to the brain, “is that how you talk?”
“Yes, its not exactly perfect. Sometime it makes me say the wrong hotdog.”
“So what happens if I smash it?” Patrick asked. “If you smash it? well that wouldn’t necessarily be-”
Patrick smashed it. In a frenzy, he grabbed Popplebottom’s prosthetic arm and ripped it off, using it like a club.
“He’s got me arm!” the teacher cried, Michael and the rest of the band held her down.
“Thats for trying to kill me!” Patrick growled, smacking the brain in the frontal lobe, “and thats for stalking me! And thats for being a jerk!” Patrick swung like a mad man, hitting the wires, the support beams, smashing the devices, until finally the prosthetic arm snapped in two. The boy staggered back, looking from the brain to the shattered arm in his hand.
“Ow... what was that for?” the principal muttered through his broken transmitter, his voice cracking and stuttering “that was uncalled for, Lesmalls! Don’t you know that I’m the-”
There was a creaking sound, and then the whole litter gave a shudder. With a snap, the support beams gave way and the miniature farm, cows and all, came crashing down onto the principal. Patrick was splattered in orange puss. There was a long silence, the realization of what had just taken place still beyond anyone.
“Oops,” Patrick said, glancing back at the others in shock, “I think I broke your prosthetic arm, Ms. Popplebottom.”
Popplebottom groaned, clutching the stump where her left arm had been,
“Its ok,” she said, “I’m alright now.”
Michael cleared his throat, letting the teacher go, “so... we’re getting thrown out of the orphanage, right?” he asked her, grimacing at the thought of it.
“Right,” she said, dusting herself off, “your all getting thrown out. Immediately.
“I’m sorry, what was that, again?” it was Alyssa, examining the gun Ms. Popplebottom had used, “did you say something about throwing us out, ma’am?”
Popplebottom glanced at the gun in Alyssa’s hands, laughing nervously, “heh, heh... on second thought, we’ll--we’ll just let this one slide. Everyone makes mistakes right?” she smiled, edging towards the door.
Alyssa nodded fervently, saying in a honey-sweet voice “thats very true, ma’am!everyone makes mistakes-- calling the cops for instance, that would be a big mistake.”
Ms. Popplebottom edged out of the room, and Alyssa dropped the gun with an exhausted huff.
“Alyssa?” Patrick wiped puss off of his face, walking over to her.
“What?” she turned to face him.
“I just beat up Beethoven, ripped a ladies arm off, and now I’m covered in puss, and I really, really like you.” Patrick looked at the floor, face burning, “I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you earlier...”
Alyssa sighed, wiped her eyes, and hugged Patrick. They both burst into tears.
“Yay!” Michael gave a half-hearted cheer from his place on the floor.
“You just ripped our teacher’s arm off!” Alyssa half laughed, half sobbed.
“I know! Do you think we should buy her a new one?” Patrick wiped tears from his eyes.
Whilst we all wait with bated breath for me to recover from a terrible case of writer's constipation and finally write something, imma start a "who can come up with the best band name" competition. Here are some of mine:
Dmitri Pendragon: Elytra: Wait, it's actually referring to the oldest post on the Underground? (I never did chase that down in fact…)
Nov 27, 2019 19:32:25 GMT
Leilani Sunblade: Rose: Welcome to Whitehall/the new Underground! Glad to see you found your way here. As Elytra said, the riddle's pointing towards the old site and, specifically, a scavenger-hunt type game that WTB and CH set up when they first released the book
Nov 28, 2019 21:11:04 GMT
Leilani Sunblade: Sadly, the game is over, but we still have fun here.
Nov 28, 2019 21:11:16 GMT
Warrior of Aror: Let us sit round the hearth and tell stories of the lives we have lived these past moons! I myself have been working at a grand theater telling Bible stories from behind the scenes.
Feb 29, 2020 1:44:51 GMT