Original -- The Delicious Baked Good Is a Lie
Title: The Delicious Baked Good Is a Lie
Rating: PG
Word Count: 647
Warnings: is it still crack if they're exactly like this in canon?; brief language; general trauma
Prompt: pies at pulped_fictions
Summary: Some questions should never have to be answered. "What's the worst thing a Knight of Hell could put into a pie box?" is one of them.
Author's Note: …this is more like it. XD (Catch-up: Belial is a demon; Maion is a seraph; Vincent is a vampire; and Edward is a werewolf who works as a high-school janitor.)
THE DELICIOUS BAKED GOOD IS A LIE
In the approximately four billion years of his existence, Maion does not think he has ever seen a pink box inspire so much terror.
“Not it,” Edward says.
“Of course you’re it,” Vincent says. “You’ve eaten out of my garbage cans.”
Edward bristles, which in an odd way is very cute. “I’d feel safer eating radioactive waste than anything that came out of that box.”
They all look down at that box again. It arrived just after sunset, conveyed by a delivery man who was very startled when they clustered around the door and then recoiled in unison upon seeing the package, which Vincent set on the floor of the foyer as though he was holding a nuclear weapon. It is moderately-sized, cheerfully pink, and topped with a white ribbon bow, and it reads ENJOY THIS PIE! XOXO BELIAL
“Perhaps we’re over-thinking this,” Maion says. “And perhaps that’s what he wants. What could possibly be more evil than forcing us to waste a perfectly good seasonal dessert because of our assumption that he’d done something awful to it? It’s just pie, after all; what could he have put in it that would be so bad?”
“Garlic,” Vincent says.
“Wolfsbane,” Edward says.
“Holy water.”
“Laxatives.”
“LSD.”
“Viagra.”
“Good one. Live cockroaches.”
“Oh, holy shit, dude, why would you even-”
“The point is,” Vincent says, “that I am not going to sample it.”
Maion looks from Edward’s slightly greenish face to Vincent’s narrowed eyes and the thin, flat line of his mouth. “But what if…”
“There is optimism,” Vincent says, “and then there is stupidity. Where Belial is concerned, I move straight past caution and err on the side of living in a different country under an assumed identity.”
“We could get a bomb squad,” Edward says.
Vincent’s frown deepens. “They always track mud all over the house; I’m not paying to have the carpets steam-cleaned over this.”
“Okay,” Edward says slowly. “We could run it over with your least-favorite car.”
“You just suggested that it was an explosive-not illogically, I might add.”
Edward itched at the back of his head. “We could light it on fi… oh, never mind. Well, crap. I’m out of ideas.”
“You should transform into a wolf,” Vincent says, “sniff it, and try to identify the contents.”
“I’m not putting my face near that thing!”
“Do you have a particularly odious ex-girlfriend?” Vincent asks. “We could mail it to her.”
“No!” Maion cuts in when Edward’s face goes thoughtful. “We’re not endangering anybody else! This is our problem. He’s our friend-well, sort of-and we are going to deal with this like adults.”
“I’m secure in my adulthood,” Vincent says. “I have nothing to prove. Let’s send it to a politician.”
“To some company that does animal testing!” Edward says.
“To the author of Tw-”
Maion sighs.
Then he flings out all six wings and a few tongues of blue flame.
That gets their attention, and he retracts the wings slowly while he gives each of them a very serious look.
“I’ll open it,” he says. He kneels in front of it, swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and reaches for the trailing end of the ribbon. “And then you’ll see how silly you’ve been.”
As he tugs on the ribbon, he hears something creak softly-but then it’s too late; the ribbon falls away; the lid shifts-
A spring-loaded carriage slams a cream pie directly into Maion’s face, and a tiny camera flashes.
The silence feels thicker than the filling which is currently oozing down and ruining Maion’s new glow-in-the-dark unicorn T-shirt.
When Maion has blinked two little portholes through the goo, Vincent is crouching down and offering him a handkerchief.
“So,” Maion says as he takes it. “What are we going to put in the cake that we send back?”
Rating: PG
Word Count: 647
Warnings: is it still crack if they're exactly like this in canon?; brief language; general trauma
Prompt: pies at pulped_fictions
Summary: Some questions should never have to be answered. "What's the worst thing a Knight of Hell could put into a pie box?" is one of them.
Author's Note: …this is more like it. XD (Catch-up: Belial is a demon; Maion is a seraph; Vincent is a vampire; and Edward is a werewolf who works as a high-school janitor.)
THE DELICIOUS BAKED GOOD IS A LIE
In the approximately four billion years of his existence, Maion does not think he has ever seen a pink box inspire so much terror.
“Not it,” Edward says.
“Of course you’re it,” Vincent says. “You’ve eaten out of my garbage cans.”
Edward bristles, which in an odd way is very cute. “I’d feel safer eating radioactive waste than anything that came out of that box.”
They all look down at that box again. It arrived just after sunset, conveyed by a delivery man who was very startled when they clustered around the door and then recoiled in unison upon seeing the package, which Vincent set on the floor of the foyer as though he was holding a nuclear weapon. It is moderately-sized, cheerfully pink, and topped with a white ribbon bow, and it reads ENJOY THIS PIE! XOXO BELIAL
“Perhaps we’re over-thinking this,” Maion says. “And perhaps that’s what he wants. What could possibly be more evil than forcing us to waste a perfectly good seasonal dessert because of our assumption that he’d done something awful to it? It’s just pie, after all; what could he have put in it that would be so bad?”
“Garlic,” Vincent says.
“Wolfsbane,” Edward says.
“Holy water.”
“Laxatives.”
“LSD.”
“Viagra.”
“Good one. Live cockroaches.”
“Oh, holy shit, dude, why would you even-”
“The point is,” Vincent says, “that I am not going to sample it.”
Maion looks from Edward’s slightly greenish face to Vincent’s narrowed eyes and the thin, flat line of his mouth. “But what if…”
“There is optimism,” Vincent says, “and then there is stupidity. Where Belial is concerned, I move straight past caution and err on the side of living in a different country under an assumed identity.”
“We could get a bomb squad,” Edward says.
Vincent’s frown deepens. “They always track mud all over the house; I’m not paying to have the carpets steam-cleaned over this.”
“Okay,” Edward says slowly. “We could run it over with your least-favorite car.”
“You just suggested that it was an explosive-not illogically, I might add.”
Edward itched at the back of his head. “We could light it on fi… oh, never mind. Well, crap. I’m out of ideas.”
“You should transform into a wolf,” Vincent says, “sniff it, and try to identify the contents.”
“I’m not putting my face near that thing!”
“Do you have a particularly odious ex-girlfriend?” Vincent asks. “We could mail it to her.”
“No!” Maion cuts in when Edward’s face goes thoughtful. “We’re not endangering anybody else! This is our problem. He’s our friend-well, sort of-and we are going to deal with this like adults.”
“I’m secure in my adulthood,” Vincent says. “I have nothing to prove. Let’s send it to a politician.”
“To some company that does animal testing!” Edward says.
“To the author of Tw-”
Maion sighs.
Then he flings out all six wings and a few tongues of blue flame.
That gets their attention, and he retracts the wings slowly while he gives each of them a very serious look.
“I’ll open it,” he says. He kneels in front of it, swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and reaches for the trailing end of the ribbon. “And then you’ll see how silly you’ve been.”
As he tugs on the ribbon, he hears something creak softly-but then it’s too late; the ribbon falls away; the lid shifts-
A spring-loaded carriage slams a cream pie directly into Maion’s face, and a tiny camera flashes.
The silence feels thicker than the filling which is currently oozing down and ruining Maion’s new glow-in-the-dark unicorn T-shirt.
When Maion has blinked two little portholes through the goo, Vincent is crouching down and offering him a handkerchief.
“So,” Maion says as he takes it. “What are we going to put in the cake that we send back?”