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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
List Provided By: Lizz
Sibling Rivalry XVII
by: chopsticks
g
-----
Lyle gritted his teeth as he headed down to the Computer Core, where the music for the elevators originated. He slammed open the door, scaring the security guard that was stationed there out of his dreamy sleep. Lyle immediately turned to where the music was being looped, only to have a restraining hand placed on his arm.
"Sir, only authorized personnel are allowed in here."
Lyle glared at the man restraining him, a murderous rage beginning to coalesce within him. The guard seemed to notice this and quickly grew pale, the hand on Lyle's arm growing damp with sweat.
Ewwwww. . . Lyle thought crossly, mentally attempting to will the guard's sweaty hand away from his designer suit.
"But, for you, sir, I'm sure we can make an exception." Blissfully, the sweat-drenched hand was removed from Lyle's suit. As soon as the guard turned around, Lyle furiously attempted to brush it off with his sleeve, not willing to get the guard's sweat on his own hand for fear of contamination. This having failed, Lyle stealthily glanced around the room on his way to the stereo system.
"We?" he muttered quietly to himself. "There's no one else here. . ." He cast a quick glance back at the guard, who had resumed his usual dozing, and pondered the sanity of the guard. This inattention caused Lyle to bump into the counter with the stereo system on it, which caused a loud screech to be heard throughout all the elevators in The Centre.
"Oops," he mumbled nonchalantly, quickly flicking off the music. He pulled out the CD that was in the player and replaced it with the correct one, which he found on the counter.
That done, he pulled out the list he had procured earlier in the evening and headed over to the announcement ticker, which was located in the bar in the lunchroom. He thought it would be a fitting place for this particular list. He used his administrative access and deleted the messages that were currently scrolling across the screen, not thinking that perhaps the message labeled: "IMPORTANT: Psychotic Serial Killer Escaped Infirmary. If Spotted, Please RUN AWAY VERY, VERY QUICKLY and REPORT IT to Security." might just be rather important to leave up.
He replaced the deleted information with the list. This was the best idea he'd had yet!
His task finished, Lyle passed the snoozing security guard and called an elevator. When it arrived, he noted that there were three people lying unconscious on the carpeted floor. He quickly ascertained that their unconscious state had probably been caused by the screech he had accidentally created earlier. He filed that away in his mind for later, considering it valuable information to use for one of his special meals. He carefully stepped over their bodies, not wishing to dirty his designer shoes with the dirt of the underlings, and punched the button for his floor, an evil grin plastered upon his handsome face.
He never thought he'd be so grateful to hear the elevator music playing.
-----
Miss Parker sighed in loud annoyance upon noticing that her mini-bar was empty once again. How she managed to go through so much alcohol in only three days she would never know, though she suspected Broots might be stealing some. Or perhaps Sydney was, using it for an experiment like, "How Much Damage to a Patient Can A Drunken Psychiatrist Do?"
She shook her head sadly, resigning herself to having to go to The Centre's bar in the lunchroom, which happened to be open all day, but got the best business in the morning. She didn't expect there to be too many people there at this time of night anyway.
She glided into the lunchroom, her high heels announcing her presence for her. She immediately noticed the large crowd that had gathered around the bar, all laughing at something she couldn't see quite yet. She moved closer, trying to see what the ruckus was all about. A woman giggling in the back noticed Miss Parker's approach and dropped her glass of brandy. It made a pretty tinkling noise as the glass shattered upon contact with the floor, sending the brown liquid gushing across the floor.
This, of course, as Miss Parker had come to expect, started a chain reaction among the crowd. Soon, the floor was covered in alcohol (much to the janitor's chagrin, who was standing in the corner, shaking her head and mumbling to herself), revealing the people that had passed out on the counter (whom the bartender was poking with the handle of a broom and giggling madly every time one moved a bit) and the announcement ticker.
Her attention was captured by the appearance of her name, and she began to read.
Things Miss Parker Has Learned...
SYMPTOM: Feet cold and wet.
FAULT: Glass being held at incorrect angle.
ACTION: Rotate glass so that open end points toward ceiling.
SYMPTOM: Feet warm and wet.
FAULT: Improper bladder control.
ACTION: Stand next to nearest dog, complain about house training.
SYMPTOM: Beer unusually pale and tasteless.
FAULT: Glass empty.
ACTION: Get someone to buy you another beer.
SYMPTOM: Opposite wall covered with fluorescent lights.
FAULT: You have fallen over backward.
ACTION: Have yourself chained to bar.
SYMPTOM: Mouth contains cigarette butts.
FAULT: You have fallen forward.
ACTION: See above.
SYMPTOM: Beer tasteless, front of your shirt is wet.
FAULT: Mouth not open, or glass applied to wrong part of face.
ACTION: Retire to restroom, practice in mirror.
SYMPTOM: Floor blurred.
FAULT: You are looking through bottom of empty glass.
ACTION: Get someone to buy you another beer.
SYMPTOM: Floor moving.
FAULT: You are being carried out.
ACTION: Find out if you are being taken to another bar.
SYMPTOM: Room seems unusually dark.
FAULT: Bar has closed.
ACTION: Confirm home address with bartender, take taxi home.
SYMPTOM: Room suddenly takes on colorful aspect and textures.
FAULT: Beer consumption has exceeded personal limitations.
ACTION: Cover mouth, seek toilet.
SYMPTOM: Everyone looks up to you and smiles.
FAULT: You are dancing on the table.
ACTION: Fall on somebody cushy-looking.
SYMPTOM: Beer is crystal-clear.
FAULT: It's water. Somebody is trying to sober you up.
ACTION: Punch him.
SYMPTOM: Hands hurt, nose hurts, mind unusually clear.
FAULT: You have been in a fight.
ACTION: Apologize to everyone you see, just in case it was them.
SYMPTOM: Don't recognize anyone, don't recognize the room you're in.
FAULT: You've wandered into the wrong party.
ACTION: See if they have free beer.
SYMPTOM: Your singing sounds distorted.
FAULT: The beer is too weak, or insufficient consumption.
ACTION: Have more beer until your voice improves.
SYMPTOM: Don't remember the words to the song.
FAULT: Beer is just right.
ACTION: Play air guitar.
"Lyle," she hissed coldly, turning on her heel and marching out of the lunchroom, all thoughts of a drink banished from her mind.
-----
the end.
feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.
by: chopsticks
g
-----
Lyle gritted his teeth as he headed down to the Computer Core, where the music for the elevators originated. He slammed open the door, scaring the security guard that was stationed there out of his dreamy sleep. Lyle immediately turned to where the music was being looped, only to have a restraining hand placed on his arm.
"Sir, only authorized personnel are allowed in here."
Lyle glared at the man restraining him, a murderous rage beginning to coalesce within him. The guard seemed to notice this and quickly grew pale, the hand on Lyle's arm growing damp with sweat.
Ewwwww. . . Lyle thought crossly, mentally attempting to will the guard's sweaty hand away from his designer suit.
"But, for you, sir, I'm sure we can make an exception." Blissfully, the sweat-drenched hand was removed from Lyle's suit. As soon as the guard turned around, Lyle furiously attempted to brush it off with his sleeve, not willing to get the guard's sweat on his own hand for fear of contamination. This having failed, Lyle stealthily glanced around the room on his way to the stereo system.
"We?" he muttered quietly to himself. "There's no one else here. . ." He cast a quick glance back at the guard, who had resumed his usual dozing, and pondered the sanity of the guard. This inattention caused Lyle to bump into the counter with the stereo system on it, which caused a loud screech to be heard throughout all the elevators in The Centre.
"Oops," he mumbled nonchalantly, quickly flicking off the music. He pulled out the CD that was in the player and replaced it with the correct one, which he found on the counter.
That done, he pulled out the list he had procured earlier in the evening and headed over to the announcement ticker, which was located in the bar in the lunchroom. He thought it would be a fitting place for this particular list. He used his administrative access and deleted the messages that were currently scrolling across the screen, not thinking that perhaps the message labeled: "IMPORTANT: Psychotic Serial Killer Escaped Infirmary. If Spotted, Please RUN AWAY VERY, VERY QUICKLY and REPORT IT to Security." might just be rather important to leave up.
He replaced the deleted information with the list. This was the best idea he'd had yet!
His task finished, Lyle passed the snoozing security guard and called an elevator. When it arrived, he noted that there were three people lying unconscious on the carpeted floor. He quickly ascertained that their unconscious state had probably been caused by the screech he had accidentally created earlier. He filed that away in his mind for later, considering it valuable information to use for one of his special meals. He carefully stepped over their bodies, not wishing to dirty his designer shoes with the dirt of the underlings, and punched the button for his floor, an evil grin plastered upon his handsome face.
He never thought he'd be so grateful to hear the elevator music playing.
Miss Parker sighed in loud annoyance upon noticing that her mini-bar was empty once again. How she managed to go through so much alcohol in only three days she would never know, though she suspected Broots might be stealing some. Or perhaps Sydney was, using it for an experiment like, "How Much Damage to a Patient Can A Drunken Psychiatrist Do?"
She shook her head sadly, resigning herself to having to go to The Centre's bar in the lunchroom, which happened to be open all day, but got the best business in the morning. She didn't expect there to be too many people there at this time of night anyway.
She glided into the lunchroom, her high heels announcing her presence for her. She immediately noticed the large crowd that had gathered around the bar, all laughing at something she couldn't see quite yet. She moved closer, trying to see what the ruckus was all about. A woman giggling in the back noticed Miss Parker's approach and dropped her glass of brandy. It made a pretty tinkling noise as the glass shattered upon contact with the floor, sending the brown liquid gushing across the floor.
This, of course, as Miss Parker had come to expect, started a chain reaction among the crowd. Soon, the floor was covered in alcohol (much to the janitor's chagrin, who was standing in the corner, shaking her head and mumbling to herself), revealing the people that had passed out on the counter (whom the bartender was poking with the handle of a broom and giggling madly every time one moved a bit) and the announcement ticker.
Her attention was captured by the appearance of her name, and she began to read.
Things Miss Parker Has Learned...
SYMPTOM: Feet cold and wet.
FAULT: Glass being held at incorrect angle.
ACTION: Rotate glass so that open end points toward ceiling.
SYMPTOM: Feet warm and wet.
FAULT: Improper bladder control.
ACTION: Stand next to nearest dog, complain about house training.
SYMPTOM: Beer unusually pale and tasteless.
FAULT: Glass empty.
ACTION: Get someone to buy you another beer.
SYMPTOM: Opposite wall covered with fluorescent lights.
FAULT: You have fallen over backward.
ACTION: Have yourself chained to bar.
SYMPTOM: Mouth contains cigarette butts.
FAULT: You have fallen forward.
ACTION: See above.
SYMPTOM: Beer tasteless, front of your shirt is wet.
FAULT: Mouth not open, or glass applied to wrong part of face.
ACTION: Retire to restroom, practice in mirror.
SYMPTOM: Floor blurred.
FAULT: You are looking through bottom of empty glass.
ACTION: Get someone to buy you another beer.
SYMPTOM: Floor moving.
FAULT: You are being carried out.
ACTION: Find out if you are being taken to another bar.
SYMPTOM: Room seems unusually dark.
FAULT: Bar has closed.
ACTION: Confirm home address with bartender, take taxi home.
SYMPTOM: Room suddenly takes on colorful aspect and textures.
FAULT: Beer consumption has exceeded personal limitations.
ACTION: Cover mouth, seek toilet.
SYMPTOM: Everyone looks up to you and smiles.
FAULT: You are dancing on the table.
ACTION: Fall on somebody cushy-looking.
SYMPTOM: Beer is crystal-clear.
FAULT: It's water. Somebody is trying to sober you up.
ACTION: Punch him.
SYMPTOM: Hands hurt, nose hurts, mind unusually clear.
FAULT: You have been in a fight.
ACTION: Apologize to everyone you see, just in case it was them.
SYMPTOM: Don't recognize anyone, don't recognize the room you're in.
FAULT: You've wandered into the wrong party.
ACTION: See if they have free beer.
SYMPTOM: Your singing sounds distorted.
FAULT: The beer is too weak, or insufficient consumption.
ACTION: Have more beer until your voice improves.
SYMPTOM: Don't remember the words to the song.
FAULT: Beer is just right.
ACTION: Play air guitar.
"Lyle," she hissed coldly, turning on her heel and marching out of the lunchroom, all thoughts of a drink banished from her mind.
the end.
feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.
