Halloweiner Story by Ashbear and Wayward Tempest
To say that it was storming outside on that autumn night would be the understatement of the year. Well, the understatement right after “Gee, that Norg has some nice abs.” But I digress.
It was a storm that would’ve peeled the paint off an adamantoise’s shell, even after a nice waxing. There was enough water in this storm to cause Leviathan to go out and buy flood insurance, to make Ifrit wet his pajamas, enough water to transform Cactaur into Kelptaur. Okay, are we all cleared up about the storm? That it is really, really big? Good. It has very little to do with the story…but we needed to set a mood.
Now then, it was in fact the middle of the night there in the quiet and peaceful place where they train the elite youth of the nation to KILL the sorceress. Of course we're speaking of the delightful Balamb Garden. Home of the heroes of the Final Fantasy VIII world, home of J.T-Rexaur of former Jurassic Park fame, and home of the infamous tuna salad…that is not appearing in this story.
So, fanfic forecasts are for dark and stormy. Now then. The inhabitants were sleeping peacefully even with the raging typhoon outside due to the deluxe sound proof walls designed by Siren’s Silence ‘N’ Things. Yes folks, she was good for something. So the darkness enveloped the entire area, everyone slumbered happily, the hotdogs of the cafeteria were wrapped snuggly in their cellophane awaiting another day for which the happy people of Garden would grab them greedily and tear the pork by-products limb from limb if they had any limbs. But all was peaceful, and there was no reason or cause for alarm
The authors wrote in all caps to get your attention.
They did it again so they could laugh.
Ultimecia appeared in the meat locker of the cafeteria, not her intended destination, but detours on the ‘Time-Kompression Super Highway’ are a might bit tricky. Now she was a tad road raged from the trip and waterlogged because time compression isn’t immune from gigantic monsoon weather systems. She also had stopped and had a few drinks with Hyne on the way. So like most sloshed sorceresses would be in her position…she was a bit delusional.
“Ah hah haaaa,” she laughed in evil character fashion.
“After months of plotting my revenge in my Time Kompression Share in Tahiti, I have returned to kuuurrrsssee youuuu,” She slurred. (Hey you drink seven Malboro cocktails and see how good you can articulate.)
Anyway, she then proceeded to wiggle her hands in the air in drunken sorceress fashion, casting a blue magic from her new manicure, which surrounded the hotdogs in a bath of warm light. Now hotdogs, not being used to sorceresses awakening them from their frozen slumbers were a bit perplexed. To say the least, they were expecting a frying pan full of grease, or someone impaling them on sticks.
She then looked up from her recent accomplishment to examine the destruction. Only to find…she was in a meat locker.
“Son-of-a-Buel!” She kursed..er..cursed.
Not only was she in the wrong place, but she was supposed to be in the middle of the annual SeeD Expo, materializing herself onstage…however she was about seven hours off schedule.
“Kurse that light year time kompression savings time!”