My Enemy is a vegetable

Kale smiled. If it weren’t for the fact that she liked riding a mechanical set of drawers that vaguely resembled a horse, she’d be driving a racecar. She was so cool with her hair in a stupid ponytail and braid and her long legs and breasts that defied gravity and blah blah blah. She was smart enough to do surgery even (despite the fact that she was dumb enough to walk right into the bad guys time and again and couldn’t tell a scalpel from a scarecrow); she would have done surgery on herself, but she couldn’t reach around her breasts. She prided herself on being able to help NASA get a rocket to the moon, and yet she was too dumb to realize vampires were already colonizing the stars.
She hated vampires. There was no real reason for it. She also liked killing people who were trapped in a limbo not of their own choosing, which meant she killed bored people. Someone would certainly have told her about how illogical and cruel she was, accept—sorry, EXCEPT no one was brave enough to go near her.
She often went into bordellos asking if she could cook, completely oblivious to the fact that she was in a bordello, let alone the rudeness from the management. When she ran out of whorehouses and complained vapidly at anyone who made a pass at her, she went to a restaurant and threatened someone to let her cook.
Once she disappeared into the kitchen, most of the patrons disappeared to another restaurant. Those who could ignore her soon lost all their IQ points once her powerful pheromones hit them.
She did what she always did. Try to take over the world… with stew!
Ah, you see, few people would ever have thought that her stew was the key part in how she would one day be queen of the world. The fortunate thing was, she had no idea how she was going to use stew, she just thought conquering by stew was really cool.
Another fortunate thing for the world and everyone in it with more than ten braincells was that everyone poured the measly two spoonfuls of stew they were given into the potted plant or flower vase nearest them.
Innocent, innocent, innocent (etc) Kale never noticed that every plant withered and turned to brown mush after serving her ‘wonderful’ stew.
Even though she was already doing so, she smiled again. It was her magic power to do things again without stopping.
She sang to herself a song that wasn’t very popular in the 1980’s.
Kale always needed long useless introductions.
She thought about D. Not the real D, of course, but the D she thought was real. She thought about him calling her ‘baby,’ adding pedophile subtext to something the real D would never say, since he started calling her that ever since she was mad she couldn’t get away with stealing someone else’s kid. She thought about Aceline, her adopted child, who was so sweet and perfect it was amazing even Kale didn’t notice she was actually a Hello Kitty robot. She remembered stupider times, such as when she gave birth to a superfluous device said to be used for cloning, despite the fact that nothing larger than a baby tree frog could fit in it.
She looked up, her expression betraying how much of a yokel she was as a woman casually walked in the door. The woman had black hair and on her belt were two uzis and a bunch of throwing daggers.
Sorry, I forgot to describe Kale’s outfit: ugly and any costumer will tell you it’s damn impossible.
"Someone put meat in your paint," Ivre said, poking her head into the pot of noxious poisons.
"It’s stew," Kale said.
"Did you run out of real food?"
"I made it myself," Kale said, gloating at her non-sequiter comment.
There was a pause in the conversation.
"Yeah," Ivre said, sitting down next to a young girl about ten. "You see, you don’t work here, and the fact that you’re offering me oven cleaner scares me."
"You can have two spoonfuls," Kale said.
"On second thought, just gimme a beer."
"NO."
"What do you mean ‘No?’ You don’t even work here!" Ivre said, pointing at Kale’s outfit, which barely covered her nipples. Weapons used against misunderstood endangered species littered the goofy outfit.
"I’m not giving you beer. It’s bad for you."
"I want one beer, lady."
"Beer is bad for your health. No one gets any alcohol when I can help it."
"BIG mistake, lady," Ivre said, grabbing her gun and pointing it at Kale. "NO ONE gets between me and beer."
Kale didn’t let the fact that a gun capable of filling her with bullets was aimed at her. She grabbed one of the knives in the pants (ow) of her body suite (a concept the author is still struggling with).
By now Ivre was leaning over the table and grabbing a bottle from under it, the uzi still pointed at Kale.
Kale yelled and lunged at Ivre, never imagining a dhampil could be faster than a human. Hearing her scream, Ivre lifted herself up and smashed a bottle she had grabbed into Kale’s head.
"Damnit, I used the good stuff," Ivre muttered as Kale slumped to the floor.
Ivre grabbed another bottle and adjusted herself on the stool.
The kid next to her screamed and another patron, stood up and approached her.
"My sexual preference is NO," Ivre said, and started gulping down the alcohol.
"My name is Logan," he said, putting a hand on the bottle and taking it from her mouth.
Ivre narrowed her eyes.
"You just hurt my friend, and that makes me very, very ma—" his valiant speech was cut short as Ivre fired and uzi with her free arm. He fell to the floor with a dull thud, a large hole in his lung and spine.
"You mess with my liquor, you mess with me," Ivre said. "Anyone else want to interrupt me while I’m drinking?"
"MOMMY!" the little girl screamed. Another man stood up and charged her, sword out. (The rest of this paragraph is stolen from Feathers On The Wind, a few edits here and there.) His hair was long and auburn, a dark contrast to Kale’s own brown locks (despite the fact that brown vs. brown isn’t really a contrast). He had a slim oval face with strong chiseled features, a straight nose and modest check bones. His eyes were blue, a lighter shade than the sky, and reflected a kind of sadness that Kale suspected ran very deep. His shoulders were broad and strong; from under his cloak she could see strong muscles carve his chest (into what, I’m not sure), his shirt clinging tightly to his torso attesting to that fact (duh). His legs were long and well muscled.
Essentially, he was making a pathetic attempt to resemble D (although the author forgot his hat in all this description).
However, a sword across the room is no match for long-range guns, especially those capable continuously firing at you. Ivre brought the bottle to her lips and clicked the button on her gun. She held down the trigger and began to gulp, her eyes on the person charging him. Riddled with bullets, one of which took off most of his head, he fell to the floor.
"Y’all don’t come back now, y’hear," Ivre said, pausing from her drink long enough to get the words out. She pulled a paper wad out of her pocket and tossed them on the counter.
"MOMMY!! MOMMY!! MOMMY!!" the girl squealed. "The evil heathen is killing them!"
"You killed D!" Kale yelled as she grabbed an arrow from her belt and fired it in her rip-off-of-Borgoff-and-rather-useless-in-a-real-battle crossbow. Since a crossbow require bolts and not arrows, the missile softly flew through the air, tapped the skin above Ivre’s breasts, and fell on the counter.
"If you’re going to challenge me to darts, I have to warn you, Ivre said, setting the bottle on the counter and pulling out a throwing dagger. "Mine are bigger."
"MOMMY!!"
"Does your kid say anything else?" Ivre asked.
"How did you know she was my kid?" Kale asked, trying to fire another arrow, but jamming the weapon with the wrongly loaded weapon.
"Here’s a hint, these ain’t coupons," Ivre said, sniffing the arrow.
Kale glared at her, banged on the crossbow, then checked the papers. Opening the paper wad, she noticed it was a wanted poster. A wanted poster with her, Aceline, the man she thought was D, Logan, Edward, Adrian, and Dracula. Collectively they were wanted for a lot of murders, killing endangered animals, leaving the scene of crimes, attempted murder, child abduction, destruction of public and private property, damage to protected forests, impersonating The Vampire King and his son, disturbing the peace, carrying a concealed weapon over six feet in length (illegal in Washington state), wearing body hugging clothing (illegal in New York), performing a marriage while the alleged couple consists of an idiot and a lunatic (illegal in Rhode Island).
"Someone’s been a busy girl," Ivre said. "This smells funny. Did you make spaghetti with it?"
"It’s garlic, you’re supposed to die!"
"Garlic doesn’t do anything, dumbass," Ivre said, and tossed the arrow at Kale. It lodged between Kale’s awkwardly huge breasts.
"You’re supposed to die! Stop laughing at me!"
"take that out before you talk," Ivre managed, between giggles. "And get this out of my face," she said, shoving the pot of stew at Kale.
"Don’t you dare insult my stew!" Kale yelled, shoving it back.
"Don’t shove it in my face," Ivre yelled, and smacked the pot, making it tip over and spill all over Aceline.
Ivre and Kale both screamed, for different reasons. Ivre ducked to the floor, hiding behind the stool. Kale watched dumbfounded (which happens very often), as the toxic chemicals melted Aceline’s skin from her face, her hair burning in an odd purple flame. Metal charred and broke off and fell to the floor and sparks flew from her eyes.
As the flames started dying down, Ivre got up and stared at the broken cyborg, wondering at the Hello Kitty logo on the inside of the broken metal skull.
"This is horrible!" Kcriecried, her beautiful tears falling form her beautiful eyes (every time Kale cries, it’s supposed to be beautiful, I think the author has a very weird fetish).
"Yeah, they programmed her to speak like a three year old," Ivre said. "She’s so revolting and cute, so perfect…that’s not human.
"Well, I planned to have a drink before getting the rest, but you’re taking all the fun out of getting smashed. See ya, I mean it." Ivre grabbed the bottle and wandered out the door.
Kale took a long time to contemplate the death of her friends, as usual. She screamed incomprehensible sentences, mangling the English language beyond repair. She cried and cried and was so pretty.
She sang a sad song that no one ever liked in her time because she didn’t know any requiems, and ran out to find Max, her cyborg that was move spice rack than horse.
She mounted the horse (giving me really bad imagery) and rode off. She had to warn the others.

* * * * *

Kale ran inside the house after bothering to tie up her equine crate. After warning them, she dashed up to the lav not knowing why (there’s just so much emphasis on them in her stories).
Dracula, Alucard, and Edward stood ready, prepared for Ivre to break into the house from the windows, or walk in the door, or lure them out.
Dracula was a mix between a cliché evil villain from the eighties and a football player. He was built like a brick wall and more hormones coursing through his veins than a bonobo, and was an evil robot flunkie short of a Saturday morning cartoon villain.
Alucard, his son, was a man who never heard of the word ‘haircut’ and hit on anything humanoid with logs and breasts (one owman had no arms. Really!).
Edward was the mooch of the bunch, he contributed nothing but entropy and had convinced Dracula that he was the Vampire King’s son. Dracula went through human women like toilet paper, and did not want a paternity suit ensuing, so he let the little leech into his house and family.
They heard thundering hoofbeats as Ivre approached the house, but exchanged confused glances as the hoofbeats didn’t stop. Their eyes went wide as they heard the door falling, the hoofbeats in the house.
They had no time to contemplate this, which they surely would do instead of formulating a plan or running away.
Dracula screamed, blood spraying fris mis mouth as a gun went off three times and three giant holes were blasted in him.
He toppled to the floor and Ivre road thorough the living room on her horse. She brought the horse to a stop and pointed a gun at Dracula.
"Ace in the hole!" she shouted, triumphantly. "So, battle mode, or what?"
"What?" he asked.
"Man, for someone who came from a video game, you suck. You have lost." She pulled the trigger and destroyed his heart.
"My God!" Alucard exclaimed, running towards Ivre. "That’s so sexy!"
"Hold that thought," she said, and threw a throwing dagger at Edward. He fell to the ground, satisfyingly dead.
"You killed my brother!" Alucard yelled. "Can we have sex?"
"Let me guess, you’ve a little friend to show me," Ivre said, leaning close to his face and fiddling with a belt. "I like those."
"You’ll love mine," Alu whi whispered, his hand going to the clasp of his cloak.
"I’d like you to meet mine," Ivre said.
Before he could ask what she met, she sliced through his neck with one of her daggers.
"Mine’s always hard," she said, wiping the blood on her sleeve and putting in back in her belt.
"YOU!" she heard Kale yell behind her (she always takes this long going to the bathroom).
She turned and saw Kale with a large bow nocked and ready. Kale fired.
The arrow flew through the air, stopped before it hit Ivre, and fell to the floor.
"You killed D! I hate you! I’ll avenge him! I love him and he loved me! He danced with me and loved my tea and he rescued me from a slimy ark!" Kale yelled.
"Ark? You mean like with the guy with the whip and the hat?" Ivre asked.
"No, a facility to use people to hatch clones. They thought they snapped my brainstem."
"I’m not surprised."
Kale fired again and again.
The arrows kept falling to the floor, Ivre began to get bored. Kale never even tried to aim for I’vre horse. Se could never harm suck an adowable aminal wike a horsey-worsey.
Out of arrows isnce she never in her life thought to bring more than three, Kale through (whatever that means) a knife at Ivre. Since fighting knives and throwing knives are not the same, the knife spun through the air, hitting a wall nowhere near Ivre.
"I won’t give up!" Kale yelled and ran outside, for some reason thinking she was winning.
Ivre shrugged and followed.
Kale mounted her horse again (my eyes! My eyes!) and rode off. Since her mind was that of a parakeet, she ran in circles, distracted by shiny things.
"How did you get here after me?" Kale yelled, seeing Ivre catching up.
"It was a trick. I just used my telestuff and followed you here!"
"Are you an arker?" Kale asked, ignoring the fact that Ivre was catching o heo her.
"Look, there’s no such thing as an ark. It is damn impossible!"
"You’re lying!" Kale yelled. Ivre was now riding along side of her.
"boot to the head!" Ivre yelled, and kicked Kale off. Her glasses were smashed and flew off Kale’s face, levitating in the air. Ivre grabbed them and kept riding.
The loyal chest of drawers of st wit with Kale. She opened the horse’s compartments, hoping to find something to save her. A gun. She had found a gun. She didn’t care how it got there, nothing was never explained in her stories, aiming at the moving blur that was Ivre.
"SHARK!" Ivre yelled.
Kale went into shock, only not really, because the author know so little about medicine and first aid she can’t tell a tourniquet from triage (this part pissed me off the most in Feathers on the Wind. Shock is fright or surprise. Being shocked is being surprised, scared, or sticking your finger in an electrical socket. Going into shock, however, is caused by blood loss, sudden change in temperature, or allergies, not going ‘oh no, that’s scary!’ What Kale actually went into was catatonia, seeing your environment, but not reacting; it is a kind of schizophrenia. Shock is when your skin is clammy, your pulse is fast, your breathing is shallow, and is physical rather than a mental disorder.)
Ivre fired, the bullet hitting the cyborg. It exploded in a burst of flames and a rain of shrapnel. Kale, not knowing Stop-drop-and-roll, let alone how bad third degree burns are, just sat there.
Ivre shrugged and turned the horse in the direction of the nearest town, content that she had made the world a far better place, and even happier that no one would ever again off her stew instead of food.