"Dinner Entertainment" - Trigun (m) - (2 Parts)

[dojichick13]

Hi all!

Well, after being pretty much non-existant on the forum this last month or so, I thought I'd mark my return by sharing this pointless-but-fun fic that I've been working on with you. Hopefully you will enjoy it...

It all started because I got on a Trigun kick. I had watched the series a couple of years ago and loved it, but I haven't really given it a second glance since then. Well, I figured it was about time to re-watch the eps, so I did, and oh my gosh, I'd completely forgotten how much I love Legato!!! For those who don't know about Trigun, it's pretty simple; he's one of the main bad guys, he has telepathic and telekinetic powers, and he has not one whit of redeemability, so torturing him is fun and guilt-free! XD

Here's a picture of Sir Hottstuff Legato.

And check this out; here's a picture of an awesome figurine they made of him. I saw it and I was like, "Wow, looks cool. But it's too small, I need to see what his expression looks like." So then I found this.

Okay, I know he's using his powers there, but dear LORD, does that not look like he's just about to and/or just did you-know-what?!! XD That pretty much made me say YES, I need to write a fic. RIGHT NOW.

Sooooo, I wondered what would happen if Legato caught a cold. He IS human, after all, so it's totally possible. And what if it just...messed with his powers? Hmmmmmmmm...

The other character in the fic is Midvalley. He's a sax musician/assassin and one of the Gung-Ho Guns, the group of baddies that Legato is the leader of. He's also rather saucy, as you can tell from the pic. I have not yet decided whether he will be tortured in this fic yet or not, but I am sorely tempted. lol!

Anyway, enjoy the first half!

--Doji

Title: "Dinner Entertainment"

Fandom: Trigun

Rating: PG-13 (Language)

___

Midvalley walked into the high-class restaurant, the only one in town and the first he'd been in for over a month, and cast his sharp gaze around the lobby. He took in all the details: the ornately woven rug covering the polished wood floor, its intricate designs and royal colors revealing it to be of the highest craftsmanship; the crystal chandeliers with solid gold accents; and a pair of antique .45 caliber guns, their blue metal barrels and ivory handles gleaming spotlessly from a perch above the double-door entrance. For a finishing touch, the name of the restaurant---aptly dubbed "The Diamond in the Rough"---was embossed into a solid silver placard that hung directly in front of the doors. All in all, a very impressive establishment.

He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes were left before he was scheduled to begin his performance, and until the hands on his watch pointed to 7:00 p.m. exactly, he intended to continue the search that he'd started earlier that day. That meant there was no time to stand here and wait for the garcon or whatever overdressed monkey ran this place to come and fetch him; he'd just find his way to the stage by himself, after he was certain that the missing party he was searching for was not to be found here. With a flip of his dark black hair, he strutted confidently into the main dining room, moving smoothly past the various wait staff that hurriedly ran from table to table.

He carefully studied the various guests that sat eating their dinner or sipping their wine. Here a pale young female; there a wrinkled old man. Still no sign of the one he searched for. He could see the brightly-lit stage from here, and he ran an affectionate hand down the side of his saxophone---Sylvia, he had nicknamed her---as he walked further into the dining area, ignoring the sputtering calls of "Sir! Sir?" that suddenly chased after him. The garcon, no doubt.

Without even looking back at the distressed man, he continued his visual inspection of the customers. A redhead in a short black dress---he took special note of her; perhaps after his fine performance he would allow her to buy him a drink---a middle-aged man drowning his sorrows in a vintage bottle of wine, and---

He stopped. The last table on the left had a single occupant dressed in a long white cape. Spiked armor jutted from his right shoulder and he gripped a cloth napkin in one gloved hand. From Midvalley's current position, the blue-haired man had his head turned at an angle that left his his face completely in profile. He was staring off into the distance, and from what Midvalley could tell, his expression seemed to be one of intense concentration.

Bingo.

It was Legato; he was sure of it. He'd seen that expression on the man's face a thousand times, and it always meant the same thing: some poor sap was getting his brains royally scrambled.

I wonder who he's mindfucking this time? He thought with a grin.

Your mother, came the instant reply.

Midvalley blinked in surprise. Legato hadn't even turned his head to look at him, yet he'd responded quite clearly. The musician sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd inadvertantly overlooked Legato's special talent in regards to his own mind. He knew the man was a telepath, but it was damned hard to constantly be keeping your own thoughts in check.

Ha, ha. Very funny, he sent back clearly. But I haven't been searching for you all day in order to trade insults. I need to talk to you, and I'd prefer to do it by using my actual voice, if you don't mind.

No reply.

Hello? He tried again. Boss?

Still no reply.

Fine, he thought petulantly. I'll get your attention the old-fashioned way. "Hey, Boss?" he called loudly, heedless of the curious stares from the other customers. It did the trick; Legato finally turned to face him.

Midvalley wasted no time. "Listen," he began, covering the remaining distance between himself and Legato's table with few quick strides. "We need to talk. I think it's about time for us to..."

He trailed off. It was quite apparent to him that Legato wasn't listening at all. A desperately unsteady look had appeared on the Gung-Ho leader's face, and as Midvalley watched, he pressed the cloth napkin to his nose and sneezed.

"hh...hp'KGxt!"

The lights flickered.

Startled, Midvalley tilted his head back to look at them. The power surge only lasted for a second; the white bulbs in the chandeliers dimmed and brightened, dimmed and brightened, each time casting odd shadows around the restaurant. He could hear a low insect-like buzz of electricity crackling through the air, and he briefly wondered if the power might shut off completely; but after a moment, the fluke seemed to regulate itself. Instead of going out, the lights returned to full brightness with a sharp zzip! sound.

He brought his glance back to Legato. The usual stoic expression had appeared on the Gung-Ho leader's face; it seemed to indicate that he wasn't surprised or even bothered by the lights. Nor was anyone else from the looks of it. After shooting a quick look to the other patrons, Midvalley saw that they all seemed to just grumble and shake it off as a regular occurance. He frowned. That was...odd...

A sharp sniff from Legato brought him back to his senses. The blue-haired man was watching him, obviously waiting for an explanation as to why Midvalley had had the nerve to interrupt his dinner. Unsure of how to react, Midvalley simply shrugged. "Well...that was strange, wasn't it?" he said, sliding into the chair across from his leader. He gently placed Sylvia on the seat next to him. "Especially for a classy joint like this. There must be something wrong with the town's Plant."

Legato rubbed his nose delicately with the napkin before setting it down. "Hmmm...perhaps," he agreed. "It has been occuring regularly throughout the day. And it seems to be happening more frequently now." His yellow eyes, seemingly devoid of all emotion, narrowed on Midvalley's face. "Is that all you wanted to discuss?"

"No. But the fact that this place has a shitty power generator is just one more reason for us to move out of here ASAP," Midvalley replied smoothly. He leaned forward, putting both of his elbows on the table, and met Legato's stare. "Look, we know Vash is finally back on the run---you said so yourself just a few days ago. So what the hell are we still doing here? Let's cut him off at the pass, or at least try to get close on his tail." Midvalley's voice grew more agitated as he spoke. He was eager to leave; aside from the restlessness that always seized him when he stayed in one place for too long, this particular town wasn't very well populated, and he hadn't had a decent audience for any of his sax performances. It was, in his opinion, a waste of his considerable talent and an insult to Sylvia.

"I've tried to be patient," he continued. "but I'm bored out of my skull, Legato. So are the other Guns, from what I've seen. And Vash gets farther from our grasp every minute we dawdle here." He strummed his fingers on the table. "Can't we just pack up and go already? Just give me half an hour to perform in front of this pitiful audience, and then we can gather the rest of the Guns from the saloon and be on our way---"

"Unfortunately, that's not an option." Legato interrupted. He paused to rub at his temples and sniffle thickly. When he resumed speaking, there was a definite hint of congestion in his voice. "Hmm. It seems you haven't noticed..."

Midvalley frowned. Legato had done a quick sweep of his mind, he was sure of it. The sensation had been as delicate as the touch of a moth's wings, but he'd felt it nonetheless. "Noticed what?" He asked warily.

"That I seem to have fallen ill." Legato stared impassively at him. "And it wouldn't be wise for us to travel while I'm in this condition."

Midvalley raised an eyebrow.

"You're...sick?" he asked, surprised. Of all the responses he had envisioned Legato giving him, that had not been one of them. He had noticed the Gung-Ho leader looking a bit weary these last few days, but he'd chalked it up to the grueling pace they'd set in order to cross the last barren stretch of desert in pursuit of the Humanoid Typhoon. Now he took a closer look at Legato's face. It did look a bit paler than normal, and there were dark circles under his eyes...

Midvalley sighed in resignation. As much as he wanted to leave, it didn't look like it'd be happening today.

"Well, now that you mention it, you do look a bit off. So how long do you think we'll need to wait before we can move out? One, maybe two days?"

"Your concern for me is heartwarming," Legato replied dryly. "But yes, I think that two days should be sufficient."

The musician sighed again. "I'd be lying if I said that was what I'd hoped for. But it sounds fair. After all, it wouldn't be smart to travel if it could seriously compromise your health."

Legato cast a bemused look at his companion. A long, quiet look. "Midvalley...you needn't worry about my health being put in jeopardy..." He began, then turned away suddenly and pressed the palm of one gloved hand to his nose. "Hh'hKght-sh!...unh.."

The lights flickered again.

"Damn, that's annoying." Midvalley looked up. "I hope that knocks off while I'm playing." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, it looks like it's just about showtime."

He rose from the table. On the steps leading to the stage, he could see the garcon looking frantic. "I'd better get up there before he goes into a conniption fit." He eyed Legato speculatively. "You should go to bed, get some rest."

"I've been doing just that for the past day and half."

Midvalley nodded. Well, no wonder he hadn't been able to locate him earlier.

"I desired to have something to eat. Starving myself was not helping my condition at all. And besides..." Legato's lips twitched ever so slightly. "..you're not the only one who's bored."

"Fair enough." Midvalley turned and started his trek to the stage, Sylvia in hand. The garcon saw him and heaved a visible sigh of relief. A few other musicians stood adjusting their instruments on-stage. They looked decent, at least.

He shot one last look at his boss before hopping onto the stage. Enjoy your dinner.

Break a leg, came the deadpan reply.

___

TBC...

[2NewGuy]

Hi all!

Well, after being pretty much non-existant on the forum this last month or so, I thought I'd mark my return by sharing this pointless-but-fun fic that I've been working on with you. Hopefully you will enjoy it...

It all started because I got on a Trigun kick. I had watched the series a couple of years ago and loved it, but I haven't really given it a second glance since then. Well, I figured it was about time to re-watch the eps, so I did, and oh my gosh, I'd completely forgotten how much I love Legato!!! For those who don't know about Trigun, it's pretty simple; he's one of the main bad guys, he has telepathic and telekinetic powers, and he has not one whit of redeemability, so torturing him is fun and guilt-free! XD

Here's a picture of Sir Hottstuff Legato.

And check this out; here's a picture of an awesome figurine they made of him. I saw it and I was like, "Wow, looks cool. But it's too small, I need to see what his expression looks like." So then I found this.

Okay, I know he's using his powers there, but dear LORD, does that not look like he's just about to and/or just did you-know-what?!! XD That pretty much made me say YES, I need to write a fic. RIGHT NOW.

Sooooo, I wondered what would happen if Legato caught a cold. He IS human, after all, so it's totally possible. And what if it just...messed with his powers? Hmmmmmmmm...

The other character in the fic is Midvalley. He's a sax musician/assassin and one of the Gung-Ho Guns, the group of baddies that Legato is the leader of. He's also rather saucy, as you can tell from the pic. I have not yet decided whether he will be tortured in this fic yet or not, but I am sorely tempted. lol!

Anyway, enjoy the first half!

--Doji

Title: "Dinner Entertainment"

Fandom: Trigun

Rating: PG-13 (Language)

___

Midvalley walked into the high-class restaurant, the only one in town and the first he'd been in for over a month, and cast his sharp gaze around the lobby. He took in all the details: the ornately woven rug covering the polished wood floor, its intricate designs and royal colors revealing it to be of the highest craftsmanship; the crystal chandeliers with solid gold accents; and a pair of antique .45 caliber guns, their blue metal barrels and ivory handles gleaming spotlessly from a perch above the double-door entrance. For a finishing touch, the name of the restaurant---aptly dubbed "The Diamond in the Rough"---was embossed into a solid silver placard that hung directly in front of the doors. All in all, a very impressive establishment.

He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes were left before he was scheduled to begin his performance, and until the hands on his watch pointed to 7:00 p.m. exactly, he intended to continue the search that he'd started earlier that day. That meant there was no time to stand here and wait for the garcon or whatever overdressed monkey ran this place to come and fetch him; he'd just find his way to the stage by himself, after he was certain that the missing party he was searching for was not to be found here. With a flip of his dark black hair, he strutted confidently into the main dining room, moving smoothly past the various wait staff that hurriedly ran from table to table.

He carefully studied the various guests that sat eating their dinner or sipping their wine. Here a pale young female; there a wrinkled old man. Still no sign of the one he searched for. He could see the brightly-lit stage from here, and he ran an affectionate hand down the side of his saxophone---Sylvia, he had nicknamed her---as he walked further into the dining area, ignoring the sputtering calls of "Sir! Sir?" that suddenly chased after him. The garcon, no doubt.

Without even looking back at the distressed man, he continued his visual inspection of the customers. A redhead in a short black dress---he took special note of her; perhaps after his fine performance he would allow her to buy him a drink---a middle-aged man drowning his sorrows in a vintage bottle of wine, and---

He stopped. The last table on the left had a single occupant dressed in a long white cape. Spiked armor jutted from his right shoulder and he gripped a cloth napkin in one gloved hand. From Midvalley's current position, the blue-haired man had his head turned at an angle that left his his face completely in profile. He was staring off into the distance, and from what Midvalley could tell, his expression seemed to be one of intense concentration.

Bingo.

It was Legato; he was sure of it. He'd seen that expression on the man's face a thousand times, and it always meant the same thing: some poor sap was getting his brains royally scrambled.

I wonder who he's mindfucking this time? He thought with a grin.

Your mother, came the instant reply.

Midvalley blinked in surprise. Legato hadn't even turned his head to look at him, yet he'd responded quite clearly. The musician sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd inadvertantly overlooked Legato's special talent in regards to his own mind. He knew the man was a telepath, but it was damned hard to constantly be keeping your own thoughts in check.

Ha, ha. Very funny, he sent back clearly. But I haven't been searching for you all day in order to trade insults. I need to talk to you, and I'd prefer to do it by using my actual voice, if you don't mind.

No reply.

Hello? He tried again. Boss?

Still no reply.

Fine, he thought petulantly. I'll get your attention the old-fashioned way. "Hey, Boss?" he called loudly, heedless of the curious stares from the other customers. It did the trick; Legato finally turned to face him.

Midvalley wasted no time. "Listen," he began, covering the remaining distance between himself and Legato's table with few quick strides. "We need to talk. I think it's about time for us to..."

He trailed off. It was quite apparent to him that Legato wasn't listening at all. A desperately unsteady look had appeared on the Gung-Ho leader's face, and as Midvalley watched, he pressed the cloth napkin to his nose and sneezed.

"hh...hp'KGxt!"

The lights flickered.

Startled, Midvalley tilted his head back to look at them. The power surge only lasted for a second; the white bulbs in the chandeliers dimmed and brightened, dimmed and brightened, each time casting odd shadows around the restaurant. He could hear a low insect-like buzz of electricity crackling through the air, and he briefly wondered if the power might shut off completely; but after a moment, the fluke seemed to regulate itself. Instead of going out, the lights returned to full brightness with a sharp zzip! sound.

He brought his glance back to Legato. The usual stoic expression had appeared on the Gung-Ho leader's face; it seemed to indicate that he wasn't surprised or even bothered by the lights. Nor was anyone else from the looks of it. After shooting a quick look to the other patrons, Midvalley saw that they all seemed to just grumble and shake it off as a regular occurance. He frowned. That was...odd...

A sharp sniff from Legato brought him back to his senses. The blue-haired man was watching him, obviously waiting for an explanation as to why Midvalley had had the nerve to interrupt his dinner. Unsure of how to react, Midvalley simply shrugged. "Well...that was strange, wasn't it?" he said, sliding into the chair across from his leader. He gently placed Sylvia on the seat next to him. "Especially for a classy joint like this. There must be something wrong with the town's Plant."

Legato rubbed his nose delicately with the napkin before setting it down. "Hmmm...perhaps," he agreed. "It has been occuring regularly throughout the day. And it seems to be happening more frequently now." His yellow eyes, seemingly devoid of all emotion, narrowed on Midvalley's face. "Is that all you wanted to discuss?"

"No. But the fact that this place has a shitty power generator is just one more reason for us to move out of here ASAP," Midvalley replied smoothly. He leaned forward, putting both of his elbows on the table, and met Legato's stare. "Look, we know Vash is finally back on the run---you said so yourself just a few days ago. So what the hell are we still doing here? Let's cut him off at the pass, or at least try to get close on his tail." Midvalley's voice grew more agitated as he spoke. He was eager to leave; aside from the restlessness that always seized him when he stayed in one place for too long, this particular town wasn't very well populated, and he hadn't had a decent audience for any of his sax performances. It was, in his opinion, a waste of his considerable talent and an insult to Sylvia.

"I've tried to be patient," he continued. "but I'm bored out of my skull, Legato. So are the other Guns, from what I've seen. And Vash gets farther from our grasp every minute we dawdle here." He strummed his fingers on the table. "Can't we just pack up and go already? Just give me half an hour to perform in front of this pitiful audience, and then we can gather the rest of the Guns from the saloon and be on our way---"

"Unfortunately, that's not an option." Legato interrupted. He paused to rub at his temples and sniffle thickly. When he resumed speaking, there was a definite hint of congestion in his voice. "Hmm. It seems you haven't noticed..."

Midvalley frowned. Legato had done a quick sweep of his mind, he was sure of it. The sensation had been as delicate as the touch of a moth's wings, but he'd felt it nonetheless. "Noticed what?" He asked warily.

"That I seem to have fallen ill." Legato stared impassively at him. "And it wouldn't be wise for us to travel while I'm in this condition."

Midvalley raised an eyebrow.

"You're...sick?" he asked, surprised. Of all the responses he had envisioned Legato giving him, that had not been one of them. He had noticed the Gung-Ho leader looking a bit weary these last few days, but he'd chalked it up to the grueling pace they'd set in order to cross the last barren stretch of desert in pursuit of the Humanoid Typhoon. Now he took a closer look at Legato's face. It did look a bit paler than normal, and there were dark circles under his eyes...

Midvalley sighed in resignation. As much as he wanted to leave, it didn't look like it'd be happening today.

"Well, now that you mention it, you do look a bit off. So how long do you think we'll need to wait before we can move out? One, maybe two days?"

"Your concern for me is heartwarming," Legato replied dryly. "But yes, I think that two days should be sufficient."

The musician sighed again. "I'd be lying if I said that was what I'd hoped for. But it sounds fair. After all, it wouldn't be smart to travel if it could seriously compromise your health."

Legato cast a bemused look at his companion. A long, quiet look. "Midvalley...you needn't worry about my health being put in jeopardy..." He began, then turned away suddenly and pressed the palm of one gloved hand to his nose. "Hh'hKght-sh!...unh.."

The lights flickered again.

"Damn, that's annoying." Midvalley looked up. "I hope that knocks off while I'm playing." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, it looks like it's just about showtime."

He rose from the table. On the steps leading to the stage, he could see the garcon looking frantic. "I'd better get up there before he goes into a conniption fit." He eyed Legato speculatively. "You should go to bed, get some rest."

"I've been doing just that for the past day and half."

Midvalley nodded. Well, no wonder he hadn't been able to locate him earlier.

"I desired to have something to eat. Starving myself was not helping my condition at all. And besides..." Legato's lips twitched ever so slightly. "..you're not the only one who's bored."

"Fair enough." Midvalley turned and started his trek to the stage, Sylvia in hand. The garcon saw him and heaved a visible sigh of relief. A few other musicians stood adjusting their instruments on-stage. They looked decent, at least.

He shot one last look at his boss before hopping onto the stage. Enjoy your dinner.

Break a leg, came the deadpan reply.

___

TBC...

Well written for a fanfic. Keepup the good work.

[Geist]

EEEEEEEEEKKK!!!!! Doji!!!!!! That was freakin' AWESOME! Omg, I can't tell you how much I ADORE powers "gone awry." I'd lie and say that I felt sorry for Allergro con Moto Legato, buuuuuut.....NAH.

Heh....*SNICKER* Flickering lights.....

I wonder who he's mindfucking this time? He thought with a grin.

Your mother, came the instant reply.

Dude, that rules.....Midvalley is such a dink.

Well written for a fanfic. Keepup the good work.

Begging your pardon? You know what, it's well-written PERIOD. To post a comment such as this implies that fanfiction is of a lower caliber than "original ficition." Let me assure you that ALL fiction is a challenge and that the word "fan" has nothing to do with it. Some of the best works I've read on this forum have been fanfiction, even when I was not familiar with the fandom. To say that it was "well written for a fanfic" cheapens the work the author put into it, even if this was not your intent with the commentary.

[VoOs]

SQUEEEEEEEE! TRIGUN!

Mmmm, a sick Legato... Now, that is just delicious!

Wonderfully well-written as always, dojichick! Thank you for sharing!

[dojichick13]

Aww, thanks you guys!!!! :hugs: Supersneezetheman, Aku, Voos & Ren, your sweet comments mean a lot to me!! I appreciate it

As promised, this is the second and concluding half of the story. It's totally pointless, as I said, and as with most of my stuff, I lapse into humor towards the end. I tend to do that a lot with my stories---I guess it's just my style since I'm so damned goofy-assed to begin with LOL

Anyway, ENJOY! XD

--Doji

"Dinner Entertainment"

Part II

----

The set went well for the first fifteen minutes or so. There was no more obnoxious flickering from the lights, and the customers (few though they were) seemed to be enjoying themselves. Midvalley loosened up. Usually he had the sweet anticipation of killing one or several of the patrons after his performance to keep him going strong, but tonight was simply a time-waster until he and the other Guns could move out. Still, he found himself savoring the easy pleasure of playing Sylvia with no ulterior motive in mind. All was going quite smoothly.

And then Legato sneezed.

Midvalley happened to be looking at him at the time, otherwise he would have missed it completely. He'd just turned to glance at his boss, who had been stoically sipping his drink for the past several minutes, when he'd noticed that unfocused look enter into what was normally a deadly-sharp gaze. Legato's yellow eyes, as feral as a cat's and twice as unsettling, had narrowed on a spot just behind Midvalley's left shoulder. Now one gloved hand rose and hovered uncertainly in front of his face.

Despite the fact that he was still playing Sylvia, Midvalley felt the corner of his lips twitch. Gesundheit, he thought. There was no answer, of course; the boss was too distracted to reply. But Midvalley had seen his ochre eyes widen momentarily. Whether it was from annoyance or amusement, he wasn't sure; Legato's face rarely gave away any expression at all.

"Nhh'ECHsshh!"

With a sharp downward jerk of his head, Legato sneezed into his cupped hand. His table was close enough to the stage that Midvalley could just barely hear the desperate quality of it. In truth, the fact that it could be heard at all was impressive---but the sound that followed Legato's sneeze was even more so. Midvalley barely managed to keep his concentration on the sax as something huge, heavy and metal hit the hardwood floor of the lobby with a resounding Gonnng!

Several of the customers gasped and jumped audibly, and the pianist that had been accompanying stumbled on a few notes. Sylvia, of course, didn't miss a beat.

But Midvalley was no longer smiling. He had turned and looked over his shoulder to where the sound had come from.

What the hell was that? He thought to himself. That sounded like a goddamned---

--placard, I believe, came the reply, the silver one that was hanging in the lobby.

MIdvalley jerked back around. Legato was smiling at him---an empty, unreadable smile.

How very strange for it to fall, his boss continued. His thoughts coalesced in Midvalley's mind like a dense fog, blocking out everything else. Odd, isn't it?

Yes, the musician replied warily. Very...odd.

That seemed to satisfy Legato. Midvalley's mind cleared again, and he was able to fully focus once more on his instrument. Still, he kept a close eye on the Gung-Ho leader as he played. Five minutes passed...then ten...without incident. But surely it was only a matter of time before...

Aha!

A waitress had stopped to deliver Legato's dinner, apparently a large bowl of hot soup. What an original choice for a cold, Midvalley thought sarcastically. She had momentarily blocked the view of his boss; but when she moved out of the way, he could see his expression quite clearly. And he knew exactly what it meant---Legato's brow was furrowed in desperation, with both hands steepled over his mouth and nose. Unconsciously, Midvalley tightened his grip on Sylvia---just in case, he told himself.

"Hh-Kghtsh!--nh'HKTSCH!!"

The tail end of Legato's second sneeze was overshadowed by the sound of a large object crashing to the floor in the kitchen, followed by a howl of anger.

"Lila!" A male voice shouted in dismay. Midvalley recognized it as the Garcon's. "Pay attention to what you're doing! You dropped the whole tray--"

"I didn't touch it!" a distinctly feminine voice interrupted. She sounded distraught. "It--it just flew off the counter by itself!"

Midvalley's eyes narrowed in consternation, but he continued playing his sax flawlessly. Flew off the counter? He thought to himself. He could see customers growing nervous, uneasily glancing towards the kitchen. Haunted, he saw one man mouth to the other. His eyes once again traveled to Legato's table, and again the Gung-Ho leader caught his gaze. He rubbed casually at his nose and, with an amused expression, returned to eating his soup.

A drop of sweat ran down Midvalley's brow, and it had nothing to do with his effort at playing the sax. Something was terribly fishy here. What the hell was going on? He had an idea, but it seemed so ludicrous that---

Wait.

Midvalley started. What?

I'm not....done...yet....Legato replied, his incredible effort to maintain his concentration obvious in both his thoughts and the unsteady look on his face. He once again raised a hand, this time curling it into a loose fist beneath his nose and mouth.

"Hh'Ktsch! Hih'h-eKCHshh!!....hp'NXGht!"

The chandelier lights didn't flicker this time; instead, two of the overhead bulbs simply exploded. Particles of glass rained down on the startled customers.

Curses and shrieks of surprise arose from around the dining area. "Ghosts!" Someone yelled. The Garcon, looking like the most miserably confused man ever, directed the wait staff to immediately clean up the mess. He also signaled to the musicians to wrap it up. Judging by their relieved sighs, the other musicians were eager to comply. No wonder, Midvalley thought. They probably want to get out of here before the piano explodes----or worse.

As Midvalley started into the closing segment of his performance a rather frightening realization occured to him. "Break a leg," Legato had said. Now he grimaced as he realized the hidden implications behind his boss's seemingly innocuous remark. Oh, now that's just fucking hilarious. Who knew you had such a twisted sense of humor, Legato?

He finished his set---in one piece, thankfully---and walked over to Legato's table amidst the smattering of applause from the remaining customers--the ones who weren't dusted with glass, anyway.

"Bless. You."

"Mmm. Thank you." Legato smiled complacently.

Any remaining doubts that Legato was the culprit immediately disappeared from Midvalley's mind----that smile told him all he needed to know. He slid into a chair and gestured to the waitresses scrambling to clean up the remnants of the broken bulbs. "You know, it's rather hard to keep the crowd happy with my musical talents when your sneezes can do that."

"I find it to be a bit amusing."

"Can't you control it?"

"No." Legato smirked. "That's why I find it amusing."

Midvalley pictured one of the lightbulbs shattering into a billion particles, then replaced the bulb with an image of his own skull. A shudder ran down his spine. He didn't find it amusing in the least, even though the thought of death didn't frighten him at all. But death by gunshot was one thing; death by...that...was something entirely different.

"Now do you understand why it wouldn't be wise for us to travel while I'm ill?" Legato savored a taste of his soup while Midvalley considered the question.

"All too well," his companion muttered in reply. He eyed Legato warily, as though the Gung-Ho leader were a bomb that could explode at any second. "So, can you...can you still use your telekenesis at will? Or has it gone completely haywire?"

"I can still read minds and manipulate things at will. However, when I sneeze, it does seem to get out of control. For just that moment."

"Then, I would reiterate my prior suggestion: go to bed and get some rest." And lock your damn door and don't come out until you're better, he added mentally.

Legato raised an eyebrow. "I heard that, Midvalley," he said coolly. "And I have no desire to kill anyone. You know it would be a waste if I were to accidentally kill someone now, when the grand destruction of the entire human race is so close at h....hand....." his eyes became unfocused. He fisted his hand and pressed one knuckle against his nose, cringing into the inevitable, "hh'ngkht!"

Outside the restaurant, something large collapsed with an ear-piercing shriek of rusted metal. A moment later the lights flickered....and went out completely.

Midvalley sighed amidst the terrified screams of the customers (and the garcon).

Bless you.

~Fin~

[VoOs]

Heeheehee, I absolutely love this! LoveloveLOVE!