Bambi Barbecue. The thought was rampant on Doomboy's mind. Not quite as rampant as the thought of Angry Kitty wearing a bikini with a weedwacker and a stack of moist towelettes, but pretty rampant. It was bad enough that the clan was having trouble finding food, but locating his four footed dinner-to-be was a trial in itself. Doomboy prepared an assault on Thumper, who would be easy bait and cause an emotional blow to Bambi. If necessary, Doomboy had no qualms about wacking Bambi's mother, or Flower the skunk either.
Apparently, love was in the air. Or maybe Deadbolt stepped in something. In any case, he was finding it harder to concentrate on rusty things than usual with all the smooshy smooshy going on between the clan members. If he wasn't hearing pathetic poetry from Raiyn and Gothicknight, or dealing with the strange utensil laden love rituals of Doomboy and Angry Kitty, he had to listen to Scrofula's howling about his obsession with a possessed, vampiric disney trollop. He had to shove drill bits under his toenails to avoid the squishy romantic aura of couples kissing in public, or little kids holding hands. It was more than he could bear and still maintain a manly scowl of angst.
He stomped on small cute things on his way back to the shelter to quarantine himself from all the joy and love that was oozing like radiator fluid from every orafice of the park. It was night, so Scrofula was out howling at the top of Cinderella's Castle. It would be a few hours until park security would be able to coax him down. Amaranthia was sitting in the darkest corner, thinking black thoughts. She didn't even deign to look at Deadbolt as he entered. Deadbolt sat down and began to exfoliate himself with 20 grit sandpaper. The scraping noise was obviously irritating to Amaranthia, who shot an angry stare at him. "WHAT do you think you are doing? Can't you see you're interupting me?" she hissed.
He shot a glare at her that would have corroded an entire pack of batteries and snarled. She glared back and sniped at him. "Gawd, you are such a poser. All your artificial angst and crappy clothes and that stupid fake german accent. You think you're so underground, don't you? Well let me tell you that Goth is the real underground and it always was." Amaranthia spat at him. Deadbolt's eyes blazed like acetylene torches and he retorted "You would know about what's fake wouldn't you. You're just a stuffed wad of velvet who's obsessed with your own pathetic image, surrounded by brainwashed little spooks who you berate so you can feel superior."
Amaranthia puffed up like a cat ready to puke a two foot hairball and railed at Deadbolt "I don't NEED other people to tell ME how GOTH I am, I already KNOW. And for your information I have LOTS of friends who respect and worship me...more then YOU will ever have you little antisocial boot stomper. Why don't you go bang a wrench against the metal plate in your head and create some of that oh so original garbage you call industrial music?!!!"
Deadbolt froze for a moment...his eyes intense. "How did you know about the plate?" Amaranthia was fuming silently, a tiny black cloud beginning to congeal in the air above her head. A wicked smile crossed Deadbolt's lips. He fished in his pocket for a screw, munched on it as he looked Amaranthia dead in the eyes and said "Gimme some sugar baby." Her face wrinkled in horror and disgust as she backed against the wall of the shelter.
Sounds of rusty unoiled machinery filled the night.
After an hour, Deadbolt emerged from the shelter, thoughtfully flossing his teeth with some bare wire. A disheveled Amaranthia clambered after him, trying to steady herself in the doorway. "Where do you think you're going?" she snapped. "Sorry Frau, I have things to do." "You...you....scuffy bastard! Come back here!"
"For what?"
"You think you can just....pop my rivets and then leave?"
Deadbolt thought for a fraction of a second. "Yes." he replied, and kept walking. Amaranthia let out a banshee quality scream of frustration and threw her mirror at him. It bounced off the plate in his head and landed at her feet, a couple shards splintering off. She then broke into tears and tried desparately to put the shards back in place. "Good, now you have something to cry about. That should keep you busy." Deadbolt called back. Amaranthia scowled as the cloud above her head grew steadily in size. Before he was out of her vision she bellowed "I HATE RAMMSTEIN!!!!!" at the top of her lungs, then returned to the shelter where she wept like a spoiled six year old.