OF PINK CADDIES AND PRACTICAL JOKES Well, I couldn't resist. This is a sequel to my previous story, In Flagrante Delicto, which can be found at my website: http://filebox.vt.edu/users/diharris/Homepage.htm. Anyway, after receiving so much feedback, I just couldn't stop myself. Sorry I couldn't work the Pink Marshmallow incident in (lots of you wanted to know about that...), I'll try that next time :P Oh yes, and this has not been beta read, so read at your own risk. These characters aren't mine, etc. etc. You know the drill. Permission is granted to archive at the ftp site, and fkfanfic.com. Comments, questions, and whatnot may be sent to Diane Harris at aria5@vt.edu OF PINK CADDIES AND PRACTICAL JOKES (or) THE ONGOING WAR "Hey, Nick! Love the new color..." Nick just glared at his fellow officer as he stepped out of the precinct and into the dark parking lot, his flamboyant Caddy practically luminescent. He couldn't take much more of this and it was all LaCroix's fault... He'd sucked Nick's painter dry before he'd had a chance to come and fix the Caddy... And there was no one else in the whole city of Toronto that he'd trust with his precious car... And then there was the sign... Nat hadn't even mentioned it was stuck on his back through the WHOLE evening. He'd just about gone off the deep end when she'd broken out laughing for the twentieth time during their movie date. Eventually he'd noticed that it would occur whenever he turned his back to her, and when he'd gone up to observe his back in the mirror, he'd blushed to the point of being stoplight red. Something he'd never consider possible for a vampire, but then, there was always a first time for everything... At least he'd managed to get the superglued sign off the side of his Caddy... All that remained was pink. Yuck. Pink... His stomach grew weak just at the sight of it. This... This called for revenge! ***** LaCroix stared at the microphone with a look of contempt. Fifteen callers, all asking him where he was ticklish... Not one with a genuine problem for him to ridicule... He pouted. Painting the Caddy had been fun, but he didn't hardly deserve this treatment for it... He snickered as he remembered clapping that sign on his son's back under the guise of a friendly slap. It was interesting that Nicholas hadn't caught that little gesture... The ringing of the phone interrupted his musings. "This is the Nightcrawler, I'm listening," he stated smoothly, praying that this wasn't another 'where are you ticklish' call. "I just wanted to comment on how funny yesterday's show was..." LaCroix slammed down the phone. Damnit!!! That was it, the final straw. This... This called for revenge! ***** Nick walked into the precinct with a smile on his face after taking a slight fifteen minute detour. Everything was set. And LaCroix wouldn't know what'd hit him... ***** LaCroix smiled as he approached the precinct. Nicholas would certainly not appreciate this, but hey, he didn't appreciate anything as it was. What was one more thing on his list? He walked into the precinct and was greeted by the desk sergeant. "Yessir? Can I help you?" LaCroix cleared his throat. "Yes, I'd like to speak with detective Nicholas Knight," he said, glancing left and right. The desk sergeant looked at him rather seriously. "Do you have an appointment?" "Oh no," LaCroix said, letting some menace into his voice, "but I'm a close friend. Family even..." The desk sergeant swallowed thickly and pointed him over to Nicholas's desk, where his son was typing dutifully. Probably some mundane report. LaCroix rolled his eyes as he approached. Careful to shield his presence from Nick. Unfortunately, his tedious mortal partner that Vachon was so fond of did see him. The little blond woman took one glance at him, her eyes wide, and said suspiciously, "What are _you_ doing here?" She didn't realize that Nicholas was well acquainted with him. Nicholas looked up at Tracy's outcry and his jaw just about dropped off his head as he stood to meet his approaching master. "LaCroix, what are you doing here?" Nicholas said, the same as the blond, although much more hostile. The woman turned to Nick. "Wait, _you_ know him?" she asked, her voice betraying her surprise. Nicholas snorted. "Of course I know him! The lousy good- for-nothing lunk painted..." Nick was quick to catch himself in his almost slip. "Er, never mind. Long story." LaCroix merely smiled. "Nicholas, I have something for you..." he whispered mysteriously, and he could see the blond woman leaning in towards him subconsciously, curious to see what he'd gotten. With that, he reached in to his jacket and started to pull something out. The metal flashed against the dim fluorescent lighting of the police station, and he could see several people around who were trying to look like they weren't paying attention to him start to tense up. Lighting fast, he withdrew the canister from his pocket and aimed it at his unsuspecting protege. "He's got a WEAPON!!!" People all around him started diving for the floor, while Nicholas and Tracy just sat there staring at him. As if the world were going in slow motion, he could detect a small sense of dread from Nicholas as if he suddenly figured out what was going to happen to him. LaCroix pressed a finger lightly onto the canister, ignoring the shouts of people throughout the precinct to cease and desist. There was a hissing noise, and suddenly, the pink silly string from the canister shot out all over his poor Nicholas. The blond woman doubled over laughing when she saw Nick's look of pure dumbfoundment, and the rest of the precinct soon began to join her. LaCroix took this moment to take his leave. "TAG! You're it!" he cried like a two-year-old, slapping Nick on the shoulder, and then he dashed out of the precinct. Nick stared down at his body, covered in pink, slimy string and then back at all the officers that were getting up of the floor. "Knight, what on Earth is going on!?" Reese's voice boomed through the air, and Nick couldn't help but gulp. "I'm it," he stated quietly, looking down at the floor as he felt his cheeks start to turn a lovely shade of scarlet. Reese walked over to him. "You're it?" he questioned. "Yeah, as in tag?" "You, a grown man, are playing tag with... another grown man..." Reese said, stating his words slowly as if he couldn't believe that his normally reclusive partner was now running around playing tag and acting silly in general. Tracy started laughing. "With the Nightcrawler, no less!" she giggled. Reese looked dumbfounded. "You mean that wacko who says all that depressing stuff on air? That was him!?" Nick nodded mutely as he began to pull the drying silly string from his hair and shirt, gathering it in clumps and tossing it into the wastepaper basket. "You know, Nick... I'm not even going to ask. I don't want to know, except for _one_ thing," Reese commented. Nick looked up, his eyes growing wider. "Yeah?" "Why the heck didn't you chase him? He obviously got you good, and I know you're not one to let that type of thing slide..." Nick just smiled. "He'll get a surprise sometime tonight. I consider that plenty of revenge," he said mysteriously. Reese nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, although it was obvious that he didn't quite get it. With that, he walked off, mumbling to himself about pink cars and crazy detectives and that damn confounded radio station. Tracy just watched as Nick sat down in his chair smugly, leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head as if he were king of the world. Something was definitely up... ***** LaCroix whipped out his keys to open to the door to his house. "Yezzzzz! Yezzzz! Zis is a MASTair Peeze!" cried a heavily accented voice from somewhere within. Someone dare to enter his home?! A mortal, no less?! Fie! He flung the door open, but immediately froze. What... had happened... to his... house? He began to pant in quiet rage as a small man in an immaculate suit turned around amongst the sea of workers walking around. He would not drain him. He would not drain... "Ahhh! You must be zee ownAIR of zis fine home! Mr. Lucy Anne Luck-Wah! I hope you feel zat yeour moneeey has been well invested! But I must say, that zis is my finest work, no?" LaCroix couldn't speak a word. His money? No one knew the password to his accounts except... His stomach fell into his feet. Nicholas. "C'mon boyz! Feeenish up so zat Lucy Anne can enjoy our work! Chop chop!" The silly mortal clapped his hands and the workers began filing out of his house, and LaCroix could do nothing but seethe. Would... Not... Drain... "Oh, and here is zee bill. If you have any questionz, do not hezeetate to call my seKERetAIReeee," the man said, slapping a large yellow slip of paper into his hand as he left. And soon, the house was empty. Quiet. LaCroix stared around, completely at a loss. All his beloved knickknacks. Gone. Replaced by... THIS! And then he looked down at the bill, darting his eyes left to right as he scanned down the page. WHAT!? THIS HAD COST $250,000? He started breathing hard again, not able to control his temper. An interior decorator job that looked like something out of a cartoonist's worst nightmare, and got footed with a bill of $250,000? After what seemed like hours, he felt that he was able to move without going on a killing rampage. He sat down heavily on the only thing he could find to sit on, a chartreuse beanbag chair. And he looked around once again. There was his house. Completely destroyed and redesigned to look like... Like... He squinted his eyes, trying to come up with the correct term. Like... God, he didn't know what to call it. All that he knew was that the My Little Pony wallpaper would be the first to go... THE END Diane Harris (aria5@vt.edu)