Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Four Sided War ❯ The Night Micky Ran Out Of Hair Gel ( Chapter 4 )

Chapter Four: The Night Micky Ran Out Of Hair Gel

 

The Angelics were all in their uniforms.

“We look like waiter on a cruise ship!” Duane pouted sitting with his nice white uniform on.

“White is our color!” Micky chuckled, “Besides, we look cool, you gotta admit,”

“Ah, well, we do look nice,” Duane sighed

“Yeah,” Micky walked away.

 

“Ah, green!” Rob slipped into his new uniform.

“Yeah, I was going for a traditional army look. And, ya know, all four armies had to pick their own color, and green just seems to be for us,” Pat put his hat on. Alex walked in with his uniform on.

“Wow, he looks shnazier than any of us!” Rob gazed at all the silver buttons, badges, and designs, not to mention his rather large drill instructor hat.

“Well, he is a nicely decorated captain and drill instructor! He's the best captain we've got!” Pat grinned. Alex was grateful of his accomplishments and rank. Because he was so decorated, he was part of the top four, just under Commodore Tim Veranderenz. When you're in the top three/four of your army, you've got it made. Yet, at the same time, you are in the most danger…

 

Craig was looking at his dark blue uniform in the mirror. Britt walked up beside of him. Michael walked to his other side. They stared in the mirror at each other. There was a long silence. Then, after a few minutes,

“We look like Satanist from the Union side of the American Civil War!” Britt giggled.

“Yeah, we do,” Michael chuckled.

“Well, we may look like Satanist Union Generals, but we're doing what's right,” Craig sighed and walked out the door.

 

David began to skip around in his new uniform.

“I feel so pretty!” he chanted. Cheyanne joined in. They were skipping in a circle. Arnie stared at them. For a split second, he wanted to skip with them, but he pushed the feeling away and headed back to his office.

 

Duane was curled up in his bed, staring out the window when he was visited by a random little girl.

“Sir, are you Duane Upinter?” she asked.

“Yes, yes I am,” he gave her an intense look.

“Okay,” she turned around and left.

“Hmm, this must be that fricken Chef's doing,” Duane turned onto his back and drifted asleep.

 

Meanwhile, Arnie sat criss-cross style on his bed, attempting to write a note to Britt. All of a sudden, a little girl came into his room.

“Sir, are you the Chef of the Demonazi army?” she asked him.

“Yeah,” he looked at her, expectantly.

“Okay,” she left.

“Hmm, this had gotta be the work of that Duane Upinter of the Angelics,” Arnie shook his head and finally wrote the note:

Dear Britt,

I know that if you can sleep with Craig and David, that you can sleep with me, so will ya?

Love Always,

Arnie

He put the note in an envelope and sealed it. Then drooped it into a tube that delivers mail faster than the speed of sound.

 

So Britt got whammed in the head with the note. She opened it and read it. Five minutes later, she bursted into Arnie's room and tackled him where he laid. What happened next is some pretty kinky shit. There was thumping and moaning of naughty sorts. In the next room over, Cheyanne heard the whole thing and was scarred for life. Michael, whose room was right below, was giggling his head off. David and Craig, who had rooms on the opposite side of this very small dorm building, were pouting to each other about how much better they thought they were in bed than Arnie and why cheese should be it's own food group.

 

That night became known as the night Micky, leader of the Angelics, ran out of hair gel.

 

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