A truly bizarre yet chocolatey snuffling noise.
"BOBOLOUS."
"Mmmm yeah, just like that Sammy, right on the dorsel,"
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD BOBOLOUS, WAKE UP," a very frightened Carver bellowed into where the whale's ear would have been on a human being. He had been listening to this sordid sleep talk for over three hours now, and had steadily been becoming more worried about the sanity of Bobolous. Did he even KNOW about Sammy? One would have thought that he'd gathered the fact that she was dangerously crazy by now. What with that stony look that had death written all over it, which she had always reserved for when Bobolous ventured to Atlantis to gaze at her wistfully. He also noticed her clenching her fins every now and again, before gnashing (or rather, gumashing) with her ironically toothless mouth.
Bobolous woke up at last, with a jolt. They were still in the nuclear shelter, Ben and Helen had collapsed onto the sandy floor out of sheer exhaustion from their seemingly everlasting game of Tag. Biscuit had curled up into a corner to avoid being hit by the running psychics, and was steadily purring (little did they know that it was Biscuit's purring that kept the electricity in the shelter running, but due to the quality of her unique purr having the ability to create the exact timbre of an iron coil turning, which, as you should know, conducts electricity.) The man baby was already awake, and cooking pancakes on one of Helen's old Di Ofae camping cookers. After having waited for many a minute for the troublesome device to finally produce something that slightly resembled a flame, the man baby had risked possible loss of pizzazz to dart back into the house and gather up food to last them for the next couple of days.
"Morning Carver, how goes it?"
"Bobolous...please stop moaning about Sammy in your sleep, it's beginning to annoy me now,"
"Sorry dear friend...I'm just completely infatuated with her, she makes my dorsel fin all tingly, and I find my whaley heart jumping at the slightest whisper of her name, her fair smooth marine-based mammalian skin glistening in the tank of water which has been glorified so beautifully by her presence, her magically pristine curving lines of her whaley figure makes me want to dance a sensual yet passionately violent dance of love and romance with her, as I slowly wrap my fins around.." -
It was too late. Carver had sprinted out of the nuclear shelter, screaming. This cacophonous din had even woken up Ben and Helen; Ben was remarkably quick on the uptake, and hurtled after Carver, pulling him back into the shelter.
"Are you insane?! Those pizzazz draining forces will have your guts for garters if you even think about staying out there for too long. I've already had firm words with my husband about this...if he lost his pizzazz, I don't know what I'd do," Ben sighed, before patting Carver's trembling shoulder and whispering into his ear, "I'm aware that Bobolous has been acting slightly...odd, lately. But don't worry, he's been like this before about other sharks. I remember all the wet dreams I had to deal with after he saw Jaws for the first time...have no fear comrade, he'll get over it eventually." He winked roguishly at Carver, before heading towards the lumpen, stumbling figure groaning on the sandy floor that was apparently Helen.
"TIME TO GET UP, SNOOCHYKINS!"
"No....nooo....NO PLEASE...ugh.." she bawled, a single chain of drool hanging from her dry open mouth, as her puffy tired looking eyes squinted upwards pleadingly at Ben
"I need...I need my...oh Ben you know what I need,"
"It just breaks my heart to see you like this," Ben said sadly, before handing her the enormous mug of coffee that the man baby had been hurriedly brewing. He'd had enough run ins with a monstrously tired Helen to know that she needed her coffee in the morning, and under no circumstances must she lack it, else terrible terrible things would happen to all those around her. Helen took a deep sniff of the brown South American liquid, before downing it in one single gargantuan swallow. She then proceeded to jump up and down several times, running madly around the shelter, doing various gymnastics on Ben, before going into a rugby-like frame of mood and launching an extremely horrified Biscuit across the shelter with stupendous force.
"Meeeeeeoooooooooooooooow" - screeched the sailing cat, as she was propelled out of the carelessly open door. Ben sighed, before risking his pizzazz once again to go and fetch her. In the few seconds before he returned, Helen had miraculously returned to her usual quirky yet calm and collected state.
"Now my dears, we have quite a bit of planning to do. I'm sure you've all guessed who's behind these worrying forces? Yes, I'm sorry Ben and man baby, it is almost definitely your son. I've been right 99.7% of the time with my psychic visions, and I know that I'm right with a vision as vivid as the one I had of the presifrog penetrating Carver's doppelganger with that pole, "WHAT?!" - roared the other five,
"Oh....I didn't mention that? Well yes, he did pretty much that. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't feel that as well, Carver. Doppelgangers do have strange familiarities even if they're from different worlds, if it was something exceedingly feel-able like a large pole being inserted into a place that was intended for exertion rather than insertion,"
There was an uncomfortably long pause, before Carver hesitatingly said "...I thought that was Ben." Helen paused for a brief period after this statement, to firstly ponder over absolutely everything that was wrong with the connotations Carver had put forward, but also to consider any further connections between him and this strange creature who was so alike him, yet so different.
"Yes, well...Carver, I think you should always let me know if you ever get any unexplained feelings during the day. And believe me, I've seen and heard a lot, I don't care what kind of feelings these may be, you must tell me anyway, even if they're the most personal of personal. Now, as I was saying, we can't just sit back and let the forces wash over the rest of the world while we sit here relatively well protected. I know that sounds wonderful, but it's just plain irresponsible. Our task is simple, really. All we have to do is get Carver's doppelganger the hell off that pole."
"Easier said than done, snoochy..." Ben muttered teasingly,
"I'm aware of this eventuality, boodle dearest. Which is why I think that we need to fashion some kind of shield. I know there is one somewhere, because I felt it's presence close to you and the man baby not too long ago. You were still in Somerset at the time, but I'll be damned if I can remember who I felt the shielding force from. I think we may have to work together on this one,"
Helen and Ben linked hands, before murmuring a combination of Arabic swear words, names of Haitian contraceptive brands, and most importantly, the individual names of all those involved in the manufacture of Santa hats for camels. This rather questionable but immensely secret code they had uttered very surprisingly gives them access to all the thoughts being thought in the entire world at the time. With extreme scrutiny and far too much patience, they went through every single thought being thought in the UK (of which there were surprisingly few, evidently all their old friends had emigrated). They eventually came across a droning force of such irrepressible dullness that they were nearly thrown off their feet. Helen had anticipated that it would come to a conclusion such as this, but they had no choice but to find a way back to Somerset and convince that immensely boring elderly couple to accompany them on their epic quest. Ben knew what she was thinking, he was psychic, after all.
"Helennnn...not Mr and Mrs Wrinkles, I have to keep checking that I'm not quite dead whenever I talk to them,"
"I would imagine that they'd absorb any force of evil, not just a pizzazz-draining one. Well then men, and Biscuit, Boodle and I have successfully located two people suicidally boring enough to protect us from the forces until we can reach Carver's doppelganger. And I must say, I can't wait to find out his name, I'm sick of saying "Carver's doppelganger",
"Oh yeah, his name's Le-Mon!" - Carver suddenly blurted out, after having listened intently to the discussion, and watched the psychic display.
"Well thank you for telling me NOW, my dear. This is why you annoyed me on the expedition on L'Ile Maurice so much, you pick the entirely wrong and/or late time to tell me these things. Anyway, TO SOMERSET!"
After the Batmobile theme played seemingly out of nowhere, the six heroes ran away from the direction of the slow pizzazz draining forces creeping upwards, before the now-automated flying stretch-limousine (the driver had found love in the ironically thriving gay community of Dubai, you see). And up they flew, over the many sand dunes, European countries, and Mediterranean sea, separating them from the fields of Somerset. They flew low this time, in order for Biscuit to pursue her passion for photography, as they passed a ship in the Mediterranean sea arriving too late to save a drowning witch (though maybe a submarine could save her), and at one point Helen nearly jumped out of the window of the limousine in excitement, after having seen the ghost of Frank Zappa performing an on-sea concert with what was left of the Mothers of Invention, but Ben had to seize her around the midriff and, together with the combined strength of the man baby, Carver, Bobolous, Biscuit, and the drinks cabinet, heave her back into the safety of the limousine's interior.
"But...but...Ben, it's FRANK!" Helen screamed, after being tied to a nearby maroon portly German sofa, "My hero since infanthood, my father raised me on his genial music from the word go, how can you expect me to just STAY here tied up with such a legend playing his wondrous compositions mere thousands of feet below me?"
Ben could do little else but hug her, as she soon realised that the car wasn't going to stop. Her cries and wails of despair echoed around most of the Northern hemisphere, as she sobbed despairingly at the thought of never again having the chance to watch her hero perform. It is said, however, that one of her tears dripped out of a slightly open car window, and landed in Frank's tangled ghostly hair. It is also said that he noticed, and wished his young avid fan luck in her ventures, and nodded his head in respect of her own musical ability. Helen knew this, of course, after forcing Ben to engage in another psychic tune in to the thoughts of the world. She felt so immensely proud of this little whisper of a thought she heard from Frank's ghost that she forgot her selfishness once and for all, and aspired to be a better person from then on, as well as learn how to play the guitar properly, rather than cop out and go the easy route with the ukulele and bass.
They spent the remainder of the journey listening to the Lion King soundtrack, with the man baby, Bobolous, and Biscuit singing in the backing choir lead by Helen, as Ben and rather surprisingly, Carver, took the lead parts all to their very own, and rather successfully dominated the stage with their groundbreaking presence. Carver was heard later to remark that he had never felt so elated in his entire life, singing up there with such a musical legend as that of Ben. "YES OUR TEETH AND AMBITIONS ARE BARED" bellowed the rather impressive sounding chorus, with Helen's rich almost-gospel sounding voice residing rather clearly over the others, "BE PREPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARED! MWAHAHAHAHA!" Carver roared to finish off the evil Scar's legendary solo, with avid rounds of applause from the other five, none of whom had any idea he was harbouring such a wonderful voice underneath his relatively stage-fright-stricken exterior.
As they reached the fields of peaceful quiet Somerset once again, Ben gave a contented sigh; he was finally home. Helen sensed the content, and they walked together, arms around each other tightly, back to the enormous labyrinth of treehouse patterns that Ben, Bobolous, Biscuit, and the man baby knew so well. They were all exceedingly glad to be back. Now a momentous task lay ahead of them. Well, the first part was rather easy. All they had to do was find that ghastly elderly couple, Mr and Mrs Wrinkles, and use them as a shield against the dastardly forces oozing upwards from the deep South. They expected that an unnecessarily large band of followers would catch on to the fact that they had a shield, once the news of the pizzazz-draining forces got round. But of course, they were all far too nice to say anything about it. That goes without saying.
Now, dear reader, I'm sure you're immensely proud of this half of the dual forces writing this novel, for actually managing to continue a basic part of the story without reverting to an ampersand of any description. In fact, I even had enough material this time to add a small trajectory of rather unnecessary word count boosting sentences into this already lengthy chapter, in order to make my counterpart hugely proud of me for achieving such a feat of writing so much in one sitting. For I am writing the next chapter, you'll be glad to know. Which I will get onto in a second, after I have finished talking to you. I do tend to waffle slightly in novels, I am aware of this, and I use a lot of descriptive language. The more critical amongst all of you would have come to the conclusion that the only reason I'm doing this is to get closer to the fifty thousand completion of national novel writing month value. To all those thinking such a vile thing, I would have you know that I very much doubt the non-existence of the lack of this behaviour. I mean, I don't want you to rule the possibility out, I like to encourage people to be as open-minded as possible, but...keep in mind that I might just be doing this because I love making connections such as this with my readers, OR that I might just be doing it for the word count. In a way, I suppose I'm doing both.
Anyway, as a summary of sorts, our six heroes are now back in the glorious green lands of Somerset, attempting to find Mr and Mrs Wrinkles. But little did they know that an unseen entity had been steadily following them. An entity that we were already well aware of, which had extremely rudely disrupted the Frank Zappa concert, and had hurtled frantically to the English channel through various networks of rivers, seas, lakes, gulfs, deltas, creeks, and such like. Yes, I'm afraid so, dear reader. Sammy the evil murderous yet attractive whale shark had escaped from Atlantis, and was rather desperate to seek vengeance on the unfortunately perverted Bobolous.
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