Devil's Vandal, Part One

Eating is simply too boring
Everyone might as well be snoring
Let's give them a show that none can handle
A prankster's true might, DEVIL'S VANDAL!
~Devil's Vandal~

The Vandal was not amused by the sight that it held. People sitting in an orderly fashion, laughing and talking, as if acting to be happy. They weren't happy. Happiness was not something one could simply sit down and enjoy. One had to revel in happiness, take a part of life and chew on happiness. Swallow it whole. Digest it thoroughly. One had to be a one with the true meaning of happiness. And that meaning? It was simple. The Vandal reveled in its wake. The Vandal thrived in its chaotic drive. The Vandal praised and preached its wonder to those of Foresta Academy.

The Devil's Vandal celebrated Anarchy.

Anarchy was truly happiness incarnate. There were no rules to break, and therefore no one's fun was hindered. There were no pesky morals to hamper your inhibitions. There were no lawmen to make certain that your fun would be halted. And last but not least, you were free of your responsibilities. You could let your worries and paranoias go. You could give in to temptation without fearing its consequences. There were no consequences. Consequences made things complicated. And the Vandal was anything but complicated. It only wanted one simple notion: Anarchy.

So it dumped the water down some random student's back. She had been eating while talk to her neighbors about some theater play thing. The Vandal didn't care. What the Vandal did care about was what happened next. The girl who had been eating turned around to see a pair of boys snickering as they walked past. One of them had told an inside joke. She decided to throw spaghetti at one of the boys head. It hit its mark and the Vandal grinned in pleasure. Just a bit more and the fight should start. There were only about 50 people in the dining room currently, but that would be enough to start.

The Vandal snatched up a bowl of soup and tossed it over its head. It splashed a few people off to the side who started cursing at the sudden drenching. The boy who had been hit with spaghetti glared at the girl who had hit him and suddenly his food flung itself at the girl. The Vandal darted away slipping past people and shouted "FOOD FIGHT!" as loud it could. And the entire dining room erupted into a slinging mess of food.

The Vandal grinned as it dashed away.

Anarchy. Pure. Beautiful. Anarchy!

Midnight sat munching on some chicken. There was nothing sweet on her plate; she hated sweet things. Turning, some flying spaghetti caught her by surprise. She watched in curiosity as it hit a boy, then laughed as he proceeded to retaliate with his own food.

Suddenly cold, Midnight looked at her arms and chest. What the-soup? It was spattered all over her clothes, though Midnight didn't particularly mind, she wanted to see who had thrown it. Standing up abruptly, she cast her eye over the others, trying to see who the culprit was. She was so going to get revenge. Hearing a holler over the crowd, she grinned, and, in one fluid motion, scooped up her chicken, then twirled easily and hurled it as hard as she could in the direction of the voice. Payback time.

She hoped that she wasn't getting too into it so early on; only a couple of people before her had thrown food- whoever threw the spaghetti, and the boy who retaliated. If no one else joined in on this small food fight, she would probably, annoyingly enough, end up in trouble. Not the best idea when you were as new as herself.

Shrugging, Midnight decided to screw the rules; this was way more fun. Besides, she loved a physical challenge, going to war with strangers with penty of ammunition on surrounding dinner plates seemed like a really food idea. And unless these kids were robots, then there was no way that they shouldn't want to take part in the food fight. Looking around, she finally got a glimpse of who her chicken had hit. Oh, what fun.

Bach was glad he was able to get some sleep last night after a week in vigil, keeping watch for spiritual disturbances. After dealing with sleepless nights, he can finally relax and sleep to his heart’s content, until if any spiritual activity spikes up. Well, let future Bach worry about that, present Bach is enjoying a cup of coffee while finishing up paperwork for his next few classes.

Bach was about to leave his chair and get something to snack on when two different things struck him. The first thing was an odd presence that Bach didn’t recognized, but felt eerily similar to an unholy construct. The second thing was a platter of today’s special: spaghetti supreme.

Pasta sauce and random sorts of squick covered Bach like a red, bloody vest. Now Bach has enough experience that if a dish of food with any kind of sauce involved is plastered on one’s being, you’ll get terrible stains. Bach’s perception of time slowed to a complete halt as he watched his clothes get ruined by the red substance that is a part of a wonderful and complete lunch. Before he knew it, someone shouted the words that filled him with dread:

Food fight.

As the hustle and bustle of the lunch room may have detracted most people and caused them to prefer eating in their dormitory alone rather than within a large area like animals. Not Lon though, he was seated around a nice wide table big enough to fill the rest of his clones in the remaining seats around him. It was quite simple to figure out which was the real one considering the true Lon was the only one with a plate of food in front of him. His clones didn’t necessarily need to eat since they only lasted for the day and it was cheaper for them to not, but they could still grow hungry.

“Are you about done yet?” one of his clones asked impatiently as the true Lon was in mid-bite of his slice of pizza. “He’s still eating his pizza, just wait a couple more minutes. We can do stuff later” another answered the impatient one. “I don’t get why we all have to sit here with him, we could be doing something else” the one replied. “Yeah, but then he would be left out and alone without one of us here, he gets all our memories remember?” the other explained to him once more.

The Lon clones’ conversation was quickly interrupted by the exclamation of ‘food fight’ and someone running past them. Soon enough a piece of chicken beamed one of the Lon clones straight in the head which actually caused him to fall out of his seat. “Yeah, let’s do it!” the impatient one shouted as he stole one of the original’s slice of pizza. “Hey! I paid five bucks for that” Lon complained. “So?” “You’re right, bombs away” the actual Lon shrugged.

With that, the clone armed with a pizza hopped onto the table and asked “did anyone see where that chicken came from?” One of them stood up and pointed at Midnight’s table “That one!” he announced. A quick whip of the pizza in hand sent the fast food soaring into the direction of the chicken girl.

Laughing as she saw her chicken hit someone, and actually make them fall out of their chair, Midnight wondered if she should maybe hold back a bit in her throwing? She knew she had a strong arm because of all of her physical activities and fighting, so perhaps she should go easy...

Her eyes widened when she saw that she had hit a kid. They looked only about ten years old! Oops, they wouldn't go throw a tantrum, right? Then she laughed as they retaliated with some pizza; nope, they would probably get into this as much as she was. Leaning backwards as the pizza soared over her head, some of its toppings falling onto her face. Yum, free pizza (please note the sarcasm). She turned to see where it had landed, but instead only saw some guy already splattered with spaghetti. They didn't look too excited at the thought of a food fight, so Midnight decided to introduce him to the pleasures and fun of it all. Right after she got that little kid back for attacking her...

Scooping up some of her potatoes, she threw it back at the kid, not bothering to try and throw softly. Besides, potatoes were soft...right? They shouldn't hurt...hopefully. Then, she looked back at her plate for more ammunition, in order to target the other boy, only to see, much to her dismay, that there wasn't a lot left. Okay, goodbye vegetables. At this thought, her peas, beans and steamed carrots went sailing through the air. She probably wouldn't have eaten them anyway. She did, however, hope she could lure this other guy into the amazing joys of food fights, wondering whether he would actually join, or just stalk off in a huff, annoyed.

    With his cupboards painfully devoid of anything but a few strands of spider silk, Nikolas didn't have much of a choice but to go to the cafeteria. As he neared the dining hall, as it was formally known, he could hear people laughing and talking even through the closed doors. There seemed to be a good deal of activity going on in there. Nikolas put a hand on the door handle and sighed to himself. Dread filled his gut, but his stomach urged him on. Slowly, he pulled the door open and stepped in, his eyes quickly scanning the room for the fastest route from the door to the 'food' and back again. No way was he spending any more time than necessary in this pigsty. He had only taken one step when the situation worsened.

    Nikolas's eyes widened in horror as students heed the call and began tossing their food at each other. "Oh no. No no no." He muttered, not to anyone in particular. He almost ran down his chosen path, slowing only when he realized that his increased movement could draw attention and potentially food. His glare was on full force as his route was blocked again and again by people who probably wanted to escape his chill but had nowhere to turn.

    He couldn't believe it. The one he ventured into the cafeteria (he would continue to call it that because he felt that 'dining hall' was misleading) there happened to be a foot fight. He cringed as strands of spaghetti wiggled through the air, accompanied by globs of red sauce that flew noticeably lower. Thankfully, the sauce contained enough water to freeze as it approached Nikolas, landing with a dull thud on the floor. "Vulgar, uncultured swine." He muttered as the person next to him hurled an apple with great relish. Just then, a slice of pizza slapped Nikolas on the cheek, leaving streaks of red that looked like war paint.

In hind sight, making his presence well known and making himself an easy target by standing on the table wasn’t the best idea that any of Lon’s clones had come with. Soon after he launched his slice of revenge, the chicken girl tossed over some mashed potatoes in his direction. Not only that but a few others decided to join the fray and clobbered the kid with a couple apples. The abrasive Lon took the hits fairly well, but along with his fellow clones he hid underneath the table to talk out strategy briefly with his comrades. The person that was actually struck by his pizza, Lon didn’t know because his eyes stopped following the projectile after it missed its intended target.

“Man, you got pretty dirty out there” one of them commented to the clone covered in apple and spud juice. “Yeah yeah, what else do we have to toss back?” the filthy Lon questioned impatiently. “Nothing, pizza was all I had. Actually that chicken’s probably still good to go.” “Ew, that was on the floor though” another interjected. “Oh c’mon, it’s not like anyone’s gonna eat it. Alright, search the floor for food and toss it right at that girl, she won’t know what hit her, go!” With that four of the clones shot out from under the table, each going a unique direction. They all began to scour the floor like they were soldiers scurrying through trenches, picking up whatever solid ammunition that came their way.

Out from their initial table, Lon poked his head out armed with the chicken that the girl threw only a couple of seconds earlier and chucked it straight for her, his aim more so for the torso or head. While that happened, another Lon popped out from another side of the cafeteria with a bruised half eaten apple tightly in his clutch before he followed in suit to his original copy and beamed after piece of food at the girl. She initiated the attack, she had no clue what she threw herself into.