Snippy Longstockings


 * For the character, see Snipvester Longstockings

Snippy Longstockings is the fifth chapter of Fun with Vampires. It is the first chapter not to feature Team Manhattan as well as the first to feature Wicca, Maurice and Droids.

Content
Run.

Webster's Dictionary refers to run as movement which speeds the process of walking.

The Handy Dandy Goblin Guide to Human Words defines it as the unnecessary pace taken by prey, trying to escape from the predator.

All in all, running is usually bad. Notice how I said usually, because people have ran because they are so joyous and wonderful and people have ran to accept vast ammounts of money from their sponsors and receive large medallions. Yet, usually, people run if they are trying to get away from something bad, or if they are trying to get somewhere they should have been half-an-hour ago.

Snippy Longstockings ran because of the usual.

He was being chased.

The middle-aged man dashed down the streets of the Big City. When he ran past someone, they would stop and their mouthes would gape open and their arms, if strong enough through this moment of fear, would raise and their index fingers would extend to point at him.

Quite rude if you think about it.

It wasn't the fact that he was he. Merely what he was.

He was a leshie.

Now let as indulge into history.

Not too long ago, a dark witch wanted power. To raise an army, she grew leshies in labs. They became disgusting, tall, leafy skinned, huge-nosed, long-haired warmongers and they were entirely in her debt. They killed millions. Foul creatures. Snippy Longstockings is the only known acception.

He didn't quite fit and questioned the horrible ways of the leshie. So he betrayed the dark witch and became a double agent, working for the Truce between Species. But the dark witch was clever, so the Truce decided to brand him an enemy to Deep Blue, so all police droids would arrest him. They told no one. Everyone thought Snippy Longstockings was your average leshie.

Eventually, he rose to the dark witch's personal arm and, when the time was right, tried to kill her. But he did not succeed. Running from the dark witch, he seeked sympathy from the Truce. But Deep Blue and every police droid in the Big City thought he was an enemy and tried to kill him.

So he ran.

He ran from the dark witch, he ran from the Truce.

He spent 30 years in Skid Row.

But now he returned.

The dark witch had discovered him and she wanted revenge.

As he ran down 30987th Avenue, Snippy Longstockings stopped dead in his tracks.

In front of him stood a police droid.

It looked at him, feeling no emotion, no pity.Then it raised its head and looked at Mr Longstockings.

"State name," it said in a bland, monotone voice.

"Snippy Longstockings," he replied. "Snippy, short for Snipvester, long for Snipp."

"Snipvester Longstockings. 407 possible matches. State middle name."

"Penovaxaxacaliasmithvolosteinciunotamandopopolistesterosercasjimathylen."

"Snipvester Penovaxaxacaliasmithvolosteinciunotamandopopolistesterosercasjimathylen Longstockings, one possible matches. Hault, wanted criminal."

Snippy Longstockings ran once more.

Laser beams are very odd things. If light exceeds at a certain velocity, it generates heat. Laser beams are nothing but extremely powerful lights that, if hitting flesh, burn their way into you within a split second.

Police Droid 5690658y70938pt shot a laserbeam out of it's plam at Snipvester. Luckily, Snippy had his trusty pocket-mirror. Pulling it out, he used it to rapidly shield his face from the oncoming shot. Mirrors reflect light. Lasers are lights.

The laser bounced off of the small, wooden mirror and back at the police droid. It cavaleered through 5690658y70938pt's primative cranium and blew it's head to smithereens. The scrap that once was Police Droid 5690658y70938pt fell down and crumbled on the floor.

Snippy Longstockings ran. He ran till his legs began to bleed. Now seems like a good time to tell you why he was running. He spent 30 years in Skid Row, and now the dark witch has found him. Since Snippy's betrayal, the dark witch destroyed all leshies and created more trustworthy henchmen. It is unknown exactly what happens to someone who dies, yet if a witch summons it, a spirit comes. This is what the dark witch did. She then forced the spirits back into their rotting corpses, transforming them into short, mishevious gremlins and tore out their brains, leaving them forever in debt of her wrath. The tokoloshe were sent to destroy Snippy and there was only one place where they wouldn't be to find him.

Downtown.

You see, the Truce between Species that reins supreme in the Big City, doesn't look to friendly upon crime. So all the crooks and crims dug a big hole, built a city in it, and covered it up where no one would ever find it for a million years. Access for scum is very expensive. Doped up hobos stream the streets of the Big City with funny rainbow spectacles which grant them access to anyone's criminal records who they spy. The so called 'liasons', if spotting a crim in need, will offer them a $2000 expense for a harmless teleport to Downtown.

If Snippy Longstockings found a genie, he would wish for 'a liason with no expenses', 'a machine that kills tokoloshe' and 'three more wishes'. The hobos down at the RSL never got tired off that one.

Luckily for Snipvester, he found a liason.

The liason stared at him, his glasses making 'zvwoooooo!' sounds.

"Mmmm," he said, running up to Snippy.

"Ah!" Snippy exclaimed. "A liason just the man I was looking for."

"Greetings, Mr Longstockings, my name is Chrysler and could I interest you in a quick and safe teleport to good old Downtown?"

"Why, yes you could."

"Excellent, excellent, sir. It will cost a minor $2000 but-"

"I will travel for free."

"Sorry, rules are rules and Cocain's expensive these days, $2000, come on!"

"There is only one thing in existence I would pay $2000 for."

"And what would that be?"

"A bow tie that spins around. I've been looking for one for 40 years."

"Hahahahahahaha! You're a funny man, Longstockings, but come on!"

"Maybe those freako glasses of yours aren't working properly, I'm Snipvester Longstockings."

"Yeah, Snipvester Longstockings, one time parking ticket evader, one time loiterer and two time Marajuana enhaler."

"Hehehe! You must be thinking of the wrong Snippy Longstockings. I'm Snipvester Penovaxaxacaliasmithvolosteinciunotamandopopolistesterosercasjimathylen Longstockings, front employee of Wicca's personal arm, murderer of 50000 innocents, got this close to putting the old hag out of her misery, but another henchman stopped me. I almost killed the most powerful woman on the planet. Do you think I give a shit about some lowlife hobo?"

"No."

"Exactly."

"Now give me the teleport and we'll do this the easy way?"

"What's the hard way?"

"Oh, I beat you to near-death, skin you, decapatate you, deep fry your head and serve it up to whatever family you have before pinning it as a suicide."

"OK. Have the teleport."

"Thank you," he snatched the teleport from Chrysler's hands. "All that stuff I said to you is 100% true and if you tell another living soul, then I'll make you immortal, and chain you to a boiling hot board, infront of a machine which plugnes a carving knife forward, repeatedly inside a room concealed in the centre of the Earth. You got that?"

"Yes."

Snippy Longstockings was then disintegrated. His molecules then reintegrated 1000 miles under ground. He was in Downtown.

All the drugies and thieves and murderers looked at him "Wow! A real live leshie!"

Then he saw them. There were three of them. They looked at him and smiled. Three tokoloshe.

They ran towards Snippy, sharp teeth gleaming.

For the eighteenth time today, Snippy Longstockings ran. He ran long and hard, his matted hair blowing in the wind he created by speeding through the air. But the tokoloshe were faster. They easily outran Snippy. One jumped up and donked himon the hed. Another grabbed his legs and tripped him over the third grabbed hisarms, lashing at the first, who then pickedup a large pole and hit him over the head.

Snippy Longstockings woke.

He was standing in a room. A large room, with many an airconditioner blowing cool, unnatural air into the room. He looked out of the window to see many mechanical part, whirring and spinning, with heaps of cheap fans from the $2 shop that old people have, covered in dust, in a pile of autobiographies of Lil' Vickie and strange mechanical birds, fanning the doodads incase they became too hot and blew up. Three tokoloshe stood behind him. He recognised this building. But he didn't know where from. The tokoloshe pushed him towards a golem.

Golems are strange creatures. 500 years ago, it was discovered that clay houses a chemical called haxaprofin, which, if collided with the Septomotrtius charm, will bring the clay to life as a servant of the magician. These clay men felt no pity as they dragged Snippy Longstockings towards the dark witch.

Snippy didn't really care. What he cared about was this buildimng. He'd been here before. What was it? What was it?

The golems heaved Snippy Longstockings into a deep, cavernous room.

At the back of the room lied a huge, towering thrown.

"Leave him here," came a French female voice.

The golems pulled their hands up, clenching them to their breast before storming off.

"Snipvester," came the voice.

"Wicca," Snippy Longstockings replied.

The chair spun around to reveal a woman. She looked young, younger than she was. She had long, platted hair and deep, blue eyes. She wore a strikingly red dress, which shared the same colour of her brandy-flavoured lipstick. A wire crown fitted around her scalp, throned by a green emerald. Sitting, curled up in her lap lay a black cat. The cat was there, yet it wasn't there. It was as if it 75% there, but it was just being held back as nothing. The cat's eyes opened to reveal pale green spheres, pinpricked by long, black slits. It hissed a long hiss at Snippy, but the dark witch patted it.

"Oh," she said, "calm down Maurice, Mr Longstockings is our geust."

It calmed down and resumed sleep, not closing its eyes until it was sure its master was safe from the traitor.

"Wicca," said Snippy, an evil glint in his eye, "you're sad, you make me want to cry. I feel so sorry for the fact you have strung every little strand of your PATHETIC LITTLE EXCUSE FOR A LIFE TO A FERAL CAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Oh,Snippy, don't say that," Wicca ushered. "Cruventio magrenvovlorohogtouo!"

Then, Snippy Longstockings felt pain more excrusiating than any he had ever felt before. He collapsed on the ground, screaming in pain. Yet he laughed. "Magic, the last refuge of an outcast. I upset you, you torture me. What A SICK INCOMPETENT PIECE OF SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Cease!" Wicca yelled and the pain stopped. "Snippy, I believe you have met my new righthandman, Plughole?"

Right beside Wicca stood Plughole, a big, strong, bony vampire who's hand had been cut off and replaced with a robotic limb that could shoot out electric sparks. Back in the days of Snippy's evilness, he and Plughole competed for Wicca's attention.

"Plughole," said Snippy Longstockings, "we meet once more."

"Longstockings," said Plughole in a deep, horrfying voice, "I will take pride in killing you!"

"Not yet, Plughole," said Wicca. "We need to ask him the question."

"Yeah," said Snippy, "I can't believe you were so stupid to forget about the question, Plughole, T-T-T, what a dissapointment."

Plughole growled and was about to leap towards Snippy, when Maurice the black cat awoke. It hissed at him and he stopped.

"Calm down, Maurice," said Wicca. "Now-"

"Wait!" objected Snippy. "On the subject of questions, I've got one for you, Wicca. Plughole, you can join in too if your tiny brain can even recept what I'm saying, you probably don't even know what I'm saying right now, huh? Any way, Wicca, where are we? It is very farmiliar and I dare say, I think it belongs to the Truce and flatulastential remarkagnational sense to the romalus rhombus of illateral thinking, what are your thoughts on this, Plughole...Na, too dumb to understand, oh well!"

"Silence, Snippy," said Wicca. "Now, question time. I have been informed that you have spent some time in Skid Row, is that correct?"

"Yes," said Snippy, "Ok, you've asked your question, can I go now?"

"No! Did you know someone called Walter Chestnut?"

"Yes, loner, weirdo, a bit like you, Plughole."

"Good, my little boy is growing up."

"Oh, so I'm your little boy, now?"

"Plughole, do the honours."

"With pleasure," boomed Plughole, ligtning strikes cavaleering out of his hand.

He grabbed Snippy with his other hand and melded his mechanical one into his brain.

Before Snippy Longstockings's brain was melted, his skin was boiled and his body was electrified, he had an epiffany.

He knew exactly where he was.

"Wait a minute," he managed to say, moments before death, "We're in Deep Blue!"