Charmed
Sympathy For The Demon

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Demian: C | Grade It Now!
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Sympathy For The Literary Convention

Speaking of foul antics, Contrivance stops mauling Foreshadowing's ass long enough to scamper over to the parlor doorway and dangle an evidently monstrous spider from the ceiling. No, I had no idea Contrivance worked part-time as an insect wrangler, but as Foreshadowing can tell you, Contrivance is a man of many talents. If you know what I mean. Piper spots the spider and pulls a Charlotte, shrieking and fluttering her hands while hopping from foot to foot and ordering the Dolt to get rid of the thing. The Dolt ambles over to kneel by the door and scoot the spider towards a hole in the baseboard. The evidently monstrous arachnid is revealed to be a tenth of the size of The Dolt's fingernail. Um. Good eye, Piper. I guess. For some reason, Piper interprets the spider's appearance as a sign of the Apocalypse, griping about horrible things happening to her just as her life hits a good patch. Raige snorts derisively. Piper darkly warns, "Just wait." On cue, Cole smears into the parlor behind the Dolt, begging for the Glamorous Ladies' assistance. "See?" Piper sneers. It pains me to say this, but: Shut up, Piper.

Cole darts through the parlor, sniffing at the air like he's Renfield or something as Raige, Piper, and the Dolt trail behind him from the sun porch. "Did they follow me?" Cole whimpers. The Dolt helpfully instructs Cole to sit for a moment. Cole immediately spins on his heel and hurls a Flaming Ball Of Death at the Dolt's head. Snicker. The Dolt snipers to the floor, allowing the FBOD to plow harmlessly into the wall. "What are you doing?" Piper howls. Cole advances on her, paranoia oozing from his pores. "You're with him, aren't you?" he babbles, conjuring another FBOD in the palm of his hand. Raige, ever the practical spitfire, slams her hands into his shoulder, knocking him out of his hallucinatory fantasy. "What is wrong with you?" she snots. Cole wipes at his eyes, apologizing profusely and hoping he didn't injure anyone. "You could have," mopes the Dolt as Piper helps him to his feet. "You're lucky I'm already dead." Oh, stow it, prissypants. That Flaming Ball Of Death didn't come anywhere near you. Tool. Cole collapses into an overstuffed armchair and wails that his hallucinations are getting worse. Up until his appearance in the Manor, every battle he fought was entirely in his head. Well, except for that one with your soon-to-be-ex-secretary, but who's counting? Now, he's activating his Wicked Waste Land Mojo against those his addled brain believes are demonic. "Someone's messing with me somehow," he gasps. The Glamorous Ladies must help him before he actually hurts somebody! Piper, Raige, and the Dolt exchange Looks Of Concern.

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Charmed

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