Cup of Mafia: Ghost Thread

ACK!

Carol looked very sexy in her pink slip dress, although the blood from the bullet hole in her forehead was a bit distracting. With great disdain she stood up and threw her shoe. She took a deep breath and just let it out.

'THHHHHHHBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPTTTTTTTTTTTT!' (rasberry noise)

Laughter filled Thor's senses even before he had a chance to open his eyes.

"Bested by mortals?" he heard an amused voice whisper into his ear through the darkened haze. A few moments passed before his vision returned and when it did he found himself on his back, in the halls of Valhalla. His brother Loki sat beside him, a wicked smile perched upon his face like some cruel insect. "I would have thought my dear bother would have fared better."

"I was not defeated in battle," Thor responded coldly, lifting himself up off the ground. "My oponent walked a coward’s path, hiding in shadows to prey upon the unaware."

"The unaware or the ill prepared?" Loki asked him. "Your skills are want as of late, dear brother. Perhaps some practice is in order... or better yet, a stronger cup of coffee? I could hear your snoring from here."

"I tire of your games," Thor said, far from amused. "I trust you will be hearing from my wife once I explain to her why that sweater was not returned."

Loki frowned for a moment at this turn of events, but only for a moment. His smile quickly reclaimed its throne as Thor huffed off. Loki imagined he would hear from his brother's wife, and more likely than not she would be furious. It had been worth it though, he thought as he giggled to himself. It had so been worth it.

'I'm having trouble understanding why they gave us sticky buns if we're dead.'

Carol was picking at the plate of fresh sticky buns as Dudley sat down across from her. With a grin she picked one up and bounced it off of Dudley's very sad gothy face.

mmmm

Baal, The Bringer Of Pestilence looked about, confused. Hmm, guess I was wrong about that whole no-afterlife thing after all. With the realization that he was no longer alive, and neither in Heaven or Hell, it became apparant that the world was more than just a venue for suffering and darkness. He had been wrong. Not for his entire life, no. More like the last four months of it that he had spent as a goth, which was almost the same thing when you're 15. He picked up a wetnappy from the table, unwrapped it, and like a Mime wiping away the great black line of silence, he wiped the makeup from his face and thus began his afterlife anew.

He took the sticky bun and ate it. It was delicious.

"Thanks, Carol!"