Icepunk:

By some twist of fate, my arch-nemesis and I are now sharing living quarters. Ah, surely Fortuna, goddess of fortune, has deemed me unworthy of her attention - possibly because I hit on her too many times.

For weeks we searched for a place to live, until a friend of mine told me of an apartment available here.

It’s a sweet apartment, even considering the money we had to scrape together to get it.

My side of this palatial, spacious apartment is complete with a fountain, which was recently re-installed by a foul-smelling ogre, after I misconstrued its purpose.

Malex:

“You thundering idiot! You’ve left the sink on again!” said I, while preparing for another day of fruitless job searching. “The landlord spent enough money sending that plumber to replace the first sink you ruined - yet another unpayable bill which will surely come to our doorstep. Can you possibly consider leaving this sink attached to the wall for any length of time?”

Icepunk:

I seem to have angered Malex. Something about my fountain, I think. He doesn’t seem to understand that the gruesome troll of which I spoke installed our fountain on the wall. The fool!

Malex:

“Would you kindly stop decorating your side of the room with your mind-bogglingly lazy, prostrate form?” I fumed. “We need to both find jobs if we’re going to pay off the stinking rent. Not that I would mind sleeping on the street for a bloody change of pace.”

I looked at him, lying there on his bed, and turned to go in disgust. How I ended up rooming with this guy was indeed beyond me.

The market for programmers was bad, so I decided to search for clubs that were looking for a resident DJ. It was a long shot, but I knew somebody who might be able to hook me up.

Icepunk:

My metabolism is vastly different than Malex’s, so while he seems to have recovered from the effects of the caffeine high, I am unable to function properly.

I may need several more hours of sleep to restore my constitution. Once I awaken, I have an interesting idea I’d like to try out.

Malex:

Phoobar was a slippery man. He had a single primary interest - money. This was not entirely unreasonable, considering that it was the primary driving force behind many a slime-ball in the universe. However, it would be entirely unfair to say that Phoobar had no other interests at all. Another of his main interests was preserving his own skin. I had some dirt on him, and he was all too happy to oblige my requests for information. Additionally, Phoobar’s efficiency at gathering and delivering information was amazing to behold. Already he had set me up with the owner of a club up north who needed a new resident DJ.

I was a tad nervous, and the club owner’s tall, imposing figure did nothing to alleviate the fact. Truth be told, the man was downright scary.

“Hey,” said I, suppressing my impulse to run and hide, “I hear you are looking for a new DJ for your club?”

“True enough,” he said. “I used to have a good DJ, DJ HamsterBait, but unfortunately he was recently killed.”

“Ah, how unfortunate. How did he die?” (I hoped that, by engaging the man in meaningless chatter, I could befriend him and convince him to give me a job.)

“That’s the freaky bit,” a look of consternation crossed the club owner’s face. “He was nibbled to death by hamsters in his own home.”

“What a shame,” said I.

“So, you’re here to get a job as a replacement DJ, eh?” He shook his head in such a way as to indicate that he had turned away several fledgling DJs already, and was tiring of the process. “I assume also, by the stupid look on your face, that you don’t have a demo disk?” He had seen through my subtle attempts at small talk. Blast. I would have to perfect that approach.

“Ah,” I grimaced, “you would be correct, since I do not, in fact, have the equipment to make a demo disk.” I was sunk.

“You can give it a shot, as long as you’re out of here before tonight’s dance. You can even use our equipment. If you screw it up though, you’re paying for it.”

I had been given a chance to prove my skills! I couldn’t believe my luck. Such things happened only to the most fortunate of individuals - a classification in which I definitely did not belong.

Icepunk:

I’ve returned to consciousness all too quickly, it seems. One thing I notice almost immediately is that my eyes aren’t open. Don’t your eyes usually open when you wake up?

By the gods! I’ve gone blind! Oh wait... Malex must’ve thrown a pillow on my face in a futile attempt to smother me. You should know by now that The Great Icepunk cannot be defeated so easily, you fiend! And he says I’m egotistical. Bah!

Then again, who knows how long it has been since I ate last? Could I have been trying to eat my pillow? My mouth IS a tad dry. Down will do that, I’m sure.

The decrepit mattress I’ve had since middle-school squeaks as I get up. I pad across the grungy carpet, and marvel at the distance between my bed and the kitchen - a harrowing trek of at least ten feet.

I open the fridge, and realize there is nothing in it containing caffeine. Dang.

The door makes a strange shearing sound as I slam it. I look back and notice that the door is not seated properly. It must be broken. I feel a warm sense of satisfaction knowing that Malex surely will not be pleased.

Turning back to the problem at hand, I realize that I have been saddled with the task of procuring enough caffeine to last us the week. I must not fail in this task.