A Feastivus for All Seasons

Author's Note: A spiritual successor to my first Fighting Foodons fic, "Mean Cuisine", with the pairing dynamic reversed. Enjoy the story and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of Fighting Foodons.

Pairing: One-sided Chase x Albert.

Summary:

Chase marries Albert, but has no recollection of how they got there.

"Albert, where are we going?"

"Silly goose! It's your wedding day!"

"M-m-my wedding? I can't be married! I'm only ten!"

Tell that to your wedding guests, pumpernickel!

Chase's eyes expanded to the size of pastrami pizzas. He was King of Food, Dish Wizard, Vanquisher of the Glutton Empire. And now, apparently, husband to Albert.

Why is this happening?

The young chef tried reconstructing the checklist of ingredients in this recipe for disaster, but his theories returned half-baked. He couldn't even remember what he had for lunch.

Did I have lunch?

They left the palace. Gobs of people were there to mark the occasion. Kayla threw radish rosettes. Oslo held a congratulatory jug of wine aboard his saucer. Pie Tin fought tears on his flowing, panda print sleeves. Coco and Dia fawned, more saccharine than a treacle tart.

Two buffet lines of their Foodon friends garnished the carpet. Up one row knelt Hot Doggone-It, Cowboyritto, Tofurious, and Doughnut-So. Down the other aisle bowed Omelet, Spaghettabout-It, Crab Quake, and Tater Tons.

Noticeably not present: Fried Ricer, Sir Dumpling, Shrimp Daddy, Dim-Sumthin' Special, and the Burnt Meatballs.

As Sir Dumpling would put it, Albert looked "smashing" in his apron/tux combo.

Does that mean Albert is the groom? Am I the bride?

Inspecting his clothes, Chase finally went easy on the jawbreakers. Thank Palator, he wasn't in a dress! If anyone were to wear such a stupid getup, he'd have pegged Albert. According to Kayla, the blond appeared hesitant to remove that ridiculous clown makeup, the time they rescued Tureen from the Gluttons.

"A toast! To the happy couple!" Chase's father raised his glass of tomato juice.

"Hear, hear!" The attendees followed his example.

I must have eaten some bad chilli! Yeah, that's it! I ate some bad chilli, and fell asleep! There's no way any of this is real!

"Chef Jack, my hero! I promise to be the greatest son-in-law! The best thing since sliced bread!"

"Or not..." Chase swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing how shockingly Albert that statement was.

"Your chariot awaits, my King." His betrothed picked him up, and carried him to the courtyard's edge, where Feastivus roosted.

Ah, that accounted for their missing company. They'd combined into Feastivus, the Foodon Deluxe featuring long, thinning whiskers like dragon's beard candy, a platter of Chinese morsels girdling his neck, full underbelly, and flame-tipped tail. Between his head spikes, their lobsterized escort, Super Fried Ricer, saluted.

"Hang on tight, Chase!" Albert seated him on the tarragon's back, then squeezed his calves around the serpent's fireproof hide. "Giddy-up!"

Nada.

"If this marriage is gonna work out, you gotta learn to ride." Chase gave in to the insanity.

"Teach me."

He jumped at the chance to show Albert how it was done. "All right, Fried Ricer, let's do it! THE KITCHEN IS OPEN!"

"Fried Ricer!" the monster parroted, yanking his mount's horns.

Feastivus kicked off the ground, beating his huge wings and rising above the reception. Once airborne, scents interspersing the kingdom's kitchens came into focus, tickling the mini monarch's nose. Taken together with Albert's arms bundling his stomach, the smell of fine cooking reduced his scruples to mashed potatoes.

Till death do us part seemed an appetizing dessert.

Maybe we can…

Fruit Turtle flew by, pelting the stratosphere with his Citrus Assault Attack. The produce launched from the edible arrangement decorating his shell crackled and popped.

Wait a minute! Fruit Turtle? Chase had to be dreaming! He said sayonara to his 5-Star Foodon after the battle against Rose Marinade's Dim-Sum Deluxe!

"Aim for the pie in the sky!" Albert ordered Fried Ricer.

A big blueberry pie hung in place of the sun. Feastivus rammed it.

KERSPLAT!

The snot bubble clinging to Chase's nostril burst, and he ceased snoring in the street.

"Rise and shine, baloney brain! Throw on your shoulder pads and sharpen your knife! Those cucumbers won't julienne themselves!" Albert egged him on while distributing breakfasts to the customers sitting in front of the MAC Cart.

It hurt to move. "I-I'm stuffed. I think I overate."

"Man, you had broccoli."

"What?"

"Broc-co-li! Next to no calories!"

"I feel like I ate the Burger Brigade."

"That's disgusting."

"C'mon, Chase! Quit being a wet noodle! You look 'jolly good,' if you ask me!" Pie Tin imitated Sir Dumpling's accent.

"Here's a banana." Albert flung him the life preserver. "Builds potassium and vitamin B!"

Despite his condition, Chase munched away. "Awbwert?"

"Yeah?"

"Wew nawt mwehweed, uhw hwee?"

Somehow, his dad's fanboy understood him through all the mush. "Ha! Me and you? You crack me up! Help me zest these lemons, will ya?"

So they weren't two peas in a pod. Not yet, anyway. Oh well! No use crying over spilled milk. This just meant Chase had to start the meal from scratch.

He'd have Albert over for dinner yet.