A/N: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I never ever, in a million years even dreamt that I could get twenty reviews on a single chapter. –heartclutch- And with that kind of response, I figured, why not mess with a good thing?

So here's the deal: follow the link below if you feel so inclined. It'll take you to a slideshow of Durza fanart set to the song he sings, courtesy of my deranged mind.

EDIT: Okay, so I wish that I could link to it. I'm a failure, and thus can't figure out HOW to post a link to another website. -sigh- Oh well. If you go to YouTube and search Alagaesian Idol, it SHOULD be the only thing that comes up. If you can't find and still wanna see it, just PM me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Paolini or any of his characters, I don't own David Byrne or the Talking Heads, I don't own or claim to have drawn any of the fanart in the video, I don't own Asmodeus, Mel, Jessi, Carly… heck, I don't even know if I own myself. I might've have sold my soul for reviews… I'm not sure. How else could I have managed to get that many with this fanfic?

Durza, Duzie. Don't Ask. Please.

"So you want me to sing and dance – while wearing this?" Durza spat indignantly, brandishing a skimpy bright red thong. The red-haired judge known as Jessi nodded fervently.

"Wait— wait— what?" Asmodeus interrupted, waving his arms around, frantically battling the horrific mental images. "No one agreed to that kind of abuse!"

"Jessi, sweetie, this is public broadcasting." The fabulous host, Pink, said slowly. "There can be no wardrobe malfunctions."

"Wait— wait— what?"

Durza attempted a fierce glare in Brom's general direction (as he had previously been beaming at him rather gloatingly) as the four midgets crowded around him and began squabbling.

"But what's keeping us here? The egg? Those kids?" Murtagh growled a short while away, completely ignoring his comrade's pain. He pondered this laboriously, crouched and waiting, when suddenly, he had an epiphany. "Why don't we just go on a murderous rampage, behead them all, and take the egg for ourselves?"

"Yeah, who's to say we can't just kill you all and leave with the egg?" Murtagh cried, who, startled by the brilliance of his own idea, dropped Zar'roc with a clatter and grabbed an unsuspecting midget by the collar. "Who's gonna stop us? The government?" He continued with a rather disgruntled expression, jerking his head towards the corner where Galbatorix was sobbing onto the shoulder of a very repulsed Twin.

"Hi! My name's Carly and I'm glad that I finally had a chance to meet you all. I'm—" The little girl said cheerfully, completely ignoring the threat on her life, her cheeriness verging on disconcerting.

"Oh no you don't. I'm notputting up with another one of those little 'all about me' sessions you crazy midgets are so fond of giving out. I don't care about the meaning of your name, your occupation, your blood-type, or you're pet peeves, all I want to know is how long you're planning on keeping us here. I don't know what you're expecting from us but you're not getting it, and I for one—" Eragon started sourly, obviously frustrated, having snatched the seemingly complacent girl from Murtagh.

What Eragon didn't know, was that the Carly girl was grinning over Eragon's shoulder and had winked suggestively at Murtagh, who immediately froze with a distinctly nauseous expression on his face, as did another short girl.

"I don't know what you're expecting from us, but…" Eragon tried again half-heartedly, after shooting the still frozen and horrified Murtagh a concerned look, when he was cut off sharply by a slightly cracked and cursed toddler.

"Vile Temptress!" Elva shrieked with a distinctly Transylvanian accent, preparing to run the lecherous midget through with her newly claimed Zar'roc, having found it conveniently within her reach. "Prepare to Perish by Mine Hand."

Carly looked little more than vaguely vexed, but as Elva charged, wielding a sword twice her weight, she was struck by a bolt of vengeful lightning with a CRACK!

Murtagh snapped out of his reverie and proceeded to look highly disappointed.

"That certainly sets Project 'Murderous Rampage' back quite a bit." Arya smirked, watching Murtagh retrieve his sword from the collapsed and smoking Shield of Sorrow.

"It was worth a shot…" Murtagh muttered malevolently.

Orik eyed Thorn suspiciously as Roran stepped in between the two, throwing the unconscious Elva over the shoulder that wasn't already hefting the still unconscious Katrina.

Fried… and bite-sized too… The red dragon commented snidely, not needing telepathy to know what was on the bearded dwarf's mind as Orik's eyes darted surreptitiously between the little girl over Roran's shoulder and the hulking dragon.

Orik glared and Thorn grinned ridiculously, revealing several rows of teeth and the real reason why dwarves don't really enjoy the company of dragons.

"Why'd you go and do that?" Eragon winced helplessly, still dangling the Carly girl helplessly, forgetting the danger of threatening an electrified midget. "Elva… she's most probably got more issues than even you—"

CRACK! CRACK!

Eragon crumpled to the ground, sufficiently fried by two sporadic strikes of lightning upon his head, and Carly scampered off victoriously. Roran howled with the frustration, having run out of shoulders upon which to heft the unconscious.

"Who put me in charge of the invalids?" Roran bemoaned piteously, kicking Eragon repeatedly. "People call me Roran Stronghammer. I'm not cut out for this kind of sugar job!"

Au contraire— it's your maternal instinct that got you the job, Rory, Solembum thought dryly. Saphira sneezed rather conveniently, and Roran shot them both a wilting glare as he attempted to kick Eragon out of the way of the rabid incoming crowd.

The lights began to dim as the decidedly short masses rushed to fill the room, and before any more freak lightning could strike or Orik could take a battle axe to Thorn's head, a spotlight lit the stage.

"Welcome, one and all, to the first ever broadcasting of ALAGAESIAN IDOL!" Pink announced grandly to the cheering and nearly forgotten crowds surrounding the stage. "Coming right up, is our resident Shade and all round bad guy, Durza, with his rendition of Psycho Killer from the Talking Heads."

Backstage, Durza (fully clothed) was trying to remember if he knew enough English to read off of a teleprompter, as well as trying to figure out what a teleprompter was.

"Why am I doing this again?" Durza asked himself piteously. "I mean, the glory of a Shade hardly warrants a need for a dragon. And it's not as though my loyalties come into play at all in—"

CRACK!

"Right, right." The shade amended hastily, his spirits dropping even lower as he surveyed the damage the miserable lightning had done to his favorite black velvet cloak. "I suppose it's too late now anyway…"

"I'm glad you understand the situation." Asmodeus scowled, coming up behind Durza and shoving him onstage as the opening to the song played for the third time. He stumbled up to the mic with his eyes closed, putting his panic attacks and the crackling of thunder behind him. He opened one eye and wrapped unsteady hands around the mic.

"Can't seem to face up to the facts— I'm tense and nervous, can't relax." Durza started quietly, carrying the tune shakily. He winced, realizing he really needed his eyes open to read the teleprompter, promptly closing them again when he spotted Arya whistling.

"Can't sleep— bed's on fire. Don't touch me— I'm a real livewire." Durza continued warily.

Paula— that is, Jessi— got out of her seat and started stomping along with the power chords, because there's no way she could sit and watch like a normal judge, oh no. Some individuals in the crowd joined in, putting Durza more on edge than should really be possible.

"Psycho killer!" STOMP STOMP! "Qu'est-ce que c'est!" He belted desperately. "Fa-fa-fa-faa-fa-fa-fafa-faaa-faar better…" STOMP STOMP! "Run run!" STOMP STOMP! "Run run run awaaay! Hu-hu-hu-huuu— Huuh-aye-aye-aye-ayee!" STOMP STOMP! "Psycho killer—"

Just as the singing thing was getting to be a bit monotonous, Durza stumbled again and a dart whizzed through his red hair, shattering the tall screen behind him. The Shade did not waste any time, and threw himself to the floor as he spotted two more blow darts headed his way. The first flew past Durza's ear, splintering a conditional light fixture, killing the lights. The second, however, flew true and caught Durza between the forefinger and thumb on his flailing right arm.

Several helpful individuals in the audience let out a blood-curdling screams in the semi-darkness. The lights flickered back with only minor reluctance, and the electrical Carly midget was observing Durza with mild interest.

"Is there a doctor in the house!" Jessi and Pink cried forlornly as one from the stage.

The obvious response to this query was, of course, the mass convergence of doctor-like individuals on stage, each trying to convince the other of the proper course action— in other words, there was a chaotic throng of pretentious, bickering midgets between Durza and any sane physician. As well as several hundred miles and a continent or two.

A/N: Le gasp! Well, I'm hoping Durza lives. Heh, I'm also hoping Carly doesn't mind being the muscle of the operation.

Be sure to stop by A Shadeslayer's Worst Fear, and to thank my wonderfully witty beta Asmodeus who, besides the fact that he'll laugh at me about spelling beard wrong till the end of time, was actually very helpful (go figure).

Ciao, Pinky

P.S. Should I say it? I don't wanna jinx myself.

P.S.S. Debating. Still debating.

P.S.S. Caving! Caving!

P.S.S.S. Eep! Please review!