Disclaimer: I do not own Disgaea. Now quit wasting your time reading this disclaimer and read the next chapter. Or, better yet, why not take the valuable time that you normally waste reading disclaimers and take the time to review instead. For those of you who actually do review, thank you, and please disregard my rant.

By the way, I know I already promised to post this chapter yesterday--unfortunately, I had some unexpected obligations to take care that completely threw me off. Never have siblings if you can help it--especially ones young enough to need a babysitter.

Chapter Sixteen: Inadequacy, Thy Name Is...

Flonne had been surprised to hear from her sister that they were back in the Netherworld. However, as things were, she had been shivering from cold and uncertainty—it was a chill that sank through countless sheets and blankets and flooded her body, just like before. So it really wasn't surprising that she didn't have any significant reaction to Ozonne's news.

That didn't stop the angel from worrying, however…

"That asshole overlord tells me you've been sick for days," she said accusingly as she strode in through the doorway. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Flonne, who was heavily cloaked in the comforter from the bed, merely glanced up at Ozonne with a disinterested expression. "I don't know," she replied honestly.

"That's not an answer! What are your symptoms?"

"I'm cold," she said. "And I'm tired. Now can you please leave me alone, Ozonne?"

She hadn't meant to be rude. However, she was annoyed at Ozonne for being so bossy and overbearing—more so than she could ever remember her being. Flonne knew that she was generally protective of the people she cared about, but this was ridiculous.

"Actually," said Ozonne, looking grumpy, "we've been invited in to have dinner."

"With the Seraph?" Flonne asked, looking up.

"No, you dork! We're not even in Celestia yet! We're back in the Netherworld, or so I hear. Anyway, that Laharl-jerk is all mad because someone else is claiming to be overlord."

"Oh, dear," she sighed. "Not another challenger…"

"I dunno," Ozonne commented. "But she's gone and invited us all to have dinner with her. And if you're smart, you won't touch anything she gives you. Between this feud between her and that moron with the cape, I wouldn't be surprised if the food she gives us is poisoned."

Flonne shrugged. She really could care less.

"Anyway," she continued, not at all bothered by her sister's silence, "we've got to get you ready. Now, I'm thinking," she said as she rummaged through the closet, looking for something decent for Flonne to wear, "you would look better in red. Normally I'd say blue, but you're eyes aren't blue anymore…" Ozonne grumbled at bit at this, as though it were some major inconvenience she would have to deal with. "Dammit, these are all boys' clothes!"

"This is Laharl's room," Flonne mentioned weakly, pulling herself into a sitting position. "He won't like you rummaging through his things."

"If this is his room, then what were you doing in his bed?" Ozonne asked with a funny look on her face.

If Flonne had not been so exhausted, she would have looked flustered and confused. Instead, she merely gave her sister a blank look. "Sleeping."

At this point Ozonne was about to explode with questions when all of a sudden there was a noise from the doorway. The two girls turned to look and saw Delyffe standing there, a serene smile on her face.

"Hello, Flonne…" she said in a lethally soft voice.

The fallen angel immediately tensed with fear for whatever messed up therapy she was about to endure. "I…I'm not Flonne," she attempted with a squeak.

"Oh, please," said Delyffe, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm blind, not retarded. I can recognize that terrified whimper anywhere."

Something about Flonne's expression caused Ozonne to switch from offensive to defensive faster than a set of traffic lights. "Who are you?" she demanded, her green eyes nothing but slits.

The healer's smile grew wider. "My name is Delyffe, servant of Lord Laharl and the personal physician of the lady cowering beneath the sheets behind you. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"What are you doing here?" Ozonne snapped, not wasting any time on mere pleastantries.

"I have received orders to check up on the health of Miss Flonne. After that climatic accident we just experienced, I thought that she might be suffering complications."

"Yeah, right. How do I know you're not going to do anything sick to my sister?"

Delyffe merely nodded her head, as though she found the statement reasonable. "I've been alone in her presence several times. If I wanted to harm her, I could have done so long before you reared your ugly head, miss."

Ozonne's face became a blotchy red. "What did you just say?!?"

"Deaf and stupid, not a promising combination now, is it?" Delyffe sighed, pushing past her and standing beside Flonne, who had decided to come out of her raggedy shelter of blankets against her better judgement.

"That wasn't nice," the fallen angel told the healer. "Please apologize!"

The authority in her voice was so strange considering that it was coming from Flonne of all people. Delyffe paused when she detected it, her smile fading slightly. It reminded her of her old mistress, one she used to serve before she started taking orders directly from the dark presence in her room.

"Of course," she chirped, the smile returned fresh and chipper to her face. Unfortunately, it only made her look more frightening than before. "Pardon me," she told Ozonne. "My comments were not in good taste."

"I'll give you good taste," Ozonne snarled, balling her hand into a fist. "I'll knock every damn tooth out of your mouth so that the only thing you can taste for months will be creamed corn!!!"

Delyffe looked pained, as though she wanted to say something nasty but couldn't.

"Your sister has quite the sense of humor, doesn't she, Miss Flonne?"

The girls all tensed up. Flonne was apprehensive about the imminent argument begtween her sister and the healer, knowing that it couldn't possibly end well. However, in the midst of this calm before the storm, none of them noticed the purple prinny watching them through the crack in the door...

"Interesting...dood..."

"What the hell is taking them so long?" Laharl snapped, checking his watch for the umpteenth time.

As to what exactly he was waiting for, it couldn't be more obvious—at least, it was to Etna, who was standing next to him dressed in a sparkling and suggestive red cocktail dress. Hearing Laharl's impatient outburst, she merely rolled her eyes, leaning against the hull of the badly damaged space craft in boredom.

"Dammit!!! I told them to be out here and ready by six! It's already a quarter past! What do they need, a special invitation?!?"

"Oh, quit fretting," Etna chided him. "Flonne probably needs more time to get ready considering she's sick and all. Are you sure it's a good idea to let her come to this dinner?"

Laharl turned to Etna. "Delyffe said that she wasn't hurt in the crash. Not that I care, but…"

"Cut the crap and get to the point."

"The only thing that's wrong with her is that chill she's got," he sighed. "Satisfied?"

"Not really," said Etna. "Look, I know you want to apologize and all, but can't you do that after dinner? You don't have to compromise her health or anything, Prince."

"I'm not. She's fine. Get over it."

"I think someone's in denial," the demon girl murmured to herself. However, she quickly got over Laharl's stubbornness when she heard the door to the ship opening. She glanced up at the girls standing in the doorway and felt her eyebrows rising into her scalp. Well, that should catch the Prince's attention, all right…

"There you are!" Laharl snarled, wheeling around to face Flonne and Ozonne. "Do you have any idea how long I…I…uh…"

He seemed frozen. Without warning at all, he found himself gawking—yes, gawking—at a complete stranger…or so he thought. She was dressed in a flowing black evening gown that descended past her slender ankles and melted in a puddle on the floor. Laharl privately thought that the color served her well as it contrasted pleasantly with her long, cascading blonde hair. Her ruby eyes were sparkling with anticipation.

If Laharl hadn't noticed the black lacy ribbon tied in a bow on her head, he wouldn't have even recognized Flonne. He had never seen her dressed like this before.

"Black?" Etna commented, smirking at the sight. "I would have thought that a goody two-shoes would have worn something pink…or white…or blue…but black?"

"It was the only thing we could come up with on such short notice," Ozonne snapped, irritable in her green dress, which brought out the color of her eyes. "Thank God Rozen Queen could rush deliver these, or we'd be toast."

"Rush deliver?" Laharl mumbled, starting to return to his senses. "You mean they sent these through a dimensional gate? To the ship? How much HL did that cost???"

"Not much," said Flonne quietly, hoping that her sister would let her stand on her own. "These were on sale, so only 10, 000 HL…"

"WHAT?!?"

"…each…" she added softly, hiding behind Ozonne.

"YOU SPENT ALL THAT MONEY FOR A BUNCH OF RAGS LIKE THOSE??? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GOD-DAMNED MIND, LOVE FREAK?!?"

A/N: Yes, I am using full caps, everyone. I know I'm not J.K. Rowling, but whatever. I kind of don't care. Laharl's yelling his guts out, that's all you need to worry about right now.

"At least he's talking to you again," Ozonne told Flonne in an undertone as she nervously played with the ribbon on her head. She was getting edgy under Laharl's intense glare. "And cut that out! You're going to mess up your hair!"

"Sorry," Flonne mumbled, and no one knew if she was addressing Laharl, Ozonne, or both of them at once. I guess he didn't like the dress, after all… she thought sadly.

As a matter of fact, he did like the dress. But Laharl would sooner eat Flonne's home-cooking than admit that out loud. He didn't like that appreciative squirming feeling in his gut, and felt heat rising to his face. As his gaze skimmed across her bare shoulders he suddenly got the urge to trace his fingertips across her collar-bone.

Laharl couldn't stand looking at her anymore. Before he could accidentally reveal just what he thought of Flonne in that dress, he turned away from her, blushing furiously.

"Whatever. It's coming out of your salary, moron." Flonne averted her gaze, hurt by the overlord's indifference. "Now let's get going. I want to see what this Prier bitch thinks she's about by calling herself an Overlord."

Prier pulled nervously at her dress, which could be classified as both ostentatious and revealing. "Am I really supposed to wear this?" she asked.

Jessamin, who stood beside her in the main banquet hall, merely sighed and nodded.

"I thought that I only had to wear this for important occasions…diplomatic things, you know?"

No proper etiquette, Jessamin thought. She forced a smile onto her face.

"If everything you told me is true, then there's a good chance that that kid in the cape really is an overlord," she explained in a silky voice. "Since we're dealing with a potential ruler of another Netherworld, this is an important occasion."

"I know, I know," Prier grumbled. "I'm not an idiot, you know. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that I need to find out what he's up to and how he got here. Why do you think I invited him to dinner?"

"Touchy," was all Jessamin said.

"Sheesh, I just wanted to know what the dress was for!"

The succubi gave her a half-incredulous look. "You're joking, right?"

"Um...no. I'm not."

"Do I have to tell you everything?" Jessamin sighed. "That dress is to help you seduce the poor bastard!"

"I'm not into younger men," Prier snapped, blushing furiously. "And besides, he doesn't seem to like women with…curves…" She frowned as she remembered his snide comment about her weight, and had to suppress the urge to put her fist through a wall.

"Exactly. Use his weakness against him, and when the time is right you can kill him and his friends!"

The overlord frowned. "That's completely underhanded. How do I even know this punk is a threat? It seems to me that he got here by accident. Hell, he didn't even know where he was, and when I told him he was in the Netherworld he really flipped a shit."

"Doesn't matter," Jessamin replied. "It could all be a ruse to steal your throne. You need to be prepared for these kinds of things, especially due to your…inexperience."

Prier flushed with anger.

"To be frank," the succubi continued, "the vassals were planning on testing your abilities as an overlord at some point…but the arrival of this King Laharl person was the best opportunity we ever could have imagined."

"A test…so this is what this is?"

"Well, it certainly isn't a tea party."

She turned away from Jessamin, getting increasingly angry as she imagined her vassals—whom she didn't even want in the first place—plotting and manipulating her to suit their own needs. Gritting her teeth, she hissed:

"Just what is it you want me to do, then?"

"This Overlord is a potential threat—and even if he isn't, you could always take his throne and add it to your own domains. Create an empire, you know? Either way, you have to get rid of him."

"So, you want me to kill them all? They didn't even do anything to us!"

Jessamin made a clicking sound with her tongue. "You seem so opposed to the plan. It's not that hard you know. All you have to do is poison their food or something. Simple."

"I won't do it!" Prier snapped, wheeling around towards her in rage. "If they're really a threat to us, then I'll fight them and defeat them myself when they attack! But I will not under any circumstances harm a guest to this castle!"

"Your humanity is showing," the succubi sighed. "Maybe you don't have what it takes to be overlord after all…what a shame."

Before Prier could retort, Jessamin turned and walked away from her, going off to finish the preparations for the feast. The once-human girl simply fumed as she watched her vanish around a corner, muttering to herself.

"Hmmph…she doesn't know what she's talking about…! I have what it takes…don't I? They're the ones who forced me to take the stupid throne in the first place. I just want to go home…and become the Maiden of Light, like I was supposed to…"

The more she thought of La Pucelle, the more Prier was reminded of her friends and her family, all of whom abandoned her because she allegedly became "drunk with power." Alhouette…Culotte…neither of them so much as raised a hand to stop her from leaving. They just stood there solemnly as those monsters took her away…

"Maybe what they said is true," Prier sighed. "I certainly wasn't any closer to becoming Maiden of Light when I started looking for the Dark Prince. Actually, Alhouette was more suited to the job…at least, it seemed that way. Oh…! Dammit! This is no good! I can't just sit here feeling sorry for myself!!!" She jumped up and clenched her fists in determination. "I'm the overlord now! I have a feast to plan…!"

She paused, considering what Jessamin told her. She thinks that I won't be a good overlord just because I refuse to poison that kid and his friends…Is that what an overlord does? Destroys her enemies in any way she can…even if it's completely below the belt? I can't do this! But…if I don't…what will happen if my vassals decide I'm not fit to be an Overlord? I don't have anywhere else to go now that I look like this!

Prier sighed, hating her new demon body more and more. But what could she do? She was a demon now, and like it or not, she had to poison Laharl and the others. That was what an overlord had to do…she didn't have a choice.

Or did she?

Flonne wished she hadn't chosen a strapless gown. She was freezing!

But Laharl need information, so I'll have to just bear with it for now, she thought to herself.

Biting her lip and trying hard not to quaver as she walked up the palace steps, Flonne noticed that the stone gargoyles seemed to be looking at her curiously. It was as if they solely recognized her out of the entire party. I've seen these before...stone guardians to guard the gates...but why are they looking at me like that? Laharl is much stronger than I am...shouldn't they be concerned with him?

The large ornate doors opened with a flourish, and the group found itself staring at the lithe, scantily-clad Prier. She had a reluctant expression on her face, as though she'd rather be doing a thousand things than inviting them inside her castle.

"Welcome," she said. "I hope you all enjoy yourselves tonight...and I apologize for our misunderstanding earlier," she added, addressing Laharl.

"..."

Flonne looked over at him, wondering why he was so quiet. Then she saw that Laharl had literally turned purple. He kept his gaze focused on the ground, but it didn't seem to be helping him much. Everything about Prier screamed seduction, from the way she moved all the way through her tone of voice. It bothered the crap out of him.

"Laharl...?"

"Oh," Prier murmured, looking over at the fallen angel. "I haven't seen you before. Are you Flonne?"

Flonne gave her a clumsy curtsey. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Prier-san."

"Please, Prier is fine. And the pleasure is all mine, really."

She smiled. Well, this girl seemed friendly enough, at least. When Flonne had heard she would be dining with another overlord, she had imagined someone like Laharl: grumpy and short-tempered, yet ridiculously powerful. Yet all she saw was a kind girl in a revealing evening gown.

"Are you cold?" Prier asked her, ending her train of thought.

Flonne jumped. "I...how can you t-tell?"

"You're shivering a little..."

Ozonne, who was standing beside her sister and watching her like a hawk, merely scoffed. "What do you expect? She's sick."

"Oh! Yeah, I remember now," said Prier. "Well, don't worry about anything, Flonne. We have more than enough healers here to tend to you during your stay."

Laharl gulped. He despised the fact that he was being ignored--hell, the love freak was getting more attention than he was, and he was an overlord for crying out loud!!! However, try as he would, he just couldn't bring himself to lift his gaze to Prier. However, he settled for glaring at Flonne's bare back, which he seemed to prefer looking at far more. "Hey, dammit!" he snarled. "What does it take to get something to eat around here?!?"

Prier dropped the hostess act like a gunshot. Planting her hands on her hips, she snapped, "Well, excuse me! Fine, just follow me...though you're lucky I don't throw you out for that kind of attitude!"

"Attitude! HA! You're one to talk, you know..." Laharl retorted. "I can't tell which is bigger: your own attitude, or your breasts."

"Sheesh," Etna commented to Flonne. "The Prince sure feels threatened right about now. I've never seen him so...hostile. It's like he got backed into a corner or something."

The fallen angel privately agreed. It wasn't strange that Laharl was having this reaction--she too had noticed Prier's endowed figure and realized what it must have been doing to him. Part of her didn't like that he had a more significant reaction to the overlord than he did to the sight of herself--Flonne--in a dress. Perhaps if she was bustier...hmmm...

Prier led them all down a hallway lit up with flaming sconces. Laharl, who was desperate to look at anything but his hostess, noticed this and reluctantly admitted that it was a nice touch. If he wasn't already certain of his unmatchable strength, he would have been a little uneasy. Only a little. Other people, Flonne for example, were feeling quite intimidated at the sight. Laharl had never had anything quite like this decorating his hallways--but that was because of that one New Year's party (which involved heavy amounts of liquor, by the way) that ended in one of the prinnies claiming that he had been a fire-eater in a traveling circus when he was alive; and in an attempt to demonstrate his skills, he not only failed to ingest the flame, but also somehow managed to set Laharl's favorite cape on fire.

That particular prinny had never been seen again.

Finally, they had reached what appeared to be a banquet hall. Standing on either side of the doorway was a heavy knight, brow furrowed and mouth shut, standing at attention. Prier nodded at them and they pushed the doors open.

"Oh, wow," said Etna, impressed against her will. Beside her, Flonne looked astounded while Ozonne merely rolled her eyes.

"Yeah? I've seen better in Celestia," she commented. "Seraph Lamington has a chandelier more than twice the size this one is. And the jewels shine more."

"Shut the hell up!!!" Laharl snarled. "I don't care how frickin fancy that bastard can be!!!"

"Oh, really?" Etna smirked. "You sound jealous."

"I said, shut up!!!"

Flonne sighed. They hadn't even sat down, and they were already arguing. This was going to be a long dinner.

Kurtis didn't know what the hell he was supposed to have done. He felt like a complete moron for not realizing that something major was going down. However, there wasn't much he could do about it at this point--he already had an impending visit from Gordon, Jennifer, and Thursday to deal with; it wasn't like he was free to chase after Laharl, Etna, and Flonne.

To distract himself, he decided to tinker around with that breast-pump he had been working on for Jennifer. Unfortunately, his thoughts wouldn't let him rest, and instead of distracting himself from the mess Laharl had gotten himself into, he couldn't stop thinking about it. After five minutes of staring at the unfinished machine, he finally sighed and tossed the wrench aside.

"God," he muttered. "It's been so long since I've done anything worth while to them...to anyone."

He pushed himself away from the work station and trudged morosely through the castle. When he had heard that Gordon and Jennifer were expecting, he had instantly been reminded of his own wife when she had been pregnant with his daughter...now both of them were dead, and technically so was he.

Kurtis smiled bitterly. That didn't stop him from getting completely sucked into the prospect. A part of him ached where his family used to be; he missed that part of his life terribly, and would have done anything to get it back. Even if it meant living through his friend and rival as he stumbled blindly into fatherhood--even after he himself was...sort of...dead.

The green prinny paused as a beeping noise suddenly echoed through the lining of his money pouch. Without hesitation he reached in and rummaged around for the walkie talkie. The caller must have been extremely patient since it took him several minutes to sift through the rocket fists and knives and retrieve the hand-held communication device.

"Hello?"

"I can't believe you hung up on me," a familiar french-accented voice complained. "That was...unforgivable!"

A/N: Okay, I'm dropping major hints at the caller's ID. If you seriously can't figure it out, go back and play the first game another bazillion times.

"Oh! Nerple," Kurtis said, vaguely surprised. "I guess you survived after all. How are you?"

"Funny you should ask," Nerple replied. "That vortex I was telling you about earlier? It opened up into another Netherworld."

"Another...wait, you mean in another dimension???"

"Yes, and it's ruled by a...er...charming mademoiselle by the name of Prier. I talked to the prinnies in her staff, and it seems as if she had only recently been made an overlord."

"So the rumors about other Netherworlds were true," said Kurtis thoughtfully.

"Indeed," said Nerple. "But I have more pressing matters, my friend. Is there anything you can tell me about a healer named Delyffe?"

Kurtis took the phone away from his ear hole, stared at it, and then spoke into the receiver. "Delyffe, you said? That cracked up psycho Laharl's got down in his medical wing? Believe me, I try not to know anything about her. That girl scares the crap out of me just by showing up in conversation. Why?"

"Did you know that she's become Flonne's personal physician?"

"Is Laharl out of his mind?!?" Kurtis gasped. "What the hell could he be thinking by putting Flonne's welfare into the hands of a nut like that? Unless...but no, I doubt that."

"What?"

"Well, it's not secret that Delyffe is good at what she does," the green prinny conceded. "It's said that no healer has ever gotten a patient out of the ward quicker without killing their patient. Personally, though, I always thought that that was because Delyffe frightened all her patients into leaving as quickly as possible."

"I don't trust her," Nerple confided in him. "She's taken such an unnatural interest in Flonne...it goes beyond the role of a servant. She watches the poor mademoiselle like a hawk, and tends to her needs before she could even open her mouth to ask. She acts more like a...a...disciple or something."

"That's strange."

"It's not just strange; it's creepy! The way she acts, it's like she's expecting Flonne to vanish right under her nose. I wonder if she knows something we don't."

Kurtis smiled wryly. "Right now, everyone knows something I don't. But I'll try to find out more about Delyffe if I can."

"Thank you," said Nerple. "Unfortunately, I have to go now. The gang is having dinner with Overlord Prier, and I just want to do a little digging around of my own..."

Before the green prinny could reply, the purple prinny simply hung up on him. It had been a quiet revenge for getting hung up on the last time they had spoken. Kurtis shook his prinny head and sighed.

"Well, at least now I have something to do," he said, pocketing the phone and stepping out into the hallway. He took a right and went down a flight of stairs leading down into the medical wing. Done were the days when Kurtis, ex-defender of Earth, was out of the loop. He was a new man...er...prinny.

A/N: Everyone is feeling inadequate. Flonne suddenly fears that Laharl will be swept off his feet by Prier. And Prier finds herself trapped in the web of her vassals' influence. Will she be able to prove to them that she has what it takes to be overlord? More importantly, will she be able to prove it to herself??? And just what is Nerple the purple prinny up to?

The next chapter is going to deal strongly with inner conflicts as Prier struggles between the decision of poisoning Laharl and the others, and simply letting them go free. And yes, I know Laharl was supposed to apologize, but remember that plot discrepancy I mentioned on my profile? I originally had Laharl apologize to Flonne before they stepped into the banquet hall. However, I realized that he had been so disarmed by Prier's dress that he couldn't even think straight, so obviously an apology--a difficult feat for Laharl in and of itself--was not going to happen any time soon. Plus, I looked at the old chapters and saw that Etna had suggested that he wait until after dinner.

With the apology cut out, my chapter had been shortened dramatically, so I decided to take the Kurtis and Nerple conversation that I had been saving for the opening of the next chapter and stick it at the end of this one instead--and with a careful bit of editing, I think it actually worked out for the best. Now Nerple can do his investigating without it seeming like I just threw him in at the last minute...oh, wait...I kind of did throw him in at the last minute...DAMMIT!!!

Okay, so please review! If I don't get enough reviews, then Laharl and the gang will all croak before the main course!!! Don't screw with the author, dammit! Review! Review! Review!

Laharl: Crap! Will someone shut her up already?!?

Prier: Uggh...is she always like this?

Etna: Trust me, you don't want to know. Usually, we never have room for commentary at the end of a chapter...Laharl got a disclaimer once, though.

Prier: That's horrible. The author needs to die horribly just to show how horrible this horribleness is.

Flonne: Leave it to me!

--Pulls out a machine-gun--

Flonne: In the name of love, please die quickly! --Fires a volley of shots towards Watery-the-Strange-- Ha, HA! Love triumphs over all!

Etna: Um...Flonne? You missed by a mile...

Prier: YOU ALMOST HIT ME!!! WHO THE HELL GAVE YOU A GUN-HOLDING LICENSE, ANYWAY?!?

Flonne: --Runs away to avoid interrogation--

Let's end this before things get out of hand. And don't forget to review! RAWR!!! I am the all powerful Watery-the-Strange, bitches! I can and will kill off characters at the drop of a hat! Like this!

--Prier, who had been chasing Flonne relentlessly, suddenly drops like a puppet whose strings have been severed--

Capiche?