Random Barnaby Oneshots (A Wattpad Fanfiction)

watch your liver ;)

Warning: death, drunkenness and a fuck ton of stupidity and mild language. Reader discretion is heavily advised. This is a Barnaby oneshot book. What did you expect? Butterflies and rainbows?

I knew that the house had wine. Everyone says it's haunted, but I don't believe in such silly things. Those with a religion is stupid enough to believe in fairy tales such as Heaven or ghosts. Do it for Chablis and Turing. I told myself, sucking on my lolly. I opened the door, my eyes darting everywhere. My skin was white and sunburned from running in the sunshine. I ran a pudgy hand through my hair, thinking aloud, "Ghosts don't exist."

"Au contraire, trespasser!" A new voice chimed in. I whipped around, looking for the source of that fruity, Oxford sounding voice. Then I looked up. I can see what looks like a black owl gazing at me. "You're unfashionably early, anyways. I ought to just KICK YOU OUT! The party doesn't start for a while." The owl continued in that fruity voice. He examined his black talon as if he was bored of me. I get annoyed, because I hate when people ignore me. It takes away from my entertainment value.

I grinned as an idea popped into my head, the thought of wine enticing. I can get wine for Chablis and Turing on top of having a debate with this plaything. I can get everything! I thought, grinning. "What's a race?" I asked innocently.

The bird whipped his head at me and stretched his neck down to my level. I noticed that his neck stretched to not normal proportions. "Race is a social construct meant to marginalize dark skinned humans. It is also used to describe sailboat races and-!?" The bird puffed his feathers in annoyance before being interrupted. I grinned, knowing how to screw with him, but the bird glanced behind me. I turn around and groaned.

"Grampy Barnaby? I can't find the decorations-! Oh. It's you. I will look for the decorations elsewhere." The speaker started talking to the bird and then she saw me. Her annoying monotone was full of a deadly venom as she spat the words at me. I can see her mental illness hanging on her skinny, white, ugly horse neck like a collar. Her horse face wrinkled with disgust and hatred at the sight of me. Her emerald green eyes were narrowed with hatred and her fat thighs were poised to fight. Then she left, snarling, "Werehogs don't hang out with British American dupeks."

I snort. She really is a stupid American. There's no denying that she's a mentally unstable human. I mused as she made a gesture that signified that she wanted me to go to an American school.

Then she turned and said to the stupid bird, "Give our early guest a buttload of wine, please." The way she said that sounded malicious. Then she left. I giggled, knowing that my presence annoyed the stupid American.

I turn to see the bird pour me a glass of wine. Then he locked the door. "So, you want a debate? Let's see you try to outwit a doctorate!" The way the bird (who I guess is Barnaby) said it sounded excited. "You're too young to drink wine!" He added.

"The legal drinking age of wine is 5 where I'm from, which is a free country known as Great Britain." I replied, confident that the bird will screw up. I smugly drank my wine.

"No. The legal age of wine there is 18. My darling granddaughter Alison has visited the United Kingdom and knows the laws there by heart." Barnaby immediately brought this up. He swept one jet black wing over the table, causing a cup of tea to seemingly materialize. That wasn't there before, right? I started questioning myself, but quickly shook off the silly idea. Magic doesn't exist. He dipped his tea, his swirling gold eyes trained on me. "She also described the United Kingdom as a third world country known for their stabbings." He grinned, holding a knife and glancing at me.

"Americans enjoy school shootings!" I shot back. "And your granddaughter is mentally unstable." I felt smug because religion is a mental illness.

"That's not what I heard from her. She said that she would rather have a quick death by a bullet if she wasn't already dead than a slow one by stabbing in a disgusting alley. She tells me you British Americans still use chamberpots and rusty tools!" Barnaby hooted, twisting his neck in an inhuman manner.

I grit my teeth, then I calmed down. I said, my pasty white skin an ugly pink, "She never had been in London! Oxford is going to accept me!" I replied, smugly polishing off my wine. That bird poured me another glass, gazing at me strangely. I shook it off. "Is there going to be [redacted] at the party?" I asked, now wanting to test the bird's limits.

"I won't tell you. That's a secret. Oh-hoo!" Barnaby hooted. I drank more wine, the acrid taste hitting my mouth. My vision started blurring. "What's wrong, dear?" Barnaby hooted, twisting himself around like a Muppet.

"Nnnnnothing." I slurred, "Rrrraces don't exist-!" My head was spinning. I felt dizzy, my head spinning. "Wine sssshould not doooooo that." I was having difficulty talking now. It was getting harder to breathe.

"My dear, nobody told you that wine is bad for your liver." Barnaby replied, gazing at me. I decided that now was a good time as any to try a new way to drink wine: I grabbed the bottle and downed it. Then it felt like I was being stabbed in the abdomen. I grunted, knowing that one wine bottle shouldn't do that. "You're dying! Oh-hoo! We can continue this discussion in the afterlife!" He hooted. I froze at this. I knew the afterlife was a silly idea and that there was nothing after death.

"The afterlife doesn't exist!" I argued, barely coherent.

"You have been talking with a ghost owl who is a party animal!" Someone else said before the world started fading.

~~~~~

Barnaby turned towards the corpse, twisting his head. "Alison, you may come out now." Barnaby called, turning his head towards the doorway behind him.

"Is Emma dead again?" The ghostly, green eyes version of him asked. Her blue bowtie spun as she asked.

"Yes. But why do you change forms? Are you sure you are dead?" Barnaby replied before his curiosity got the better of him. His "granddaughter" sometimes passes herself off as a blue haired, green eyes human but mostly just stays in her current form when she visits for a week.

"Yes, Grampy Barnaby. I died by Eggman's Badniks. Machines of his," she responded before adding on. "We talked about this, Grampy." She replied. "One of those Badniks looks like you. I have two ghost forms. The human one is a trickster version meant to bring more guests, Grampy Barnaby."

Barnaby felt delighted at the thought of being a grandfather to a powerful ghost, but some tiny part in him told him that his "granddaughter" was hiding something from him. He shrugged it off as his imagination working overtime.

No thanks goes to Tommysimp18. But a million thanks to all of you readers. I should probably write a cute chapter about how Ali and Barnaby spends time together.