Jack American was walking along the street of his new town, all alone on a friday night. He looked down at his feet pacing along the unseasonably cold (by his standards) pavement. He felt alone and lost, and thought back to why his brother, Juan Mexican, sent him here.
"Aye caramba, You have no friends, and you need to go to school like a normal kid for once. It will be good for you. Also i need you out of my house. You're 12, that's old enough to live alone. Actually you won't be alone because we couldn't afford to find you somewhere to live, so you'll be living with your long lost cousin."
Jack had just left his cousin's house. He had gotten into town once it was too late to go to school, so he was sent to wander the streets of Leningrad and ponder his loneliness. He felt alone, until he ran into another taller guy walking the other direction.
"Oh damn son I'm so sorry!!!" he yelped as he toppled backwards. The other dude bent down to grab his hand and help him out of the snow and piles of damp, slushy soviet propaganda.
"It's no problem, what's your name?" he asked, his eyes obscured by money-shaped glasses.
"Jack American, what's yours?"
"Vladimir Russian, nice to meet you."
They walked together for a few blocks and as they strolled around the quickly emptying streets, Jack's hands got progressively colder. He thought about how nice it would feel to have Vladimir's fingers wrapped around his. But, he was quickly shaken out of this thought by Vladimir's calm voice radiating into his ear.
"Hey, jack? Have you ever had..." Jack braced himself for the rest of the question, unsure of what was coming.
"...PLUM PUDDING?" Vladimir screeched and stabbed his katana into the pavement, causing a huge crack. Jack shook his head gently and backed away from the upcoming rift in the space- time continuum. Trying to avoid the impending apocolypse, the two boys ducked into the nearest cafe.
Seated at a table by the window and watching all of existence be slowly sucked into an ever widening gap of nothingness, a waitress brought them some PLUM PUDDING. Just as Jack was dipping his spoon into the legendarily mediocre dessert, his cousin burst into the room, holding a travel mug full of sugar and vodka. She stumbled over to him and grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the room. In her drunken stupor, she was unable to notice the impending apocalyptic katana crack, and dragged the young boy into it. He pulled himself out just before getting sucked in along with more communist propaganda.
A year later, the evening spent with Vladimir was still on his mind. He longed for just one taste of the beautiful PLUM PUDDING, but it had been outlawed by Stalin. For no reason at all. Because Stalin's an asshole. He had started frequenting the same bars as his cousin, trying desperately to get the tantalizing thought of its mushy brown chunks off his mind, as well as the mystery surrounding Vladimir, and what was behind his money glasses. These thoughts tortured him daily.
He went to bars almost every night, and tonight was no different. He went to his closet and got dressed in a bright green suit with short shorts and grabbed his wallet. He wanted to drink but he also went out to casually scan the crowd for any glance of those neon colored money glasses and the PLUM PUDDING that could come with them.
When he got to his favorite establishment, him and his cousin sat at a table and ordered their drinks, they made light conversation but mostly he sipped his root beer (because he is underage) and scanned the crowd. This usually proved fruitless, but tonight was different. The unmistakable glimmer of money glasses caught Jack's eye, but he didn't dare turn. Looking at the wrong money glasses wearing person only meant trouble in these parts. He knew from experience. He needed more evidence.
"One order of PLUM PUDDING, please" a voice from behind him said. The waitress wrote it down and went back to the kitchen obediently, though there was none offered on the menu. Now Jack knew for sure. He turned around and saw Vladimir, who looked exactly the same as he had that fateful night a year ago. Jack assumed he had been swallowed up by the void, but here he was. (The void got sent to the gulags for being a public disturbance and couldn't cause any trouble now). Just as the waitress delivered the PLUM PUDDING and Jack got off his stool, resolved to make a move once and for all before it was too late, the KGB stormed in.
"Y0U'R3 UND3R 4RR327 F0R 7H3 1LL3G4L C0N2UMP710N 0F PLUM PUDDING" they wailed, bloody tears streaming down their faces. Vladimir drew his katana and sliced them up, running out of the building. Jack's cousin grabbed his arm and escorted him out of the bar, since this was no place for a child to be at this hour. He returned home and cried himself to sleep, dreaming of the money glasses for another night.
Years later, Jack had moved out of his cousin's house and into his own. He thought of the PLUM PUDDING less, abandoning it as just a childhood fantasy. He had a new group of friends and new worries, like the void of doom that escaped the gulag (by consuming it) and was now on the warpath. But the impending oblivion wasn't the only fugitive on the run. Rumors of Vladimir being back in town were circulating in hushed tones. ( He had been gone since the night at the bar). Jack thought nothing of it, he knew it was just gossip and too good to be true. But he still had small shreds of hope left.
But Jack had bigger concerns tonight. His best friend was throwing a party and he needed to be leaving now. As he walked down the streets of Leningrad, he passed by the original location of the void, now just a katana sized crack in the sidewalk. A single tear dripped into it off of his flushed cheek.
Reaching the location of the party, he enters and greets all his friends warmly. The smell of food was ripe in the air and the conversations were flowing. He made small talk with everyone and was glad to see his friends, though none of them could fill the hole consuming him from within. The hole that could only be filled by...
"PLUM PUDDING". Jack's ears pricked up as he heard that phrase. His eyes glanced everywhere and he rushed from room to room, scanning for the subdued glimmer of neon money glasses or the crack of a katana strike. But he found nothing. Giving up on another improbable lead to the man (and the dessert) of his dreams, he flopped on the couch in defeat. Just then the doorbell rang, and someone opened it. A cloaked figure stood there, waited for a second, then entered. His hood obscured his face and he barely spoke. Glancing around, he turned to Jake. Psionically, they communicated, and met up in a different room in the house. The cloaked one removed his hood and turned to face Jack. Jack looked up, expecting to lock eyes, but their eye contact was obscured by nothing other than the money glasses.
"Vladimir..." he whispered, speechless. His dream may finally come true tonight. He moved closer to the other homie, reaching out to remove his money glasses. Vladimir had warned him that his eyes weren't normal and he would probably hate him after, but Jack didn't care, he needed to know. He removed the money glasses slowly and looked up to meet Vladimir's eyes. But there were no eyes. There was only PLUM PUDDING.
