SO LONG AND THANKS FOR ALL THE FISH

I SHOULD BE WRITING FOR RP BUT—

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Figured that her first major run would be dead boring. The Captain of the Space Patrol Second Fleet paced the balcony of the Space Patrol Council’s meeting chambers, on the lookout for suspicious activity or persons. A little redundant, as any intruder would have had to bypass  the sixty (not an exaggeration) other patrol routes, meaning the Captain would long have been alerted if such were the case.

She was also in high heels. Uniform dress code, which she thought was deliberate sabotage. No one could walk in the damned things. No one. But, as a parade figurehead and a mere symbol of the Space Patrol, she thought she probably cut an imposing figure, pacing with rigid regularity and threatening demeanor. Learning to pace long amounts of time in high heels was actually one of the first things drilled into new recruits and enforced from time to time.

“Captain!” Lieutenant Henry strode confidently to her side—a little too confidently, she thought, for someone who had been stumbling, bitching, and whining the entire duration of the Hellish High Heels Practice. He must have finally gotten the hang of it just five minutes ago in order not to look a clumsy idiot in front of their spectators.

“Lieutenant,” Captain Rilice acknowledged. Quieter, she said, “Tell me you’ve come to relieve me.”

Henry gave her a scandalized look. Who, me?

Rilice sighed.

“Confirmation of orders,” he said regally, also for the benefit of their spectators, and, contrary to their shared looks, began pacing the Patrol route as Rilice looked over the document Henry handed her.

“All looks to be in order,” she declared, handing it back to him when he had passed by her in his pacing. He nodded exagerratedly, and she waited a beat until Henry had reached the edge of the balcony before she resumed her own pacing.

Dull. As. Rocks.

He had no qualms about stealing. Diamonds, rubies, lives, futures—he stole them all. What he couldn’t figure out was how she found out. He’d been careful, he knew he had been careful because he was always careful.

It would be a simple matter to steal her memories, lift the knowledge out of her mind like plucking leaves from a still pond. But she’d know. It would be on the edge of her mind, on the tip of her tongue, on the tips of her fingertips and she’d know there was something about him that she was forgetting. And he couldn’t steal that without thoroughly breaking her brain.

Dilemma, dilemma. He rested on the outcropping that led to the sea, debating his options.

Started by me and the hugest dork ever the idiot Juju in my notebook. Me in purple, Juju in green. LOL Barney colors. Fitting, though, since this is like the most juvenile thing evar.

*Note: The Mr. No-Socks in the story=/=Noctis. C:

“Mr. Two-Socks! I demand you stop that at once!” Mr. No-Socks demanded. Then, Mr. Two-Socks threw a whole bag/sack of potatoes at Mr. No-Socks.

Mr. No-Socks caught the bag (or was it a sack?) and frowned. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. “I shall enjoy potatoes with my supper tonight.”

“You’re welcome!” said Mr. Two-Socks, beginning to pelt Mr. No-Socks with full-grown spuds.

“You—” Mr. No-Socks began, catching a spud only to get smacked in the face with another. He sputtered. “—Imbecile!”

“Buttface!” shouted Mr. Two-Socks! “I told you to never call me that!” he yelled, full of rage.

“Imbecile!” Mr. No-Socks shouted. “Imbecile, imbecile, imbecile!!”

“BUTTFACE!” sang Mr. Two-Socks. “I’m calling YOUR MOM!!” HA!”

Mr. No-Socks twitched. His right eye twitched. His left eye twitched. His right arm twitched. His left leg twitched. His buttcheeks twitched. “I,” he yelled, “AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” He sprinted for the stairs.

:O Mr. Two-Socks threw this little thingy-ma-jig that turned into an air thingy that he jumped after to the ground, and locked the whole apt.

Mr. No-Socks paused on the stairs. “…Well that’s new.”

Then a bucket of water fell on his head. “…Story of my life….”

He realized he was being followed almost immediately.

Almost immediately, because for the first two seconds, he had tripped on the tricky step of the store’s entrance, and he had jammed his toe against the side of the doorway and it hurt like a bitch and it’d been healing so nicely and now he had to go down to the pharmacy for some ointment to put on the damn thing and he reallllly didn’t want to do that because the quickest way there passed the cemetery and he didn’t have the time to go the long way and hey, was he being followed? Oh goddammit.

Huffing a sigh through his mouth, he straightened from the doorway and turned toward home. Halfway there, he turned toward the pharmacy. He really needed that damn ointment and his toe was hurting too much now for him to go the long way, even if Amia would forgive him for being a little late despite his fervent promises to the contrary the last time she’d smacked his brains out for being late.

The cemetery route it would have to be, then, and while he was there, maybe he could pass through the cemetery and corner his tail and ask the sucker what he wanted. No one, as a rule, passed or passed through the cemetery for fun, and he was nearly sure there funeral hadn’t been scheduled today. He would have seen the procession of black cars by now if there had been.

He walked as quickly as his toe would let him, and, almost before he could register it, he was at the cemetery entrance. Everyone going to the cemetery experienced this, of getting there before realizing it or registering the journey there. He knew, intellectually, that the stores standing nearby were a flower shop and a restaurant, but the memory of walking past them was foggy in his brain, like an early-morning dream.

He hesitated before the entrance, his right hand sapping the cold from metal that never really got warm, and then he pushed the gate open, the hinges making nary a creak, and stepped inside.

There was not a mote of dust on him anywhere, his tie and lapels and folds were impeccable, his expression a cold mask of respectfully distant politeness as he bowed them in.

Mari noticed him because he was so obviously meant to be unnoticed. If she turned her head, she could just see the faint outline of a knife along his trouser leg. He had another in his boot, if she didn’t miss her guess. Doormen didn’t walk away from doors. Any suspicious bulges along his legs would not be noticed if his trousers never brushed against his weapons to begin with.

She smiled at him as she passed. His eyes skipped right over her, and Mari could have made a passing remark about ignoring potential royalty—but she was not, and that smile had been more than enough for him to have remembered her by. It had not been a nice smile.

Mari and Takumi only paused to gape because other guests just inside were doing the same. The huge expanse of the old throne room was bedecked with gold and glitter. Elaborate tapestries adorned the walls, dressed the empty windows. Rugs hugged the floor, muffling the pitter-patter of high heels and the swish of trailing dresses and tailcoats.

Fragile chandeliers ornamented the ceiling, the flames within them illuminating the sparkling diamonds, winking rubies, and scintillating sapphires of below. Every surface was covered to mask the wreck the throne room had formerly squalored in. If Mari hadn’t been in this very room a week and a half ago, she wouldn’t have known the difference.

[EVERYONE MUST PARTICIPATE. Jac demands it.]

Rain, Mr Snoopypants decided, sucked. Especially relentless, driving rain. Especially relentless, driving rain that broke his umbrella and somehow pierce his layers of clothing, skin, and muscle to soak him to the bone. What he wouldn’t give for some hot tea right now.

Ah-CHOO!

There was no help for it. He was just going to have to kill the rain gods. Or gods of cold. Or gods of bypassing-layers-of-clothes-skin-and-muscle-to-soak-poor-mortals-to-the-bone. Whichever came first.

He finally reached his apartment after hours in the rain, and as he dredged himself miserably up the stairs, he heard a commotion on his floor.

Oh, no, not again.

I come up with these on the spot, so sorry for bad writing

Xiao Xin (no it does not mean anything) stood before his Master, waiting.

The once-violent now gentle breeze ruffled their hairs once, and then died. Xiao Xin tensed, sure the abating wind was the only warning he would get before his Master came at him.

Xiao Xin waited.

Master Hu continued to stare.

Xiao Xin fell over because he was too tense.

A sudden wind bent the grass, the sound of footfalls as gentle as the rustle of leaves. Master Hu stood over Xiao Xin, frowning.

I was originally going to do this on facebook, but I uh, got afraid of the possibility of Hazel people laughing at me. >_>;;;

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Ted was sick of the life he led. It wasn’t justifiable: he had a good home to come home to every night, a good living, a good education, and no end of “good” things. But something just didn’t sit right.

Maybe everything was simply too good. He had yet to be tested in anything. He had yet to be challenged.

Ted wanted an adventure. He wanted to leave a mark on this world. To that end, he packed his bag, and out he went.