Author's Note: It has become apparent to me that I have been neglecting my duty to my readers and loyal fans, without even a word dropped in explanation. Well, that's because I don't have one. An explanation, I mean. All I have is a peace offering in the form of a storylet, with a belated apology and a promise of more to come as soon as my stupid sister replaces my copy of The Book, which she has inexplicably lost.
I was at the sink, attempting to wash up because it was my turn. Iggy and Gazzy were still eating peacefully at the table, and Fang was on his way out the door. I was scratching at a strangely stubborn little speck of food.
Iggy said something, and Fang stopped in the doorway.
I didn't pay much attention to what was going on behind me until Fang lunged at Iggy, sending them both tumbling into me. My stack of clean dishes was admittedly small, but it had taken me the better part of an hour, and when it went tumbling into the dirty water in the sink, it splashed my beautiful, unstained white shirt.
I roared my fury at yet another ruined shirt and an hour's labor lost, cracking their heads together.
"What in the name of good goobers do you think you're doing?" I screamed.
They scrambled up, Fang clutching at his head. "'Good goobers?'" I heard him mutter under his breath. I glared, preparing myself for the best tongue-lashing that the boy had ever been given.
Gazzy's evil giggle made all of our heads snap around toward him.
I instantly realized three things at once.
One, Gazzy had been impersonating one or the other of my brothers.
Two, we had all just been played by an eight year old.
Three, it was time for some harsh revenge, Max style.
My eyes narrowed.
I began to picture possible punishments for the little monster. I guess maybe he saw something in my eyes, or the menace in Fang's half-step towards him, but Gazzy took off. Fang was after him in a split second, Iggy close behind. I calmly went to change my shirt, allowing the boys time to exact their revenge. I chose the shirt with only one small mustard looking blob near the bottom, because no one really looks at the bottom anyway, right? Right.
I listened to Gazzy's tormented squeals and realized that probably what was happening was that Fang was holding him down as Iggy used his sensitive fingers to tickle Gazzy almost to the point of death. Fang and Iggy are all about instant satisfaction.
I preferred a slow, long revenge that would keep the troublemaker out of trouble and my hair for a few hours.
It hit me as I locked my battered old wardrobe. Yes, I have to do that, or Iggy gets into my things and blows them up. Isn't that sad?
"I still have a stack of dishes to be done." I said aloud, and then I went to throw my poor mistreated shirt in our ancient washing machine.