A Day in the Life of a Billionaire's Shoes

-=-(*)-=-

Shoes are born as twins.

The names are always the same, or at least with the same basic premise. Lefty, Leftie, or Leff for the 'left' boys, or Leifette, Leftsy, or Lefiyette for the 'left' girls. Then mostly Rightette, Richael, or Rightia for the 'right' girls, or Righard, Rignie, or Rigphial for the 'right' boys. Their father was the brand of shoe company: Calvin Klein was the equivalent of Michael Jackson, or Shane Doan, Nike was somwhere around an obscure banker, and everybody turned their nose up at you if you were a Spotdog. Their mother was the factory they were born at. That, plus the number of shoes the factory turned out each year, provided the prestige level.

Leftie and Rightette were unusual.

Most shoes were identical twins: mirror images of each other. It all depended on who was made fifteen seconds after the other, who's name was who's. Whoever was born first got the name Lefty1 and whoever was born second, got the name of Leftytoo, not considering that the second twin was going to be the opposite foot than the first. There was a pitifully short supply of 'L' names though, and boys were often confused, not to mention their twins.

The girls were slightly easier. Rightette1 and Rightettetoo. That was the name of the Cashmere shoes Isabel Kabra wore. And Oh, every shoe alive dreamed of being put on the perfect primped-pulled foot. Such style! Never to be worn without a perfect matching outfit- never to be stepped in mud or disposed of without a toss of grace. There was just one problem with that.

The lady wore one pair of shoes a day.

Of course, there was an undercover tracking system the shoes had. Each day, five lucky pairs of shoes got to sit up on the stands in the Harrod's store and wait and hope for Isabel Kabra to come along and pick them up. Sometimes she didn't, sometimes she did, and the lucky winner had to struggle hard to keep his sole from grinning, even though everybody knew any shoe that went into Isabel Kabra's hands somehow never got back out.

But either way, Leftie and Rightette weren't identical twins. There was only one difference- a very subtle one, but quite assuredly; Rightette had a different pattern on her sole. Hers zigzagged all over the middle, while with her brother's stopped before the arch and started up again at the heel. One critical difference. One that put them on the bottom of the the prestige ladder. That subtle difference decided the change in their lives, and of course, the life of their owner;

Ian Kabra.

-=-(*)-=-

Four Days Prior to Leftie and Rightette's Making:

Ragphial hopped on top of his shoe box, spitting out the absurd bunch of paper the humans had stuffed in his toe and straightening his tongue. It wasn't necessarily mandatory to look nice for a meeting that had happened ever night in his life, but it was probably best. All around him, boxes' tops were popping off like popcorn popping. Shoes everywhere were straightening themselves, their tongues, the beads some of the girl-twins had hanging off their sides.

Ragphial shuddered. It was the beads everybody wore nowadays. The big fat ones that were just positively scandalous. "Now back in my day..." He muttered to himself, thinking back over the plain, old-fashioned shoes that use to be around. No beads anywhere.

But of course, Isabel Kabra liked beads. Beads were the ticket to her heart, and everybody wanted that.

Slowly hopping over to the middle of the warehouse aisle, Ragphial scanned over the majority of the shoes in the room. There was a enormously big lot tonight. He was going to have trouble with the other twenty-five odd who weren't picked to go. With a slightly resigned sigh, Ragphial hopped up onto the box that had been pushed out for his benefit and started to talk. "Rights and Lefts, shoes of all ages, you are now gathered to be picked in pairs of twenty. One pair may be selected by Isabel Kabra-"

A dreamy sigh went throughout the audience. Ragphial stifled the urge to gag- like he did every night.

"-may be selected, and... chosen. I will now read off the forty seats. Row A, seat 5... A6."

Two decked-out, bead-covered, high-heeled girls broke into excited squeals at the same time.

"B7, B8."

"Dude..." Two boy sneakers slapped strings.

"B10, B..." Ragphial squinted at the wood where the letters and numbers were carved. His eyesight wasn't anything like it use to be. "B- B17. No- sorry. B11."

Excited squeals from another pair of girls.

"C3, C-"

"WAIT!" Ragphial squinted from his sheet as hurried slapping was suddenly heard down the aisle. Multiple shoes turned towards the sound, realizing he wasn't going to continue reading the list as this new thing was going on. "Wait! Don't pick! Don't pick!"

Two shoes made their way out of the shadows and gasps were heard racing around the room. It was Rightette1 and Rightettetoo. But, no... they were covered with mud- mud and dirt. More than half of their beads were missing, and the colorful patterns on their sides were almost gone. "Who did that?" A girl in the audience exclaimed.

Rightette1's tongue drooped down, partly exposing the ripped sole on the bottom. She glanced around the room, half keeled over as she tried to catch her breath. "Isabel- Isabel did it."

"Isabel Kabra," Rightettetoo added after a particularly desperate gasp, as if just saying, 'Isabel' wasn't enough.

Whispers were heard racing around the room again. "But-" The voice trailed off, unsure of continuing the question.

"It was- was Isabel," Rightette1 confirmed. "We were worn for a day, as expected, and it was nice. We molded to her feet, and tried everything, but she started saying that I was hurting her, somewhere. I tried- really I did. There wasn't one place that could have been rubbing her. But then she kicked us off into the closet in the afternoon..."

"And..." Rightettetoo paused, as if unsure of continuing her sister's sentence. Her voice was soft. "And she- she called us- junk."

Gasps again. But this time, heated murmurs raced around the floor of the building. Rumors built, and fears grew. Isabel was no longer the style-setter, she was the ultimate horror story. Funny how quickly the situation had changed.

Ragphial frowned on top of his stadium. In all his three hundred years there had never been something like this- something that required immediate, and decisive action, and only from him. "Rights and lefts! Give me your full attention!"

The shoes slowly grew quiet and turned to him.

"We will continue with the numbers," Ragphial said slowly. "There is no help for it. If we are not in the windows tomorrow, something will be seen amiss. From this night, though. No more prestige shoes will be put on the rack. All unnoticeable malformed shoes will be sold. D33, D34."

There were no cheers now, from the picked shoes, and the chosen ones were now given looks of sympathy.

-=-(*)-=-

Two Days After Leftie and Rightette's Making:

"It's not fair!"

Leftie wished his sister would just shut up. Life came at you, and you just had to take it by stride. Ha. Literally. "Ri, stop it."

"But it's not fair! Lef, tell him it's not fair!"

Leftie had no desire to deal with the big-heeled army shoe that was glaring, and looking down on both of them, and say that what the boot was saying, wasn't fair. "Ri, I said stop."

"But we're only days old! How can we possibly work with the Kabras?"

The wide army boot sneered. "You have had two days of schooling, at least, I trust. You'll do fine. LAFETTE!"

A worn boot scurried out of nowhere. "Yes, sir?"

"Pack these two away on the boat to England. Prada, not Harrods. Make no mistake about that. If the girl complains, give her paper."

Leftie looped his right string around his sister's left one and gently tugged at her as Lafette began to lead them away. She dug her heel into the ground and wouldn't go. "It's not MY fault my sole isn't the same as his!" She screamed out, trying one last time to implore with the army boot. "You can't DO THIS!"

Bracing himself, Leftie pulled on his sister's string until she finally gave and tumbled after him. "Ri, stop it. I'm not kidding."

"It's NOT FAIR!"

And of course, she probably wouldn't shut up the entire trip. Leftie rolled his eyes and sighed, dragging his sister along. While all the other boys got twins, of course he had to get a lousy, headstrong sister who couldn't comprehend the idea of listening. Plus getting mixed in with the Kabras? What a life.

-=-(*)-=-

Ragphial hopped on top of his shoe box, spitting out the absurd bunch of paper the humans had stuffed in his toe and straightening his tongue. It wasn't necessarily mandatory to look nice for a meeting that had happened every night of his life, but it was probably best. All around him, boxes' tops were popping off like popcorn popping. Shoes everywhere were straightening themselves, their tongues, the beads a few of the girl-twins had hanging off their sides.

Ragphial shuddered. It was the bluntness now. He would almost trade all the old scandalous days back for these solemn ones. Most of the shoes were plain. A few had their bows or tongues sewed slightly crooked; a few were old-fashioned ones that had been brought back into style. There was one pair... Ragphial peered at the back.

NOT TWINS?

He nearly fell off of the shoe box. But that was unheard of! Shoes were always twins, ever since the first manufacturer had made the first pair of shoes. Identical twins. But this pair... Ragphial watched them take their places in one of the back rows next to a pair of high heeled boots, whose heels were off by an eighth of an inch. They were a girl and a boy, and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with them. But if they weren't identical, then something had to be wrong. Ragphial promised himself he would look closer at the pair after the selection.

But the selections themselves were endless.

Ragphial droned on, reading the numbers. Suddenly an outraged scream broke from the back of the crowd. "IT'S RIGGED!" The girl twin of the curious pair was tugging vainly at the string her brother had tied tightly around her own in utter outrage.

The boy holding her had a rather tired expression on his face, as if he had done this for so long it was no longer amusing. "Ri, stop."

"It's not FAIR! They dragged us here, and then WE get picked the FIRST DAY! I'm fed up with this place! I DON'T WANT TO GO!"

"None of us do," The boot next to them rolled her eyes.

Ragphial wanted to yawn. "The selections are made at random. There are no choices, or rigs. Lerfie! Ragrah! Escort the picked shoes to their places in the store."

"It's NOT FAIR!" The girl shoe screamed again as her brother tugged her away. "I won't FORGET THIS! You're a- a FLAT-TOP!"

Ragphial sighed. What a pity they would probably be gone the next day- forever. It was sad. All these shoes, and only a few ones survived, like himself.

Climbing back in his box, Ragphial put the tasteless paper back in his toe and settled himself down for the next night. He couldn't sleep though. That pair- they were funny all right.

-=-(*)-=-

It was the 'if's. Why wouldn't she shut up?!

Leftie yawned. The sun in the large shop windows had gotten him up early. Rightette had already been up and screaming the minute she saw his eyes open. The two boots had locked her on her pedestal the night before so she wasn't able to run away like she'd - Leftie rolled his eyes at the thought - planned. They'd left him alone since he showed no desire of fighting back. Rightette of course, was bargaining with him to open the lock and-

"It's not FAIR that I'm stuck with you! After all this time, you just- stick your little strings into EVERYTHING! Why couldn't you stop them?! Both of us would have been able to fight back!"

"Because this is our place," Leftie hissed softly, well aware that fifty other pairs of shoes had their eyes on the arguing pair. "Ri, you say it's not fair, but we're different. Look around. Do you see any other pairs of shoes that aren't identical twins? Well? Do you?"

"No," Rightette murmured slowly.

"No, because we're different. And we are different, because we're flawed. They want flawed shoes, because the good ones are too good for this spot. We mean nothing to them, Ri, it doesn't matter what's going to happen to us."

"But that's what I mean." Rightette sounded like she wanted to cry. "We're only a few weeks old, Lef. I want to live before I'm sentenced to die."

Leftie sighed, then hopped to Rightette's pedestal. "I know, Ri. But- but we've got to make the best of it. Lots of other people come in here other than Isabel."

"And what are they? Worse?"

Leftie had no answer for that.

Suddenly the store's door was flung open. All the shoes froze in their spots. "I want a pair of shoes!" A girl's voice screamed out with a thick English accent. "NO- I bloody don't care what kind of boy's shoes they are! I want them flawed!"

"Fl-flawed, miss?" An eleven-year-old stalked into view, a full-grown man stumbling behind her like he was unsure of himself. Leftie froze. Of course, not Isabel, it was Natalie Kabra. His life was now officially worse.

"Yes, flawed. You know, David, f-l-a-w-e-d. Flawed."

"But- but, miss. I don't understand. You always-"

"Never mind what I usually get, I want flawed shoes, and I want them now."

"We only... we only carry the very best," the store manager - David, gasped. "For flawed shoes you might-"

"These are a gift to my brother! I need a... sneaker-ish-kind-of pair; I need them cream color; and I need them flawed."

"A gift to your brother, miss? Flawed shoes?"

"Haven't you ever played a prank?" Natalie sneered at the man that was probably about twenty years her elder. He cowered. Then the girl's eyes riveted on Leftie. He held his breath, praying- imploring her not to pick him. Of course, she snatched him up and examined him all over. "Where's the other one of these? Ah."

Natalie gave a jerk to Rightette, and Leftie could see his sister check herself from crying out as she was tugged. "David, open this for me. You know how I hate those stupid things you put on the bottom-"

The manager fumbled with the keys. "I'll get it, miss, just wait a moment... There."

Natalie snatched up Rightette, holding Leftie upside down in her other hand. "These soles..." the girl mused. "They- they don't... match. I'll take them." Shoving the pair of shoes at David, Natalie commenced to trying on all the other pairs of shoes that weren't gifts, but her own- 'perfect' ones.

Later, stuffed in the same box, and in a bag with five other shoes, Rightette growled to her brother: "See? I told you."

"So what? We're to be given to Ian Kabra as a gift for his birthday from his sister. I didn't even know Natalie had a heart. It could be worse."

"She's giving her brother flawed shoes for his birthday? I don't see how that's very... non-heartless."

Leftie sighed, nearly choking on the paper they'd stuffed in his sole. "She's giving something to him."

"Face it, Lef, he's going to toss us into the dump first thing. We're not even going to get worn-" there was a jar as the bag was tossed into the back of a Rolls Royce. "- worn once. Our lives are going to be ended right here, and that's all we can do about it."

Leftie sighed and said nothing. There wasn't much to be said.

-=-(*)-=-

One Week Later-

"His closet stinks," Rightette muttered under her breath.

Leftie said nothing, but stared at the gathered Calvin Klein shoes on the other side of the closet. They were obtrusively staring back, curious obviously, but unwilling to ask questions. Unlike occasionally blind humans, the shoes had been able to sense immediately something was wrong. Perhaps since they'd been in the house longer, they knew about Natalie's pranks. The stare-off lasted hours, dragging on till a Klein got tired, yawned, and moved into position to sleep. His mate followed him, and eventually all the shoes drifted to their usual spots in the closet. Leftie and Rightette settled next to one another on the right side of the closet, and Leftie finally fell into a gentle stupor.

He woke up in the middle of the night to the closet door opening. "Ri?" But Rightette was gone. "Ri!" Hopping softly so as not to disturb the other shoes, Leftie inched open the closet door and peeked out into Ian Kabra's pristine room.

For being close to royalty, Ian Kabra did not sleep neatly. Leftie had to stifle a chuckle as he watched Ian's hump of a butt inch up farther on the bed. The boy slept with his head turned to the left- scrunched up on the pillow, and his butt uncomfortably in the air; nearly beneath his knees. Leftie thought he could detect the faint remnants of a snore, also.

But he had other things to deal with: a missing sister- for instance. Looking around, Leftie saw nothing. Ian's room- for all his 'sleeping problems', was cleaner than most restaurants. The carpet was a thick and heavy red, effectively muffling all thumps.

Leftie changed tactics and looked upward then. A night-stand with a glass of water and a pair of... Leftie snickered under his breath. A pair of contact lenses? There was a desk that was heaped high with school books- college level, perhaps. A trash bin that looked like it had never had a speck of trash in it since it'd been bought; and a chair that was next to-

Perfect. There she was.

Leftie hopped up onto the chair, then up to the window sill where his sister was sitting. There was a quick glance towards him, but then Rightette turned away. "What are you doing up here, Ri? We both ought to be asleep."

Rightette sighed. "I wanted to get one look at the sky before I'm tossed into the dump, and my life ends forever."

"Ri, you know what I've said before-"

"Hush," Rightette frowned, peering intently at the spacious lawn and trimmed trees two-stories below the window.

"I need you to listen to me. You don't understand, Ri-"

"No, no, Lef. I mean it. Hush. Really. I hear something." Rightette leaned so far out the window Leftie reached a warning string towards her just in case she might slip. "Look," she suddenly whispered. "Way out there, by the fifth tree. Oh, they just went under it."

"Who?" Leftie found himself intrigued, even though he didn't want to be.

"I don't know. They're- there they are. See? Now they've stopped..." Leftie tensed at his sister's suddenly frightened words. "Lef, is that a gun?"

Looking down below, Leftie peered through the darkness and could finally identify the shapes. There were two, seeming to be conferring about something beneath the slightly-holey branches of an apple tree. An oddly shaped object passed between them, and Leftie could hear his own breath catch. "Ri, I don't- I don't think it could be a gun. Maybe they're just guards- you know, watching the mansion."

"But then why are they dressed in black? And for heaven's sake, Lef-" Leftie winced as Rightette's voice rose. "They've got grappling hooks! They're going to climb the-!"

Leftie quickly slapped a string over his sister's mouth. "Shut up, Ri. You'll wake all of them."

He immediately regretted his words as a glint of excitement showed in his sister's eyes. She yanked his string off her mouth. "Ian. That's it. They're after Ian. But... why?"

"Why on earth should I know? Now let's get down from here and get some sleep."

"But they've got a bag with them Leftie! They're going to- oh! They're going to kidnap him! That's it! Oh please, Lef! We've got to wake him up!"

Leftie's jaw dropped. Rightette had gone too far. Talking with a human?! "No. No, Ri." He quickly squashed the protest in Rightette's eyes. "We aren't going to wake him up, and that's that. Don't you remember the first and most mandatory rule- ever? Don't talk to humans. And you want to wake him up?!"

"But they'll hurt him, Lef. And- and we're his shoes, remember?"

"Of course I remember. We're his flawed birthday present. Now get down from there and come to bed." Leftie turned around and hopped to the seat of the chair.

"Fine," Rightette finally murmured after the brief period of silence. "If you won't help him, I will."

"Rightette Prada!" Leftie hissed. "If you don't get down here this instant-"

Too late. She was avoiding him by leaping to the low-lying shelf that ran adjoined to the corner where the night-stand on the left side of the bed was. Curse her... Leftie hopped along below the shelf, his noise muffled by the carpet. Rightette was glancing down now, trying to see the best way to keep out of his reach. Leftie clenched his strings, then loosened them. They were going to have a chore with her running around.

Leftie frowned, then lost a bit of his cream coloring. She wasn't going to come down at all. Rightette did a rather tricky balancing act on the edge of the shelf, then leaped to the night-stand with a thump.

Leftie held his breath as Ian stirred, but let it go since Ian's eyes didn't open.

Rightette hurriedly glanced at the window, down at her brother, then hopped softly across the night-stand and leaped to the bed. Ian let out a snore that would have broken a few window panes. Rightette winced, then nudged him with her string.

Leftie shook his head and motioned frantically for her to get off. She didn't listen, of course.

Rightette nudged Ian again - this time slapping him with the string so it would sting a little. Ian's hand went up and scratched the spot. He still wasn't awake.

Disgusted at the fact he wouldn't wake up when there was danger so near, Rightette pulled back her right string and smacked it stingingly across Ian's left cheek, leaving a red mark. The boy's eyes flew open with a start.

Leftie wished he could hide and pretend this wasn't happening to him.

Who had a sister that was this stupid?

Ha. Thank Matzeliger for irony.

"MARIONETTE, COME-" The frightened scream was broken off by Rightette's flashing string, whipping against Ian's lip. The boy fell back, silent, and eyes wide at the shoe on his bed. "Get- get back," he croaked. Leftie found his lip twitching up slightly. The 'Kabra demeanor' was only effective in the daytime, evidently.

"You're in trouble," Rightette cut straight to the point, crossing her strings. "There are these men outside. They- I think they want to kidnap you."

From Leftie's spot on the floor, it seemed like poor Ian was paralyzed with fear. "You're... speaking."

"I can speak - can't you?"

The covers flew back to a dangerous height and Rightette was unceremoniously pitched to the floor, upside down, beside her brother. Leftie suddenly saw a grappling hook catch outside the window. Rightette hadn't been joking. This... he closed his eyes wistfully... this was real. They had gotten shipped here to the Kabra's most-shopped stores, and then gotten picked. Not even to be worn! Oh, no. They were going to be tossed out. And first they had to save Ian's life.

Leftie growled a shoe's curse under his breath, then hopped quickly around the bed and stopped in front of the door. Ian screeched to a stop, his fear of the talking shoes halting his wish to get out of the room.

"If you don't want to believe us, look over there." Leftie gave a knowing nod to the two grappling hooks that were hanging on the sill. They were wiggling slightly, proof that the two men were climbing up. It wouldn't be long till they'd run out of time.

Ian's eyes nervously followed Leftie's nod to the grappling hooks. He bit his lip, then walked over and looked over the edge. "Tomas," the boy frowned, then shut the window. "That won't hold them long."

"Do you have a- a diversion, perhaps?" Rightette suggested.

The nervous glint appeared in Ian's eyes again once he'd turned around and looked at the floor. Apparently he was frightened more by two talking shoes (All shoes could talk - not that they did.) than 'Tomas' people climbing up his window to kidnap him. "N-no," Ian said the words carefully, thinking about them. "Not really."

"Is there anyone else in the house?"

"Just Natalie, and she's downstairs in another wing."

The grappling hooks were wiggling under the pane of the window like little fish hooks with fish caught on the end. Leftie winced at the resemblance of the thought to the real situation.

"Grab something to change into then," Rightette was miles ahead in her thinking than both boys were together. "Meet us downstairs. At... There was a staircase, wasn't there?"

"You didn't notice it?" Ian rolled his eyes disgustedly as a bit of the Kabra class began to slip through.

"We were in boxes," Rightette snapped. "You wouldn't have been able to see much either!"

"Whatever-"

CRASH.

Little shards of glass splintered throughout the room, creating prisms and multiple midnight rainbows across the floor. A burly man who probably hadn't shaved in a week was clinging to the edge of the sill. Out of time.

Ian lunged across his room, yanked open a dresser drawer and threw an article of clothing over the man's head. The man roared in anger - making them all jump, and then as he held onto his grappling line with one hand, he reached up to rip off his hindering blindfold with the other. Ian raised his hand and smacked the occupied hand. The one man fell, and the other below him was rudely knocked off his own rope.

"That bought us about two minutes."

Leftie couldn't move his eyes fast enough to follow the blur of Ian around the room. Then suddenly he felt himself being rudely scooped up by his two strings. Rightette gave a little yelp.

"Put me down, you over-grown-!"

"Sorry. Not enough time for you to hop along behind."

Lefty bounced along on his string, every bump being rudely smashed into his sister while Ian raced down the hallway and down a few flights of stairs. After a moment the bouncing slowed, and there was the sound of a door opening and closing. Leftie was too shook up to notice anything until Ian tossed him and Rightette into a chair. He landed upside down with Rightette's sole in his face.

"You need to scrub your heels," Leftie hissed.

"Excuse me, but I think I was a bit busy running around and saving him." No explanation was necessary on who the 'him' was.

Leftie shrugged, accepting the answer as he righted himself.

"Well, what do we do?" Ian was struggling with a pair of jeans - Calvin Klein, of course - and was pulling a dark fitted shirt over his head. Leftie suddenly noticed a pair of black sneakers sitting next to each other on the floor below him. Ian was shoving his foot into the left pair before he could reasonably respond.

"Wait, put us on," Rightette snapped quickly. Leftie glanced at the poor sneaker who was suffering the torture of Ian stuffing his foot into his center.

"What? You? You're- hang on, guys. You're cream. I'm wearing black."

Leftie bit his lip. Like they didn't see that and it was rocket science to figure out what colors matched and which ones didn't. Thanks, Ian, you give our comprehension so much credit. The one shoe half-way on Ian's foot was gaping at them now for speaking, Leftie noticed. They were so in trouble. That shoe- the one who'd picked them- Raggy? Was going to murder them. Leftie shifted on the seat. "We do want to help-"

Rightette rolled her eyes. "Just do it, Ian. Stop being such a high-heel."

Ian jerked his foot out of the helpless sneaker, pausing to glare at her. "Excuse me? A bit of a prick for a shoe, aren't you?"

Leftie loosened his tongue to encourage cooperation. Rightette glared at him, but Ian listened, thankfully, picking him up and putting him on. After a few more seconds of narcissistic midnight preening, they were slipping through the house and listening to the soft and loud sounds the kidnappers were making above them.

It was quite a lovely home, Leftie realized after a minute of silent walking; the floors were beautifully polished marble with exquisite paintings, statues, and taste of all kinds. The only noticeably annoying thing was Ian's foot odor. The closet wasn't that bad, but now Ian was wearing them, Leftie could feel the difference. Rightette didn't mention it though, and he definitely wasn't going to be the first to complain, so he took the opportunity to watch where they were going.

After the straight hallway away from the staircase, Ian made a left down another hallway. There were less doors here and more open-ended rooms. From what Leftie could see, they were lavishly designed sitting rooms - or something with the same similar taste - where art buyers could be fed and entertained. Even the solid-silver doorknobs radiated wealth, and Leftie wondered how Ian might react if he knew his shoes knew he wore contacts. Leftie wondered if Isabel knew her son wore contacts. For all this wealth, it didn't seem like they knew each other as a family very much.

Ian finally stopped at a large door and all three of them tried to ignore the large crash of a possibly museum-worthy vase. He played with the locks on the door, slowly flipping all nine to open- Rightette flipped her laces against the ground. "We have all night. Why don't you just take a little longer and let them stuff you in that bag I saw?

A fidgety flick of the seventh lock. Leftie could've sworn he felt Ian jump at another, closer crash in the hallway. "I'm trying! It's all Mum's fault anyway for swearing we had to have all these blasted, bloody things-" The nineth finally fell away and Leftie got a face full of Door as Ian tried to scramble through with it halfway open.

They stumbled out into the chilly British air, Ian already turning this way and that to find a decent spot to run to. (Now Leftie thought about it, they probably should've just run somewhere in the mansion and hid under a card table. The place was so big the 'Tomas' wouldn't have known where to look.) But when they finally glanced ahead, they saw a black Land Rover parked in front of the driveway with three mean-looking, burly men crammed in the front row. Two were already getting out.

Rightette coughed softly. "Ian, maybe- maybe-?"

He took off to the left with a burst of speed Leftie would've have thought possible. In his three weeks of life, he'd pictured the Kabras as slow-moving, graceful, elegant, psychopaths, even if that description probably fit Isabel more and he'd admittedly never thought about the Kabra boy. But here they were, speeding over a beautifully manicured lawn and dodging behind a large shed.

Ian skidded to a stop, gasping for breath. "You- you- shoes- what do I- bloody hell I'm talking to a pair of shoes- what do I do?"

Rightette snorted. "I'm Rightette; Ri for short, and he's Leftie. And this may just be my humble two stitches, but keep running?"

"Are you- bloody insane?" Ian snapped, lowering his voice to a whisper. Hesitating, he leaned out from around the corner of the shed. "Bollocks, they're coming."

"No duh, Sherlock." Rightette sniffed. "And?"

Ian glared down at his feet before starting off. He went slower than last time, probably half because he was winded and half to keep a low profile in the dusk. Leftie felt himself adjusting himself to the gait though, moving just enough to help spur Ian the slightest bit farther. Every bit counted, he remembered; that was one of the things in school. And hopefully Rightette was doing her share too.

As they pulled up to the edge of the lawn and the beginning of a trimmed forest, Ian slowed again. His heavy breaths sounded like shockwave in the dusk and Leftie could feel the pounding feet of their pursuers coming nearer. "What are you doing?"

"I have-" a quick breath "an idea."

"It doesn't involve pine sap, does it?"

Ian glanced down at Rightette with a puzzled expression on his face. "No."

"Oh, good." She casually re-tied her laces. "Because I hate sap."

There was quiet for a second. Leftie could feel Ian looking at him, maybe thinking of something to say. "You guys are like- twins, I suppose, right?"

Leftie nodded after a minute. "Technically."

"She sounds just like Natalie. You have my extreme sympathies."

"HEY!" Rightette's laces exploded upward in a flurry of indignation they didn't have time for. "I am absolutely nothing like her! And don't you say that just because, because I didn't have to save your sleeping butt from those two men who were going to break into your room-!"

Ian had already started walking, keeping a close eye on the 'Tomas' who were gaining marginally now, and a small hut nearby. The grass whispered under their feet. As they got closer to the hurt, Leftie could feel a different anticipation leak from the ground. This option seemed dangerous and a little foolhardy... He'd never needed to flip a switch; most of the time he sent a guard or maid to do it for him. There were no maids around at midnight, however, and the guards were surprisingly absent. (Probably injured by those walking gorilla buffoons.) But despite his inhibitions, Ian walked right up to the entrance of the hut.

And a furious white poodle bolted out and nearly snapped off his nose. Ian scrambled back, (with a cry of: "Bloody hell, I'm your owner, damn it!") and Leftie aimed a quick slap at the dog's muzzle that sent it looking for other quick prey. A half dozen other poodles were up now, darting out of the dog house and looking for something to snap at. The pack of white, poofy, blue-bloods turned to the kidnappers with murder in their eye and charged. The men's eyes comically widened before they turned and fled, making Rightette laugh.

They watched them run until the Land Rover sped into the distance and out of the gates, leaving the manor silent with the quiet barking of poodles in the distance. Ian sank against the tree with a soft 'ahh'. "So," he finally muttered. "When do I wake up?"

Rightette shrugged her laces matter-of-factly. "You are awake."

He sank lower, "And I suppose ideology doesn't work in this situation."

"What's that?"

Leftie pushed away a bit of damp soil that was collecting on his stitches before talking. "What Ri's trying to say, is no, you won't wake up I'm afraid, unless you've fallen asleep standing here. This is all quite real."

"So I can't shut you up."

Leftie cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose if it bothers you-"

Rightette smacked him. "Good Jan, honestly Lef; you're so easygoing it hurts. I'm not shutting up if Ian cleaned his feet. I'm so tired of hiding and being quiet. I don't know how all the older shoes have kept up the front for so long. Of all the stupid-"

"Ri!"

"What?"

"That was rude!"

"It's true!"

"So?"

Rightette suddenly spit out a sole-full of dirt and glared upward, giving enough time for Leftie to realize Ian was laughing, accidentally digging his sister deeper into the dirt. They were quiet, Rightette seething and occasionally shifting dirt while Leftie listened with amusement. The forest grew silent after a while and Ian pushed himself to his feet with a final composing chuckle. "I've always wondered how long it would take someone to tell me that to my face." He hesitated for a moment. "And now I can go back to sleep. Maybe in the adjoining bedroom while David fixes the window-"

Leftie cleared his throat.

"What?"

"Well," the shoe shrugged, careful not to jar Ian's step. "Not to burst your bubble or anything, but did you see those fellows come out of the house? If there still in there, they could probably tote you off or something over your shoulder."

"I'm not capable of being 'carried off'," Ian snapped, but he stopped anyway to think. Leftie waited. "And what do you suggest?"

"Sleeping outside."

Rightette snorted and Leftie nudged her lightly with shoelace. She listened, for once.

"I can't sleep outside!"

"Or your could get kidnapped."

"But that's for termites, and dogs, and-" Ian shuddered suddenly. "Sad, homeless people. If there's anything contradictory, I am not sad and I have a perfectly fine house over there, thank you very much."

Rightette squeezed herself and Ian yelped, shaking her wildly. "Stop that, damn it! I'll- I'll take you off!"

"Unless you'd prefer to sleep in the doghouse!"

He stopped at that. "Like you could make me."

Rightette pinched his foot again, giving Leftie a clear view of Ian dancing around and some rather sadistic pleasure for being shipped off, sold as a joke, and considered confusing.

"FINE." Ian snapped, dropping his right foot back on the ground. He fumbled with the laces (Rightette had mercilessly tied tight) for half a minute before giving up. "FINE. Just stop that!"

He gasped with relief as feeling flowed through his foot. None of them said anything and the silence remained undisturbed. Until Ian took off toward the front door.

Leftie and Rightette simultaneously pulled hard on their laces and Ian bit the dust. Hard.

They held him there for a minute, watching his useless attempts to get back on his feet and utter disgust at trying to crawl. Rightette finally turned to her brother. "Lef?"

Leftie glanced back at his sister. "Hm?"

"I think we deserve a medal or something for this. What do you think?"

"I think you're right. A medal... or a million dollars."

She thought about that for a minute. "He could do that."

"Like hell I'm giving you a million dollars!"

Rightette shrugged. "Oh well. In that case, let's get cracking."

Ian immediately dug his hands into grass, burying his disgust for the green vegetation. "No!"

They pulled.

"No! No! Don't even think- NOOOOOOOOOOO~"

-=-(*)-=-

Natalie wore a pair of rhinestone-studded converses this morning, Leftie noted as they walked in the door. They looked terrified. Their mistress was picking at her five-course breakfast though, making faces at the fat on her ham. "Celestia!"

A cook scurried in, white sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoo of a unicorn on her forearm. "Yes, miss?"

Natalie waved a hand. "First of all, cover your arms. You know it's a disgusting habit and I don't want to think about that hideous tattoo touching all my food, and second, I want another slice of ham. You know I hate fat on it and it's an appalling bother to cut all of it off." She shoved her plate off on the cook who had gotten one sleeve rolled down and was desperately trying to fasten the other while holding the china. "Don't let either happen again, will you?"

The cook nodded quickly, taking the plate back inside and fastening the last button.

Natalie pivoted in her seat to examine her brother like a scientist examines a new species of beetle under a microscope. Leftie felt something in his heel sink. "Ian," she finally snapped. He looked up from filling his plate with peeled grapes. "Ian, you have a-" the epitome of disgust "-leaf on your shirt."

Ian glanced at his shoulder, wrinkled his nose, and flicked it off. "Not any more."

"Where were you?" She stared closer at him. "Your shoes don't match your shirt."

"Yes, I know." He ignored her and started eating. "You advertise that your brain matches your clothing all the time. Perhaps I'm merely an example of-" he placed his fingertips together and pushed them apart to mimic an explosion "-cultural diversity."

"Bull-" a hesitation in which Natalie shot him a very strong look "-crap." She turned from him to start flicking at a small stain on the tablecloth. "You know, I got those shoes as a joke. You were supposed to throw them away. They're... flawed."

Ian cut off a slice of ham, leaving a large piece of fat on. Natalie's eyebrow twitched. He smirked and ate it. "A pity. They're quite nice. I like them. Most comfortable pair of shoes I've ever had."

Under the table, Leftie winced as Rightette's sole rubbed against his face. They both loosened their laces to make it that much easier and they watched in silence, tiny smiles showing as Ian pulled his feet out and cracked his toes. Without giving the slightest hint of aggravation on top, he leaned over and calmly tied Natalie's shoelaces together. His 'flawed' companions loosened up their tongues for when he was done.

-=-(*)-=-

Jan Matzeliger (1852-1889): inventor of the shoe-lasting machine which enabled shoe-making to become mass-produced and lots cheaper. He was a pretty cool guy. Rightette thinks so too. ^^

The most pressing thing I must say about this story is the fact that I started it, perhaps halfway through Forgiveness. I finished Forgiveness about early 2011, so this story idea has been sitting half-finished on my computer for three years. For some reason, I glanced at my files the other day, saw this, and felt really, really sorry for the story. So I decided to put my mind to it and finish it any way I could. I have hazy memories of the original plot; something dramatic with Ian becoming close friends with his shoes as they listen through the ground, saving him from close calls with the 'Tomas'. It seemed pretty pointless, so I ditched it and just went with this. From Ian's leaving his room to the end was written now.

Another thing I /must/ say. There aren't many characters I miss writing from the 39 Clues, but my gosh, writing this. Ian Kabra was one of them! (Okay, granted. More Luke Cahill. But they're quite similar for canological reasons.) (*blows raspberries*) And if any of the characters are a little ooc, please, forgive me. I haven't actively read the original series in years, and may be missing a few lug nuts in that last section.

Yes, that was a MLP reference for no reason. Don't question Celestia's involvement.