So I read someone's summary on their fanfiction, and it was "Christophe has worked himself into a state of sheer exhaustion. Can Gregory get the stubborn Mole to go to bed?" Being sarcastic me, I turn around and tell my sister, "I think that that scenario would probably go terribly," and proceed to make up a verbal story of what that was. Then my sister told me to type it.

So I am.

It's amazing.

By the way the fanfiction is "Goodnight, Mole" by Mizuni-no-neko. ht tp:/ www. fanfiction. net/s/5641716/1/Goodnight_Mole (minus spaces) I've never read it and never will, I'm too lazy. But go ahead and go read it, I bet it's fantastic!

Okay here we go!

"You're being difficult," Gregory stated bluntly, glaring at The Mole from his spot across the bedroom. There was the bed, lots of space, then Gregory, who stood by the door to the room. The Mole sat on the bed cross-legged, arms crossed too, pouting and looking everywhere but at Gregory. It was very childish, but so was everything else that The Mole did. The grandfather clock in another corner of the room ticked loudly, being the only thing that broke the rather annoying, perpetual silence.

"No I'm not." The Mole argued.

"Oh come on!" Gregory moaned, pulling his smoothed hair and messing it up. The only person who could possibly make him so obnoxiously furious over one stupid little topic was this crazy fucking bastard, Christophe. Christophe was a smart-ass mercenary with an eye for finding every loophole in all escapes, but he could also find every loophole in Gregory's facade of perfection and ever-lasting patience. Which was to Gregory's downfall. "This is stupid! Just go to bed already! You're sitting on it, now all you have to do is lay down and sleep! Is that so bad?"

"Oui."

"ARGH! Why?"

"I don't know. I don't want to sleep." The Mole sounded so casual that Gregory was half-tempted to punch him in the face. Just run over there and punch his stupid French face upside-down.

"Why not? You've been working all day, took a shower even, hardly ate, and I'm pretty sure you're getting sick from all that dirt you go shoveling through."

"Oui."

"So go to bed!"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I want to go to bed too, but I can't if you're awake cause you'll eat all the food and cause havoc."

"I don't see your point."

"I hate you." Gregory sat on the floor, crossing his arms as well. "So we'll just sit here until you fall asleep or die or something."

"Zat's a stu-peed idea."

"You're stupid."

"Your comebacks are stu-peed!"

"Your accent's stupid!" How they got in this immature brawl, no one knows, but it was happening, and it was unnecessary, and that didn't stop either of them.

First it was just a minute that passed silently, neither acknowledging that they could probably fall asleep on the spot if they let themselves slip. Then it was five minutes, and Gregory kept nodding off then jerking himself back up. Then half an hour passed, and The Mole got up.

"You're going to bed?"

"No."

"Then why'd you get up?"

"My butt was asleep!"

"What?"

"You know, when you have one leg over ze ozer and eet falls asleep? And eet gets tingley? Or did I say something stu-peed?"

"Well you always say something stupid, I don't know!"

"Fuck you!" The Mole threw his shovel that lay very conveniently close to his bed at Gregory, but Gregory caught it and swung it at The Mole. "Stop zat." The swinging continued. "Stop zat." Still. "Stop zat!"

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Augh!"

"That's how I feel. Just go to bed!"

"No."

"AUGH!"

"Hah." Or hon.

"You know what? Fine." Gregory left the room for about half a second, then ran back in. "No wait, I have an idea!"

"Don't tell me zat, shit-fucker!"

"Ugh, how imaginative. I swear, your English vocabulary consists of 'fuck', 'pussy', 'damn', and 'shit'."

"Some-zing close to zat." The Mole didn't even try to argue. He crossed to the other side of the room, since Gregory was now by the bed.

"I know your weakness."

"No you don't."

"It's cute things."

"No, eet's teets."

"Well I don't have those."

"So I'm not going to bed." Another groan from Gregory.

"Well I have an idea."

"Ooh? Please, enlighten me wiz zees brilliant idea."

"Okay, I will!" Gregory picked up a stuffed unicorn from The Mole's bed, making the Frenchman blush. It was fluffy with white fur, but had a fake blue mane, a light-golden horn that looked to be a spiral, and sparkles all about. It also had a heart on it's left hind leg. It was, in other words, completely gay.

"Put zat down, Sprinkley Gumdrop Fuchsiapuff is fragile!"

"...Who?"

"Fuchsiapuff is her nickname."

"God, Christophe!"

"Quoooooi?"

"Nothing! Just...go get in bed and I won't hurt her."

"But she eez so cuuuute, don't hurt her!"

"I'm gonna cut her."

"No!"

"I'mma cut her."

"Gregory, don't!"

"Lookit duh cute wittle unicoooorn!"

"So cute, who's a cute lee-tel pon-ee?"

"Yes, follow the cute little pon...unicorn to bed."

"Okay, I weel follow ze cute lee-tel unico- I STAB EET!" The Mole suddenly whipped out a Swiss Army Knife and shanked the unicorn in the 'heart' with it. Gregory flung the unicorn across the room, screaming. It was a scream that was the mixture of being scared shitless and being annoyed beyond belief. The Mole crossed his arms and smiled proudly.

"You know what? Fuck you, Christophe." Gregory flipped The Mole off, and left the room. The Mole stood for a moment, waited to hear the footsteps stop, then ran and picked up Sprinkley Gumdrop Fuchsiapuff.

"Oooh, baby, are you okay? My poor baby, come he- NO I STAB EET AGAIN!" The Mole stabbed it again and set it outside his door to make a point to Gregory, then sat back on his bed.

About thirty seconds passed, then he laid down, and went to bed.

YAEEEAHHHH