Disclaimer: I don't own anything but a finicky laptop and a disgruntled Toyota. When the mood suits her, I also own a cat. I certainly don't own Lazytown.
"Hi, Sportacus."
"Hi, Wren," Sportacus said, leaning over to look at the girl. "Are you okay?"
"Yup!" She smiled up at him. "You don't have to untie me. It's a trap."
Sportacus took in the situation. Wren was sitting comfortably on the ground, looking content for all that she had been tied to a lamp post. It took him a minute to see the trap, but when he did, he took a step back. A faint line was visible in the pavement in front of Wren, and he suspected that the trap door would be triggered if he untied her. A perplexed expression crossed his otherwise untroubled face.
Wren shook her head, seeing that he was upset. "Really, it's okay. You don't have to save me. Robbie should be by soon anyway."
"But it's my job--" Sportacus began.
"Aaaargh!"
Wren grinned. "There he is."
Robbie stomped up to them both. He swung about to give Sportacus a furious glare, then turned it on Wren. "You were supposed to ask him for help!"
The girl shrugged, then leaned foward as he began to untie her. "You could have gagged me."
"I'm not going to...mmph...gag you...stupid knot...no matter how much of a brat you--"
"Wait, Robbie!" Sportacus and Wren shouted at the same time, but it was too late. When the last rope fell away, the trap door opened beneath Robbie's feet. He had time to yelp before he plunged downward.
Wren and Sportacus peered over the edge of the pit. Robbie was sprawled in an ungainly heap in a small pile of dirt. He groaned faintly.
"No, he'll just get annoyed," Wren said, reaching out to stop Sportacus from pulling Robbie out. "I've got it. You should probably go."
"You will be okay?" Sportacus asked. "He is rather...heavy."
Wren smiled at him cheerfully. "I'm getting used to it. And besides, he upgraded me case something like this happened." She paused, and gave a faint wince. "Again."
Sportacus shook his head in amused disbelief. "Just call if you have trouble," he said. Then, with a wave and a flip, he was off to do whatever above-average heroes did in their down time.
Wren watched him until he disappeared around a corner, then turned her attention back to the hole.
Robbie continued to glower as he watched Wren put his dirt-covered clothes into the wash. Occasionally he'd mutter something about robot girls who were too stubborn for their own good, but for the most part he pouted in silence.
Wren ignored him. They both knew that he needed time to cool off and start thinking of his next plan to rid the town of Sportacus. She went to the kitchen and began to rifle through the cupboards, looking for something with which to make supper.
She was looking thoughtfully at a can of capers and a jar of mincemeat when a bell rang. "Mail!" she said, to a silent Robbie. When he didn't move, she set aside supper for the moment and went to the mailbox.
Three letters greeted her. One was an electric bill...she'd have to give that one to Robbie when he was feeling less irritated. Another was a brochure for an "Antagonists Annual" calendar. The third...
"The Ministry of Miscreants, Mischief-Makers and Meanies?" Wren asked, holding the envelope up to the light. She squinted at it. "I didn't know you were part of that."
Robbie was out of his chair in a flash, and before she knew it, he'd ripped the envelope from her fingers and was eagerly opening it. His eyes shone with excitement. "They wrote back!"
Wren rolled her eyes in patient amusement. At least he'd be in a better mood now, and maybe she could convince him to eat something other than pizza, or cake, or cake shaped like a pizza. She went back to the tiny kitchen, and to the limited number of ingredients there.
By the time she had pulled together something resembling lasagna, Robbie had returned to his seat and was mumbling incoherently to himself as he read a thick brochure that had apparently come with the letter. Wren brought over a plate and set it on his lap, ignoring his annoyed grunt as he had to move his reading material to one side. He looked down at the food and frowned.
"Did you put mincemeat in this?"
Wren shrugged, and sat down beside him in a smaller, identical orange chair. "You never gave me taste. I did my best."
Robbie took a tentative bite, and winced. "You are evil."
"Eat that and I'll make brownies."
"Hmph," he grumbled, but continued to eat nonetheless. She knew his weaknesses.
"So what's in the letter?" Wren asked, craning her head to see if she could catch a peek. Robbie obligingly handed over the letter, and she began to skim it quickly.
"Five-M is the most prestigious organizations of villains in the world," Robbie explained as she read. "I wrote to them about Sugarpie, and a representative is going to come to write an article about him!"
Wren continued to read as she asked, "Who's Sugarpie?"
Robbie "ahem"ed and straightened his collar. "Why, the Robbiedog 2000, of course!"
"Didn't he try to eat you?" asked Wren. She had vague recollections of Stephanie telling her about a rabid robot dog at one point or another. Or maybe she'd been eavesdropping on her and the other kids, who were still afraid of her.
Robbie broke her train of thought with an indignant sniff. "Well, yes," he said through a mouthfull of mincemeat lasagna. "But I'm sure can repair him in time for the visit. Besides, all he has to do is look vicious."
"Hm," Wren murmured. They lapsed into a brief silence as he ate and she read. Finally, she closed the last page of the brochure and looked up at him. "Well, you've got a lot of work to do if you're going to be ready for tomorrow."
"T-tomorrow?" Robbie gasped. He lurched from his chair, and Wren had to make a dive to catch the plate that fell to the ground as a result. Robbie paused to look down at her in surprise. "Wren! Get up! This is no time to be lazing around!"
"I thought all the time was the time to be lazing around," Wren said, but he ignored her. By the time she got to her feet, Robbie had run off to the storage room and was throwing sundry broken inventions behind him in his search for the Robbiedog. Wren grumbled a bit, having just cleaned it out the past week, but her heart wasn't in it.
"Dumb dog better not mess in the workshop," she muttered, as she began totidy up thechaos left in his wake.
