A/N: This was made using the 'verse Woodswolf used in her recent Mr. B fic. Read it before you read this. Obviously, I don't own this theory, WW does.
Thunder boomed out in the distance, scarcely even decipherable beneath all the noise that the moving trucks and their drivers made down below him.
The unnaturally blue-skinned man scowled irritably; What he needed now was peace and concentraction, not a bunch of noisy new neighbors...After all, the mice had to be ready to perform by this summer...What was it about the mice, anyway, that held him so..captive?
Captive? No...entranced. But...surely...was he going insane? He was quite sure that he had gotten rid of them a while ago...No, they were still there...
How did mice play instruments, anyway?
And then, some distant part of his mind awoke, a piece of him that was both one with his very soul, and completly seperate, and suffocated these thoughts with ease.
It mattered not, the mice had to be trained before this summer, and Bobinsky(for that was indeed who this was)was absolutely sure that these neighbors were going to cause some sort of disturbance.
Yes, he could feel it, that stress from somewhere illocatable in his mind, that knowing that something was going to happen. Soon.
And...Somehow...he could tell that if this...thing, did happen after all, then the consequences would be far more important than his mice cirsus being suspended...
Don't go through the door.
He jumped slightly echoing voice. His head twisted and turned like some kind of spring-loaded something, trying to find the sorce of the noise.
He looked down...and saw a mouse.
Caroline cannot go through the door. Do not let her.
Mr. B was surprised for but a moment. After the intitial shock passed, he reached down to the tiny creature and chuckled softly.
"We ought to get ye home then, hmm little fellow?"
He took the stairs up to his flat five at a time.
The rest of the day was spent rehearsing.
After all, in Soviet Russia, stranger things had happened than talking mice.