Your name is JANE CROCKER. It just so happens that today, the 10th of November, is INCREDIBLY BORING, HOLY CRAP.
TOMORROW is not going to be boring. TOMORROW is going to be down-right fantastic. But TODAY you have nothing to do but lollygag about your room. You suppose it may be a SCHOOL day, but you just aren't sure. Do you... do you go to school?
Oh, you should probably mention that you have ONGOING CANON AMNESIA. You're told it will clear up over the next few days, with details gradually being revealed. You know. To your mind.
Might as well make the best of it. What will you do?
- Jane: Tour Room
No, you're pretty sure you're not supposed to do that today.
- Jane: Indulge in some hysteric fanfiction
What a coincidence! You LOVE hysteric fanfiction! The kind with mysteries and criminals and dashing women with chainsaws and limited impulse control! You think you have some right here, in fact.
Dame took a long drag from her hand-rolled cigarette, because it was the 30s and TOBACCO EMPIRES did not yet exist or something. She's not really clear on the details, probably because the details happen in the FUTURE. She looks across to the hardboiled SLUETH OF PROBLEMS and tells him that she has another case. Another case that might be... just up his alley.
She is sadly interrupted when the stick of dynamite in her mouth threatens to go off and kill them all! She starts juggling about the ROOM. What does she do?
Look at that you just wrote. That is brilliant. You could give up this BAKING thing, if it weren't one of your PASSIONS.
Oh, cool, you remembered something.
- Jane: Indulge in some hysterically nervous fanfiction
Nnnnnno that's private. A girl has to be allowed her imagination.
- Jane: Indulge in some hysterically sluething fanfiction
Well... that's less private. It is CANON, after all.
Actually, in hindsight, you can't remember what you SHIP. In fact, how does shipping even work? You have this vague itch that there might be more than one... type? Why do you think that? ...Nah.
This is turning out to be somewhat disappointing.
- Jane: Ask your friends for advice!
Yes! Your friends! You have lots of those! Like that guy, who does the stuff! Or that girl, with her things! Or that handsome guy, what's-his-name!
Wait, are you sure you have any friends?
You're not entirely sure you even have a pesterquirk. Or a chumhandle. In fact, is that what those are even called?
...Dammit.
- Jane: Have Bunnysleuth investigate the case of the missing chumhandle!
...Listen friend.
Bunnysleuth only investigates SERIOUS crimes.
And MEMORY THEFT Is the most serious of crimes!
You set up your toys and play with them for like an hour. OH GOD THIS IS SO MUCH FUN.
As you sit in the ruin of your bedroom, surrounded by stuffed toys and COMPANY PARAPHENALIA, you smile at the thought that you are so totally fifteen. Or something like that.
- Jane: Perch on your desk and screech like a mongoose.
...Nah, you're good for the rest of the day. There's a BUNNY on your head. That is the universal sign of preoccupation.
Thanks for the help, though!
It's too bad you'll never hear mysterious voices in your head again, though.
Nope.
...
...
...first.
Oh, like any of you can blame me.
Okay, so, uh... this was the weirdest fic I've ever written. Suddenly it feels weird to write with characters that don't exist yet. Why is that? Is it because they don't exist yet? That's silly. You're silly.