Glad to see that there's a, erm, positive response to this. Then we will keep writing without fail. I think.
If you're wondering, the connections with the book are actually coming out of the chapters. It's like a big Mad Lib, changing words here and there.
At the breakfast table, conversation went along smashingly.
"Let's have mutton tonight," said Angel casually, looking maliciously at the prancing deer. "They're fat right now."
"I'll come with you," said the Gasman, throwing a porcupine pelt boomerang at them. A particularly happy one fell to the ground, bleeding and smiling, legs still skipping reflexively though it was going nowhere.
"Save it for Fang!" the members of the TKFS shouted at once. Fang was currently using his at-home science kit to check his food for toxins and glanced up at his name.
"Why do you guys want to kill me so much?" he asked.
Our answer was glaring in unison for twenty minutes.
"… I'm done," said Fang, after checking the results and finding rat poison.
"Let's go out and get our spoils," Gazzy said creepily.
Outside it was too sunny, too beautiful, too clear and too cloudless. It was worse than staying at home and constantly having sharp objects thrusted in your general direction. We carried knives, forks and a pop-up cooker out into the field. Fang walked a good twenty feet from us, carrying a plexi-glass shield and a poker for defense. We sat in a circle around the cooker, plotting mercilessly and drumming our fingers together, Fang watching with eyebrows raised at his preferred distance.
"If we kill him," Angel suggested innocently, "we could eat Fang-mutton pie."
"But how?" Iggy asked, hypothetically drumming his fingers together.
Gazzy was looking rather suspicious. Suddenly, Fang screamed. The TKFS watched with merriment as Gazzy's summoned porcupine chased Fang about. It was a dark ability and we were glad to have him on our side. Well, either way, we used it against Iggy. It was just too much fun to hurt the helplessly outnumbered guy.
Then it was very quiet. Too quiet, interrupted occasionally by porcupine screams as Fang tore the poor creature apart with his dagger-sharp fingernails. Sensing another appearance, they came, clad in black and white striped shirts, black berets, and faces white as milk. It was them.
Mimes.
And it wasn't a dream.
Martha, My Dear plays in the background...