CHAPTER 39: THE START OF A WOLF'S WAR
BUTTERCUP: Okay, so what's up this time?
ME: What do you mean?
BUTTERCUP: It just feels like you have something to share every chapter.
ME: Uhh...I don't know. If I had something to share, I've forgotten it.
BLOSSOM: *coughs, clears throat* Ah-hem.
ME: What...?
BLOSSOM: Hello, it's spring break! How did you forget that?
ME: Oh yeah, right! Well there you go, folks! That's my news today—it's officially spring break!
BRICK: Ai-yai-yai. *rolls eyes, face-palms*
BLASTER: Kuku only owns her own OC's and the story! Don't forget to review, everyone. *gaze darkens* Or else I'll hunt you down. *smiles brightly again* Okay?
BRAKER: *sweat-drop* Uhh...review tries, guys...
Chapter 39: The Start of a Wolf's War
He was lounging in a chair, reading a book on battle tactics and listening to music on his phone when it let him know that he'd gotten a text. When he checked, it was from Ross and it said, "'Remember Danes has a party and meeting planned! You can't skip this one or you'll be in major trouble!'"
"'Relax, I won't. I only skip the really boring, mundane ones,'" he texted back. Then he glanced down at the screen and raised an eyebrow. He'd forgotten that after chatting with Bliss, she'd later given him her phone number "for the school paper interview". Still, he wouldn't mind using it to mess around with her a little.
After another second of mulling the idea over, he snatched it up and dialled. He pulled out his headphones and leaned back in the chair, staring down at his book. After two rings, she picked up.
"Hi, Deth?" She sounded a little nervous.
Deth smiled and replied, "Hello, Bliss! How is it going?"
"Fine, thank you. Are you calling about the interview? I was wondering when you were free..."
"I'm free everyday if it's for you," he purred back, teasing. He waited a few seconds before chuckling, "Just kidding!"
Bliss managed to laugh too. "Oh...that was funny, Deth."
"You know you can just call me DJ," he told her.
"D-DJ." She tried it on her tongue.
"That's my name, don't wear it out." He crossed his legs and his lips curled upwards. "How do you feel about Friday night? I should be free then. My place is close to Michael's house. It's a little smaller, yeah; but still pretty big. It's less fancy-looking—a little darker and more modern."
"Sounds nice," Bliss replied, sounding like she was smiling on the other end. DJ thought he could hear the smile.
"No one will be home except for me and my uncle Slicer, who's hardly home anyway. I can cook you dinner."
"Th-There's no need for th—!" she tried to protest.
Deth laughed. "Don't worry about it! I love cooking; even more so if it's for someone. Just you wait—I'll cook you a meal you'll never forget!"
"I-If you insist," she managed to say.
"I do insist," he purred smoothly. "I'll see you later, Bliss!" Then he hung up.
Deth Jackson picked up the book on battle tactics again, starting to read. After ten minutes of trying to concentrate, his phone started vibrating. He picked up. "Moshi moshi?"
"Hello, my son, Deth."
"Oh. Hi, Dad." Deth Jackson Jr leaned against a wall, glancing back at the clock. "What's up?" His tone was casual, his gentlemanly act from years of strict teaching dropped for the moment.
There was a rustling sound, and he heard his father whisper words to someone else nearby. Then he came back on: "Deth, I want you and Slicer to have the house prepared."
"Why?" Even though his father couldn't see it, DJ raised an eyebrow. "What kind of guest are we having, il padre?"
His father ignored the question. "Just be ready in the next three days."
"Why?" repeated DJ, gritting his teeth. "Don't hang up on me, old man. Hiding things from your only son would be a bad idea."
There was a long pause on the other side of the phone. "...We need to teach you some manners."
"I already have manners, il vecchio. I just don't waste my time using them on everyone." He folded his arms defiantly, as if his father was right in front of him. He knew it was childish, but arguing with his dad was refreshing―especially considering how long it'd been since he had last saw his father. And at the same time, what he was saying was true: he didn't use his manners on every person he came across. "I'll say it again, Father. I have manners. But I don't have answers."
His dad sighed, before replying, "Alright, son. You win. The guest shall be..."
DJ listened with anticipation.
"...Me."
"What? You?"
He could practically hear his father smiling from behind the phone. "That's right, la mia piccola morte."
"...I told you not to call me that."
"Why not, ma petite mort?"
"It's Italian for 'my little death', Dad. And you just called me it in French too."
"I can also call you it in Japanese, or Chinese, or―"
"I get it already. Don't you have a business to run?" Deth sighed.
His father chuckled. "Point taken, la mia―I mean, il figlio―I'll be going now. But remember to tidy the house up for when I get back. While I will be coming back, I do not ask for much. Only that the house is clean."
"That shouldn't be a problem." DJ bit the inside of his cheek. "We're pretty damn clean."
"Great!" Deth could hear a clicking and scratching noises as his dad wrote some stuff down. He was murmuring something to someone, before refocusing on the phone: "I'll be back on Friday!"
"Okay." At first DJ shrugged it off, but then he snapped to attention. "Wait, I'm having a friend over!"
"If it's Michael or Ross or Sidney or Darkai, then I doubt you have reason to be worried," his father responded.
DJ shook his head. "No, it's someone new."
"You're making new friends!" gasped his father.
"Il paaaadre," he groaned. "I don't want you scaring her off—"
"It's a she?"
DJ's face reddened. "She's just a friend. Nothing more."
"Alright, alright." His father laughed, but then he took on a much more serious tone, his rare (albeit annoying―to Deth Jackson Jr anyway) silliness vanishing. "I've heard about the war. You will do extra training straight away. I'll be back to train you as well, so be ready."
"Yes, Father."
"I miss you."
DJ rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I miss you too." He paused. "Welcome back, il mio grande morte," he added as an afterthought.
Again, he could practically hear his father's small, surprised smile. "Glad to hear you taking after me. Goodbye, son."
"Bye, Dad." Then he hung up. So Dad's coming home, huh—this should be interesting, he mused.
The area was completely pitch-black. The darkness scared him, and yet somehow he felt accustomed to the coldness around him. But he felt as though that closeness with the blackness had been replaced with his new closeness to the bright and the warm.
Glancing to his side, he spotted a giant reflective surface. It looked clouded and dirty, but the black clouds were swirling around as something tried to break through. He touched the glass and it quivered, clouds sucking in large winds as they shrieked and drew back a little, swirling around. He thought he saw a flash of red from within the mirror-like device.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing in the emptiness. After a few brief moments of silence, he was ready to give up and assume that no one else was around him. But then...
Someone replied. "Hello...?" The call back was meek, sounding as if whoever had replied wasn't feeling too well. It came from behind him though; not from the mirror.
Trying to pinpoint the sound, he quietly started walking toward the noise. His heart was pounding faster as he neared the figure. When he could finally make them out, he relaxed. The person was a girl, lying on the floor and slowly getting up. One elbow was propped on the watery ground, her long hair falling in her eyes and trailing behind her.
He felt his breath escape his throat when she looked up. Her eyes were a brilliant, striking pink.
"You're driving too fast!" she yelled over the loud noise, gripping onto the front window of the small car.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" he shouted back, grinning as he turned the steering wheel extra hard. The small car smashed forward into another one.
Panting, she glanced back at the person who was steering a tiny purple car away from them, his eyes glinting with indignation. "If that was a real car, we'd be dead right now."
"Hello, I'm trying to crash into people okay?" he responded loudly. "These are bumper cars for a reason!"
"You're insane, Butch." She punched him lightly, rolling her eyes.
Butch snorted, smirking, "You need to relax."
Butch was riding with Buttercup in a tiny bumper car, ramming constantly into Mitch and Princess' car. Mitch didn't back down though, crashing into Butch's green bumper car just as often.
The girls soon separated into their own cars and started crashing into one another and strangers. When their time was up, they rushed off screaming and laughing and chasing one another, as if they were still enemies riding bumper cars. Butch grabbed Mitch and gave him a noogie, the two boys grinning. Princess and Buttercup bought some food for the guys to eat—burgers, fries, and shakes.
After they finished eating, they took a break and let the food digest while they chatted.
"So how's the not-date doing?" asked Mitch, his eyes unable to hide his obvious amusement.
"Fine," Butch answered, elbowing Buttercup lightly. "Right, BC?"
"Yeah, it's been a heck of a lot of fun." She half-smiled, folding her arms across her chest. A cup of half-finished fries sat beside her.
"Glad to hear it," Butch chuckled.
Mitch took one of BC's fries (seeing as he had finished all of his own), swirling it in ketchup before chomping down on it. "Sounds delish," he added.
Princess was a little more picky, obviously not wanting to gain too much weight, despite her already fine build. She sipped at her diet Coke. "Daddy asked me to survey the fairgrounds and see how it was doing. It's definitely gotten better over the years." A long time ago, these fairgrounds, like some of the other annual fairs, wasn't owned by the Morbucks family. But after a certain battle with the Powerpuffs, Princess had forced her father to buy the amusement park by throwing a fit. Back then, she had wanted it all to herself, but now it was for the public (as it had been for a couple of years). When it first reopened for the public after the Puffs managed to convince a still naughty, young Princess, it had been left in bad conditions. Princess had taken away all the posh items she had added to her formerly private fair. And now that she had reformed, she had replaced those secondhand items with new ones (still not completely fancy, but good enough for the public).
Buttercup shoved the memories aside and nodded, having finished her fries. "That's definitely true."
"Roller coaster next!" Butch said excitedly, no longer able to stay patient.
Mitch joined in, cheering his agreement.
Princess and Buttercup shared knowing looks, rolled eyes, and amused smiles. Then they nodded, causing the noise of the boys' cheers to rise even more. When they had arrived and avoided the line, boarding into the roller coaster cars, the boys were giddy with excitement. Princess looked a little nervous, but Mitch tucked his arm around her to make her feel more secure. Butch and Buttercup glanced at one another but didn't do anything like that—no matter how scared one of them was, neither was going to put their arm around the other.
When the ride started, it went in a slow straight line before climbing a hill slowly. Then it shot down at breakneck speeds. Princess shrieked, and the boys' screams and cheers reached an all-time, deafening level. The whistling of the wind around them was loud too, as the carts clattered along and gravity pushed at the roller coaster ride. Buttercup herself was screaming too.
In the end, everyone was panting. One poor teen had thrown up, but it looked like most of the other people were fine too. Some were shaken, but they remained seemingly alright.
"Last ride," Butch said breathlessly, waiting for his friends to catch their own breaths. He pointed at a big, round thing looking over the entire fairgrounds. "Ferris wheel." He grinned.
Buttercup nodded, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "The line looks shorter now too."
"It doesn't even matter how long the line is!" Princess' lips curled up coyly, her eyelashes fluttering as she waved a card like it was a fan. "In case you forgot, my daddy runs this place. No lines, remember?"
"Right," chuckled Buttercup. "It's just not everyday I get to be treated like royalty at the fair."
"Okay, I get it," Princess laughed, "I know it's silly, but my name is Princess, after all."
Mitch waved his hand at the Ferris wheel, which was looming above them a little further away. "C'mon; let's get going already! We're wasting time just standing here!"
Princess and Buttercup exchanged amused looks. "To the Ferris wheel!" they exclaimed, which resulted in cheers from the overly-excited boys.
The large, silver wheel glinted in the sunlight. Lights blinked as they neared it, and Princess took the lead. She flashed her card at anyone who dared question her, proudly sporting her father's logo on her arm. She led them to the front where she showed the card to the guy and chatted a little, before boarding a car.
Some other people got on too, and soon the Ferris wheel was full. Mitch, Butch, Princess, and Buttercup had the car all to themselves. The wheel started spinning slowly, rising until it overlooked Townsville's fair, the park, and some of the city itself.
"It looks awesome up here," Mitch said, relaxing against the cool, smooth glass. The adrenaline seemed to be slowly leaking from his body as he closed his eyes. "It's so peaceful..."
Princess nudged him, her lips curled upwards. "Don't even think about falling asleep," she crowed.
"It's not my fault! We stayed up till 2:00 am texting each other, and then I watched anime till 3:00."
"That last part is your fault," she teased back, giggling. "Who told you to watch anime?"
Buttercup and Butch glanced at each other. They felt a little awkward—neither of them was dating in a serious relationship, so they currently didn't know what it was like to stay up late talking to someone you kissed and saw regularly.
Princess seemed to realize this, because she turned around and said, "So...how's it going with you two?"
Where do I even begin? Butch asked himself, but he managed to smirk and say, "Bloss is at my house right now trying to fix Brick's amnesia. I dunno if it's working."
"Oh, I hope it does." Concern flashed in Princess' eyes. "Not having the old Brick around is so...surreal, although the new Brick is a cutie."
Mitch wrapped his arms around her. "Hey; I'm the only hottie you're allowed to ogle."
Butch shifted uncomfortably. "Uh...yeah."
"Sorry, man." Mitch looked up. "It's hard for me to control myself." He blew a raspberry into Princess' shoulder, making her shriek with a little giggling.
"Mitch, stop it!" she gasped, struggling against his hold. "I'm ticklish!"
"I know you are. That's the whole reason I'm doing this!"
Buttercup poked Butch's arm, causing him to turn. The lights illuminated her face, her apple-green eyes glowing and her black hair shining. "They're such idiots, aren't they?" she muttered, a smirk playing at her pink lips.
Butch had to blink, ignoring the hazy glow that seemed to surround his counterpart. He managed to smirk back, "Yeah... Yeah, definitely major idiots."
"We can hear you, you know!" protested Princess, glancing at the two greens. "Why don't you two lovebirds talk about each other rather than talk about us behind our backs?" She stuck her tongue out.
Buttercup's cheeks flushed pink. "We are not 'lovebirds'!" she retorted indignantly.
Princess and Mitch laughed.
Buttercup turned away, staring out the window in embarrassment that she'd gotten flustered. She pressed her hand to the glass window, her shoulder awkwardly against Butch's. "You guys are so annoying sometimes."
"I try," crooned Princess, batting her lashes.
Fiddling, the green Rowdyruff Boy rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey, uh... BC, you...you look nice today."
There was a long pause as everyone stared at him, and Princess' eyes were starting to glow as her mouth went from open to grinning. She squealed.
"I...what...? Thanks?" responded Buttercup, eyes wide in surprise. She blinked.
Butch's face burned at the sudden focus on him. "I just—you seemed a little annoyed and I know how you feel so I uh...decided to change the subject." He scratched the back of his head. "And since you were annoyed, I figured I'd mention your outfit 'cause I didn't do it earlier and I know Bubbles made the ensemble 'cause she sent me that text so in order to cheer you up I brought it up but yeah sorry that was a really weird transition..." He took a deep breath.
Buttercup's mouth twitched as Princess continued to wave her hands excitedly. "You know what?"
"What?" He stared at her.
"...Thanks." And she smiled a full smile.
Butch's surprise faded as he managed to smile too. "Yeah...you're welcome."
Mitch gave him two thumbs-up from across them, behind Buttercup's now turned head. Princess was still squealing internally. Butch's smile didn't fade as he rolled his eyes at his friends' antics. The Ferris wheel had reached the top by then, and the lights outside glimmered in the setting sun. The sky was mostly red, orange, and pink hues, with a tint of blue.
"It's so beautiful," breathed Princess, eyeing the fair's glow.
"Not as beautiful as you, babe," Mitch murmured.
"Oh stop it," giggled a flushed Princess, who gently pushed Mitch away. "That's so cheesy." When he gave her the puppy-dog eyes, she sighed and rolled her own eyes, leaning forward to kiss him.
Butch and Buttercup both gagged, before meeting gazes. They blushed and quickly turned away from one another. Buttercup rubbed her arm awkwardly, but a smile tickled her lips.
As Mitch and Princess stopped giggling, the sat together marvelling at the beauty of the colours outside. Rainbows of light stared back at them, shining against the park's neutral greens and browns. The moon had become visible, and stars were slowly creeping out as the sky darkened. The Ferris wheel was slowly going down.
"That was great," Mitch said, his arm around Princess. He shot Butch and Buttercup a teasing smirk. "Wasn't it?"
"I guess so," Buttercup muttered in embarrassment, folding her arms. Butch nodded beside her, looking flustered.
As the Ferris wheel jerked to a stop, the car bounced involuntarily. Butch and Buttercup gasped sharply as the green Puff toppled backwards and fell into her counterpart's lap. There was a long moment of shocked silence as Buttercup lay half in Butch's lap and half leaning against him, their noses touching. The two of them stared at each other.
Then Buttercup jumped back and rammed into the glass behind her, causing her to topple forward. Butch managed to catch her. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, I think so... I mean—never mind that!" Buttercup scrambled out of his arms and leaned against the cool glass. Her face was red. "I'm fine!"
Butch looked concerned, but he was probably just as embarrassed so he didn't push further. Mitch was laughing as Princess tried not to giggle, trying to be helpful. Their car stopped and the two greens exited, faces burning as their eyes stayed on the floor, hidden behind their bangs. Then Mitch and Princess came out, still laughing their heads off.
"L-Let's go play some fair games," Butch said, his eyes remaining locked on the first below his feet.
"Sure thing," Mitch gasped between laughs, slapping his friend on the back. "Smooth move, Butch-meister," he teased.
Butch swatted him away as he stalked off to the booths set up not far away. Mitch and the girls followed, laughter ringing through the fair.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"No, I'm not kidding you at all, Banana!" He leaned forward against the desk, eyes glowing. "This is all 100% true; promise."
Banana rolled her yellow eyes, smiling as she took a long gold-and-white dress from the rack, which had a broken string of pearls around the neck. "Michael, I can't trust you on anything."
"It's true!" he protested, laughing. "Ross really did once 'kiss' an elephant's trunk by accident 'cause he fell on its head. He could confirm it if school wasn't over already. It's only 3:48 pm but Ross always has to get home from school quickly."
"That is soooo out of context," the yellow Puff giggled, sewing pearls back onto the string without even looking. Her fingers moved expertly.
Behind them, Blaster Jojo rolled his eyes as he frowned, stabbing a needle into the skirt he was working on a little too hard. He jerked it upwards and accidentally cut his thumb. "Ow!" he hissed, knocking his supply kit over by accident. Its contents spilled onto the floor and he cursed under his breath, scooping up the scattered pins, needles, ribbons, and fabrics.
"Are you okay?" asked Banana, glancing back at him.
He held the bleeding thumb, waving it gently as he blew on the cut. "I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.
"Great. Anyway, there was this other time Darkai was just starting out with his crime-hunter job thingy, and he was trying to catch a thief who'd taken someone's purse but he ended up tripping over a dog..." Michael continued, hardly seeming to care about Blaster's mishap.
"Excuse me," Blaster forced out, "Michael, I don't mean to be rude but, you're not exactly helping right now and we're kinda busy."
Michael's smile fell as he glared at the yellow Ruff. "I know you don't like me but at least try and be civilized." His words had an underlying tone of sarcastic hurt behind them.
"Yes, Blaster—stop being so rude." Banana ruffled the pearl dress' white skirt, which had golden ruffles on top of it and golden, sparkly swirls. "We need all the help we can get, and he's been great so far." Michael looked smug next to her.
"He's just telling stories!" protested Blaster, strapping a band-aid on top of his cut.
Michael, who had been staring at the dripping blood, now turned away and coughed. "Are you trying to be difficult?"
"No, I'm just kinda annoyed and in pain right now." Blaster pressed his thumbs together, before hooking them into his belt loops.
"Oh come on; it's just a cut," Michael replied, turning away back to Banana, who looked worried. But then he started telling his stories again, making her laugh.
It's not just physical pain, you oblivious idiot. Blaster watched with growing irritation before staring down at his phone. He should be working, but he really didn't want to—not with Michael around. Pulling out his phone, he decided to text his brothers: "'Where are you guys? Michael is seriously annoying me at the school textiles studio.'"
Boomer: "'Flying home.'"
Butch: "'Going to detention, bro. You know BC and I are hanging out after detention. Shit, Mr. Fickleson's classroom is getting closer. Gotta go.'"
Bandit: "'I'm going home, but I gotta talk to Bunny first...'"
Brick: "'I'm with Boomer!'"
Braker: "'I'm at basketball practice right now.'"
"'Come to the studio after practice Braker and HELP ME when you're done because I SWEAR TO DEAR GOD MICHAEL IS ANNOYING.'"
"'Okay, okay,'" Braker typed back.
Blaster sighed and slipped his phone into his pocket, glancing back at Michael and Banana. They were laughing again, the yellow Puff looking like she was really enjoying herself. You can't trust him, Blaster thought with an even weirder, darker feeling than irritation within him.
When Banana noticed him staring in surprise, he huffed and turned away. She frowned and looked down... But soon Michael noticed and cheered her up again.
Blaster worked fervently on the skirt he'd almost messed up thanks to Michael, his concentration unbroken as he kept staring at the skirt's fabric. He knew Banana was checking on him every once in awhile to see if he was sill irritated, but Blaster didn't look up at her to show any emotion.
Another dozen or so minutes passed before the door opened a crack and in stepped Braker, whose skin was slick with sweat. He was still wearing his basketball uniform, panting with a towel tied around his neck. "Yo," he called.
Michael turned and wrinkled his nose at the sight of another Rowdyruff Boy, but said nothing. He didn't even nod in acknowledgement, even though he'd obviously spotted the newcomer.
"Hi, Braker. What are you doing here?" asked Banana in surprise.
"Blaster here practically begged—I mean, he asked—me to come over and help since I'm still at school and I'm the only one who's free right now. Butch's at school too but he's got stuff to do," Braker explained.
"Just help me with this skirt," Blaster called, his teeth clenching inside his jaw. He was somewhat embarrassed by the big entrance Braker had made, which seemed to be making Michael more and more smug. Michael knows why I got Braker to come here.
Braker approached his brother and dumped his duffel bag on a chair nearby. "So what do you need me to do, Cap?" he asked.
"Just help me sort these pins and needles and ribbons and fabrics," Blaster responded, dumping a messy pile of stuff in front of Braker. "Put them into my supply box in categories, please. It's all labelled so you should know what goes where."
"Booooring~" complained Braker. "Why can't I do something cool like sew?"
"I'm not going to trust you with a needle," retorted Blaster, messing up his brother's hair. "Thanks for the 'offer' though."
Braker shrugged. "No problem." He picked up the yellow-gold box that was decorated with swirls, cherubs, flowers, and other fancy things. "This looks so gay. You ever think of that?"
Blaster groaned. "Braker, don't start." He rolled up his sleeves and pulled out the messy thread from the skirt, which was a result of his anger. He gently threaded it back into the needle and carefully pushed it through the red plaid skirt's fabric. "Berserk* really needs to take better care of her things."
"That's Berserk's skirt?" Braker stared at it, raising an eyebrow. "Man the Powerpunks like to wear things short."
"They also end up ripping their clothes a lot in battle. They're not bad anymore, but they're still bloodthirsty." Blaster smoothed the skirt out, still threading his way along the hem.
Braker whistled through his teeth, pushing a couple of pins into a pincushion. "You can say that again. They sure pack a punch."
"Ooh, careful with that!" exclaimed Blaster, grabbing Braker's wrist when he nearly dropped the pincushion. "If that falls and it stabs into anyone's skin, the aftermath won't be pretty."
"Oops," said Braker, setting the pincushion down carefully. He plucked a pin from the floor and stuck it into the cushion. "When did your kit get so messy anyway?"
"I accidentally knocked it over," Blaster said. Usually he wouldn't care so much, but he was also usually really careful with his things. Braker raised an eyebrow expectantly at his brother to go on, but Blaster didn't want to admit that he'd messed up a stitch and cut himself before knocking the box over—all thanks to Michael.
When Blaster didn't say anything for a few of more seconds, Braker prompted, "And...?"
"And nothing," Blaster sighed. "I just knocked it over."
Braker frowned, turning back to his handiwork. He set the pincushion down, which was now stuffed full of pins. The cushion was made to look like a yellow owl with button eyes sewn onto flower shapes and a flower-patterned stomach and turquoise wings. "Jeez, okay. I was just asking. No need to get so defensive about one little mistake."
Blaster didn't reply, focusing again on his work. He could hear Banana laughing in the background, still sewing as she watched Michael parade around in a pink feather boa and large, floppy purple hat. The yellow Ruff grimaced a little, his lips twitching as he felt a vein pop. The obnoxious presence of Michael was really rubbing him the wrong way.
Braker gazed at Michael's little fashion show and raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Looks like he's being as annoying as always."
"Yeah." Blaster pulled on a thread extra hard and let out a disgruntled "ugh, crap" when it got tangled.
"Dude, relax." Braker glanced back at his brother. "If you freak out here, then that just means you're giving Michael the satisfaction of—"
"I know, okay!?" Blaster glared at Braker, before glaring at Michael. Then he glared down at the tangled knots in his work, pulling them out. "And don't tell me to calm down, when you're the one who nearly had a spazz attack thanks to Deth Jackson Jr."
"Hey, low blow man!" Braker claimed loudly, waving one of the needles he had to organize at his brother.
Michael and Banana glanced back at them. "What's going on over there?" the yellow Powerpuff wondered aloud.
Michael shrugged. "I dunno. They've always been weirdos."
Banana frowned. "I don't think you should call them that—"
"What...? 'Weirdos'?" When Banana nodded, he waved it off. "Don't worry about it. We don't like each other and we've been calling each other names for years."
She folded her arms. "That doesn't mean you should continue," she scolded. "Why do you guys hate each other so much anyway? Why can't you just talk to each other and work something out?"
"Because they're not our kind of people." Michael set the feather boa and the floppy hat down, fingering the material. He didn't raise his gaze as he continued, "They've done things we don't agree with, and vice versa."
"...This sounds serious," she remarked.
Michael blinked and quickly looked up. "No, no! It's nothing like that! It's not like we'll start a war or anything." He chuckled awkwardly.
Banana frowned. He sounds more like a guy who's said something he shouldn't have and has something to hide, rather than a kid who's made a mistake, she thought, narrowing her eyes.
As if sensing her mistrust at his words, Michael reached over and put his arm around her. "Look, Bansy—don't worry about it; any of it, okay? It doesn't have to do with you and it's all fine."
Banana shrugged him off, poking him in the chest. "You're just like the Ruffs then, always hiding things from us!"
"Why would I have anything to hide?"
She hesitated at his words. "I don't know. Why would you?"
"If I did, it's 'cause I care about you."
"That's what they all say," she muttered back, rubbing her arm and looking down.
Michael reached forward and lifted her chin with his hand, his turquoise eyes the sign of apology. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Bansy. I just hope it won't affect our growing friendship."
Banana turned away. "I don't know. I don't like not being in the know."
"But this really doesn't have to do with you." Michael leaned forward, his breaths tickling her ear as he murmured, "And between you and me, you don't want to know. But you can and should know this: I do trust you."
Banana shivered.
"Do you understand?" he whispered.
"I-I think I do." Banana's lips formed a thin line as she sucked on the bottom one.
Michael smiled and leaned back, hugging her. "Thanks for understanding then."
Shocked, Banana gaped at him as he leaned back. When he realized that she was staring in open-mouthed shock, he chuckled lightly.
"It's pretty common to hug someone in gratitude," he remarked, "and I'm sure you know that."
Banana's cheeks heated up. "I know that, I just didn't—"
"Didn't expect it?" Michael smiled almost slyly. "Why, Bansy, I happen to like you. A lot."
She blinked, but then she smiled.
Meanwhile, Blaster's mouth had dropped open in disbelief, his hands suspended in mid-sewing. Braker watched, his lips twisting into a frown as he grimaced. "Here it comes," he muttered under his breath.
Blaster slammed his items down. "I can't do this," he crowed to Braker, who was rolling his eyes, "I can't sew while Michael's being an obnoxious little piece of—"
"Are you sure that's the only reason?"
Blaster stopped and stared at his brother. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, are you sure Michael's obnoxious presence is the only reason you're so angry and out of it today? It doesn't have to do with the fact that it was Banana he hugged, does it?"
"Of course not!" protested Blaster.
Braker sighed and rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. If you say so."
"I do say so!" Blaster exclaimed, grabbing his phone. "I'm going to take a quick walk. I'll come back in three minutes."
"How much longer till we go home?" yawned Braker.
"About ten more minutes. By the time I come back I'll just finish the skirt's hem and we can go home—leaving this stupid idiot Michael behind," Blaster said, already walking off.
DING!
Blaster stopped as stared at his phone, holding it up. Apparently he'd gotten a text from Berserk, and it read: "'Can you send me a quick pic of my skirt so far?'"
He hesitated before quickly shooting a picture and sending it to her. Blaster waited for a reply as he walked out the door.
DING!
The new text said, "'Jesus. It looks like you were sewing it while being jealous about a girl like Banana or something. What happened to the stitches that are all messed-up and stuff? You'll fix that, won't you?'"
Blaster stared at it and reread it. Then he groaned, before thumping his head against the hallway wall. "Goddammit."
"You look marvelous tonight, my dear!"
"Thank you," he said, smiling politely as he clinked glasses with her, his punch sloshing around in his cup.
The woman before him smiled before turning to his uncle, chatting cheerfully about the new sunscreen she was using. His uncle nodded and listened with the same politeness his nephew had shown.
"Ah, Cassandra Van Gole, why don't you go and enjoy some more of our finest wine? We have plenty of it. I wish to speak to my friend Shamus," Danes said, appearing from behind them. His voice was thick and oozing with welcome, but there was an underlying tone of warning.
The woman smiled and nodded, maybe not even noticing his tone as she flitted away like a little fairy in her too-tight dress and too-high-heels.
Danes turned to Shamus, who relaxed. "I trust that you're enjoying the party?" He raised an eyebrow.
"As much as I can enjoy being swamped by these people," Shamus muttered back, running a hand through his long, curly black hair.
"Uncle," the boy said with a small smile, "that's not very polite of you."
Shamus sighed. "I know Ross, I know."
"Well, I just wanted to let you know that you'll need to be onstage with the others in ten minutes. I'll make my announcement then," Danes explained. "Enjoy yourselves for now."
Ross brightened. "You don't have to tell me twice!" he exclaimed as he glanced at his friends, who were all lingering by the snack table. Michael was rolling his eyes, frowning disapprovingly with arms crossed as DJ shoved pastries into his mouth. Sidney watched with shy embarrassment, while Darkai stood by. Christie was talking to a group of people, smiling nicely and laughing a beautiful laugh. Vix leaned against a wall a little further off, all by himself as most of the guests ignored him.
But before Ross could make his way toward any of them, a man approached. "Why, hello Danes and Shamus! How are you all doing? And I see Ross is here too! My, how you've grown."
"Welcome, Mr. Parish," Danes greeted, "thank you once again for sponsoring my endeavours all these years."
"Why, it's my pleasure. Thank you so much for the warm welcome! Your 'endeavours' have certainly paid off over the years." Mr. Parish adjusted his round spectacles and peered down at Ross, his round face the very image of a jolly man. His smile was too big, however—too unnatural. Sharp teeth glinted in his mouth. "My, Ross; you were but a wee little lad when I saw you last! You've grown so, and you look more like your father everyday."
Ross forced himself to smile and nod, but inside he clenched his jaw. He wasn't a fan of being compared to his dead father, which only reminded him that his father was indeed...well, dead.
Shamus seemed to sense his nephew's discomfort, because he took Ross' shoulders and smiled. "Yes, he has grown a lot. He becomes stronger and better at what he does everyday. Now, why don you go and play with your friends while us grown-ups talk?"
Ross stared at his uncle in surprise, and Shamus simply winked back. He grinned, saying, "Sure! Thanks, Uncle." Then he was off, leaving Shamus and Danes to deal with the "jolly" Mr. Parish. "Guys, hey!" called the green-eyed teen, waving eagerly.
Michael looked up and waved back. He then jabbed a thumb at Deth Jackson Jr, who was still shovelling food into his mouth. "Look at this idiot."
"I don't know, he looks pretty professional to me," laughed Ross.
Darkai was counting, his voice monotone as he listed the numbers. "12, 13, 14..."
"What exactly are they doing?" asked Ross in a whisper.
"DJ's trying to see how much food he can put in his mouth," Sidney explained quietly.
"...15, 16, 17—and 18—"
A piece of bread fell from DJ's mouth.
Darkai stopped counting and shook his head.
Deth Jackson Jr responded with angry gesturing while Darkai shook his head again. The annoyed teen with food in his mouth grabbed a cup of red liquid and gulped it down, swallowing his food in the process. "That was totally 18!"
"No. It fell." Darkai's tone remained flat.
DJ threw his hands into the air. "No fair!"
Just then, the chef reappeared and gasped in shock when he saw that one of his precious dishes was now empty. "How could zees happen?" he demanded in a heavy accent. "Ze party haz only begun for five minutez!"
DJ shrugged innocently, licking crumbs from his lips. Ross tried not to laugh as Michael shook his head in disapproval.
The chef shook angrily. "If you haz ate zem all again, Mazter Deth, zen I zwear to ze Man in the Clouds—"
DJ stopped and his icy-blue eyes flashed warningly. "You forget who you're talking to," he warned in a rumbling growl. When the chef took a step back in sudden fear, DJ smiled brightly. "And relax! At least it means your food's good."
"Sacré bleu!" said the chef, running a hand down his cheek. "Thiz iz too difficult!"
As he walked off, Ross turned and high-fived DJ, both of them grinning. They talked until ten minutes had passed, and they all rushed backstage. Shamus and the others greeted them, and they waited as Danes walked onstage.
"Greetings, everyone!" Danes announced, standing behind a podium. The microphone buzzed faintly as he kept talking: "I have called you all here today for a very special announcement."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd but immediately vanished when Danes raised a hand. Ross and the people with him backstage all walked onstage, standing in a line behind Danes. Vix stood at the very end, arms folded and gaze averted. No one paid him much attention in the crowd except to whisper in mistrust or even disgust, while they complimented the others there.
"As you may all know," he continued, "we've had a lot to deal with recently that involves the traitorous Damon and his kind. They've started showing sparks of battle again after two years of tense peace. Despite the two years of relative stillness, things still happened that went against both sides. For example, two of my men were captured last month."
Angry boos echoed through the crowd. Danes waited till they calmed down before he continued:
"However, we countered by taking one of the enemy's bases and we got our men back. As of recently, something has happened that makes me believe an actual war may erupt soon. You may all know the Rowdyruff Boys, whom Damon cared for"—here people nodded—"well, they have recently turned down our offer of turning their backs on Damon. This means that they excuse Damon's unforgivable behaviour and this within itself is a crime. It seems that most of their kind agree with this disgusting idea, and so I believe that our time of peace is finally coming to an end soon.
"Damon made a mistake when he chose to murder Tyrone and betray our trust, hurting those he called his friends all over one girl. He hurt Shamus and Ross, who were all related to the generous Tyrone. We managed to hunt him down, but his so-called 'legacy' continues and it disgusts me. Now that they're openly fighting us and we are fighting back, it really does look as though the times of peace are finally coming to an end. I promise that we will not lose this battle, and that Damon will be brought to justice once and for all."
Ross shivered. I think I'm going to have nightmares about Dad's death again...
People started whispering, until Damon added, "However, that is for another day. Today, please enjoy yourselves. We have prepared food and champagne, as well as a dance floor."
Just as Danes was about to walk offstage, one of his men approached and whispered something into his ear. The tall, muscular and gray, long-haired man immediately tensed. Ross sensed this, glancing back at Danes as he hissed, "Is this true?"
The messenger nodded and Danes quickly turned around. "I have business to attend to, but I shall be back soon. Please, everyone—enjoy yourselves." He nodded at Shamus, Maxim, Coal, and Jamel. Then he was off, stalking down the steps to the stage as he followed the messenger out the door.
Ross watched him go in concern, wondering what had just happened that required Danes' attention. But before he could think it over further, he was pulled onto the dance floor by a group of giggling teenage girls. A few of them were Sydney's friends. Ross glanced at her and she met his gaze. They stared at each other briefly, but then she turned away and he was helplessly pulled out onto the open dance floor.
Looks like some things just don't change, Ross thought as he forced himself to smile and dance with the girls. He glanced back at where Sydney had been lingering.
There was a heavy stone set in her stomach as she remained curled in her bed, underneath purple covers. She was going through her messages, and some of them were from Bandit a couple of weeks ago. He had stopped messaging her after awhile—after he kept insisting that what he was doing was for "her own good".
She almost fell asleep when her phone suddenly vibrated in her hands. Blinking back her tiredness, she glanced down at the screen. It was a text from Darkai:
"'Hello Bunny. I remembered that you gave me your number last week and requested that I try and contact you. It seems that I forgot, but I found the sheet in my jacket pocket and decided to give it a try.'"
The text was simple and polite, but still it warmed Bunny's heart and cheeks. She sat up upright immediately, texting back: "'Oh no don't worry about it! I'm just happy you texted me at all. You're okay, aren't you? You haven't hurt yourself further, have you?'"
"'No, I'm fine.'"
She blushed, unsure how to reply. It seemed that he sensed this from over their phones, because he texted her again and added, "'I'm at a party right now so I don't have the chance to fight anyone even if I wanted to, so don't worry.'"
"'That's a relief.'"
A little while passed and Bunny started growing worried that she'd offended him. But then a new text appeared, her phone vibrating.
"'...Why are you so worried about me?'"
"'Didn't I already tell you why?'"
"'Yes, but it's still hard to think that someone like you would worry for someone like me.'"
She frowned. "'You make it sound like I'm better than you or something.'"
"'You are.'"
"'No, no I'm not! I'm the one who doesn't deserve your attention. You're so popular and I'm...I'm just me.'"
"'You're a beautiful Powerpuff Girl with a caring, kind heart. I believe you are quite popular.'"
"'...Thank you.'"
"'For what?'"
"'For everything. For thinking I have a 'caring, kind heart'. For calling me 'beautiful'. For letting me help you. For trusting me.'"
"'Of course. But I should be the one thanking you, my little Bunny.'"
Her heart beat faster as she typed back: "'No, no that's not necessary.'"
"'It is. Thank you for healing me, caring about me, and being yourself. You're special, Bunny.'"
"'I don't know about that...'"
"'...Why are you sad?'"
"'I'm not sad!'"
"'Yes you are. I can sense your sadness. Tell me why.'"
She waited, contemplating her options, when he sent a new text.
"'Please. I care about you, Bunny. This is my thanks for you caring about me.'"
Bunny sighed and replied, "'Bandit won't trust me anymore. I got a little upset with him and...said some things.'"
"'What things?'"
"'...I may have kind of sort of told him that I hate him...'"
He was silent for a little while, so she added, "'I didn't mean it though! I was just upset.'"
"'I don't blame you.'"
"'Huh?'"
"'I don't blame you. Bandit shouldn't have hurt you like that.'"
Bunny hesitated. "'He told me that I should stay away from you.'"
"'He's kind of right.'"
"Don't start with all that!'"
"'...You brought it up.'"
She thought she could see his smile. "'I only brought it up 'cause you asked!'"
"'Alright, I understand. I'm sorry about Bandit.'"
"'It's not your fault.'"
"'Well, I think you don't deserve to be hurt. He might, though.'"
"'Darkai, please... I know you don't like Bandit or the Ruffs, but still...'"
"'I understand. I'm sorry.'"
"'It's okay.'"
"'Wait a couple of minutes, k? The party is almost over. TTYL.'"
"'Bye...'"
Bunny waited fifteen minutes before a new text was sent.
"'Bunny.'"
"'Yes?'"
"'Open your window.'"
"'Why?'"
"'I left a little something for you on the windowsill to try and cheer you up.'"
Bunny hopped out of bed immediately and walked to her bedroom window, opening it to pick up a purple bag. It was full of cookies. She blushed, thankful for the gift. "'Thank you! It's beautiful.'"
"'I baked them myself. How do you like them?'"
"'Mmm, they taste yummy. You're a good baker.'"
"'Thank you.'"
She paused, before sending another text. "'Are you still here?'"
"'Nearby. Why?'"
"'Come back into my room. I want to talk. We can share the cookies.'"
He didn't reply at first, so she sent another text: "'Please? I'm still a little upset over Bandit and could use some cheering up...'" Bunny held her breath and waited for a reply.
"'I'll be there.'"
She released the breath. Bunny waited eight more minutes until someone rapped on her glass. She hurried over and opened the window, allowing the person to climb in. "How did you get up here? This is the second floor!" she gasped.
Darkai stood in the middle of her room, dressed in a slick black vest with a white shirt beneath. He dusted himself off, dark-blue eyes lowered. "I'm a good climber."
"Here's a cookie," Bunny said, holding the bag out. "And go ahead and sit wherever you'd like."
Darkai hesitated before taking one and biting into it. He sat down on the edge of her bed.
"I think it's really cool that you made them. It's such a sweet gesture, and they're even shaped like bunny heads!" Bunny said shyly.
"Nothing but the best for you." Darkai's lips twitched a little into something that almost resembled a smile. "Sidney helped out. He gave me some baking lessons awhile back."
"You're really good," Bunny replied.
Darkai sat silently for a little while, finishing off his cookie. Then he said, "So about Bandit..."
"...Oh. Right." Bunny lowered her eyes.
"How do you feel about what he said?" asked Darkai.
"He said that he's trying to protect me, but I feel like he just doesn't trust me anymore." She rubbed her arm. "He doesn't tell me anything anymore."
Darkai took her hand and gently stroked it once, soothing her. "What did he say he was protecting you from?"
She hesitated. "He said... He said he wanted to keep me from you and your tangled web of secrets. When I accused him of having a web of secrets too, he said that he was also trying to keep me from that. But I think... I think..."
"What do you think?" he prompted softly.
"...I think I can handle it." She shivered. "I'm a Powerpuff Girl. I'm not weak."
"Of course you're not. No one said you were." Darkai tugged her a little closer, his arms wrapping around her. "It's okay, Bunny. Bandit had the right intentions."
Bunny relaxed in his hold, but she quickly flushed red and pushed him away. "Wh-What are you saying? Bandit shouldn't trust me after all?" Her embarrassment over being hugged was making her splutter.
Darkai's gaze remained calm, never wavering as he said, "Bandit had a point. He and I are dangerous."
"But I can handle it!" protested Bunny.
"I know you can," he answered quietly. "It's just that some things really do need to be kept away from other people. What if I was a monster, Bunny? Would you trust me then? Perhaps I need to protect you from myself, like Bandit said."
"No, don't! My trust would depend on what kind of monster you are," she said surely, not a hint of shyness in her voice, "I like you for you. What you are doesn't determine who you are. You're Darkai—you're kind and caring."
He smiled a little. "Spoken like a true angel."
Bunny's face heated up as she lost her nerve. "I-It's just how I f-f-feel," she stammered shyly.
"And I thank you for it." Darkai closed his eyes and brushed away strands of dark hair from his face. He reached out and touched her hand again. "We've gotten to know each other pretty well these past few days," he murmured.
Bunny nodded, smiling a little. "I heal you weekly."
He kind of smiled back, his eyes shining in the shadows. "Bunny...I happen to really like you."
She felt her face grow hot. "Huh?"
"You're sweet and beautiful. Like a pure angel."
"Oh, th-thank you, Darkai—but I don't think I—" She trailed off when he lifted his hand, her face still on fire.
"Shhh." Darkai leaned forward, his forehead touching hers. "You don't deserve to be sad. I'm sorry about Bandit; what he did was hurtful and not right, but he had his reasons. I should be staying away from you."
Bunny bit her lip and averted her gaze.
"And yet still...I can't help but want to be by your side—you've really helped me over these past few days. I may be the danger that you should stay away from, Bunny—but I want to be the shield that'll protect you when you can't hold on any longer. I can't stand to see you sad. Keep your head up, my little Bunny." He lifted her chin with his fingers, and she met his deep gaze.
"Darkai...? What are you...?" She trailed off as her breath left her throat.
His eyes shimmered from the little light remaining that streamed in from her window, illuminating his sea-blue gaze. His lips were parted a bit, eyelids lowered just a little, his face inches from her own.
Then he leaned forward even closer, brushing something soft against her cheek.
Christie pushed her long golden hair from her eyes, keeping it lifted with one hand. She was wearing a dress with a golden-yellow top that split into two parts at the skirt. The skirt underneath the top was made of white lace, dotted with yellow dots at the edges. She shook off her yellow high heels, blinking her tired eyes. She'd been to another party with another group of posh, rich associates of Danes', all congratulating her on her "amazing recovery".
She'd forced herself to smile and giggle and laugh and agree with whatever they were saying, but her gaze was always drawn back to Vix. He was lingering in the corner, ignored by most of the adults there, who didn't trust him. He was still shaken up by his nightmares, but he didn't show it. Vix's green gaze was locked the entire time in perpetual boredom, staring at the floor or the wall, arms folded as he slouched against a wall. He was dressed nicely, but it was clear he wasn't in the mood for acting fancy too.
Ross, Michael, Darkai, Sidney, and DJ stood nearby, all chatting and laughing as they talked about random things. They didn't seem to notice Vix's discomfort. Christie had tried to approach him, but he always turned away. And then she got pissed off at him and his attitude despite his earlier showing of weakness before her. But before she could even get close enough to scold or yell at him, people would crowd all around her and cut her off from him. Then they had been called onstage, and after that Danes had to leave. When he came back, everyone seemed to forget that Vix was even there. Later on, Vix disappeared from the party altogether.
She had a couple of choice words to share with him, probably while raising her voice and throwing things at him for abandoning the party she had to suffer through, but the truth was... Christie was still worried about him. She knew he'd gone through a lot of crap, and even though he was acting like he was okay, it was clear he was pretending.
Christie sighed and glanced at the picture frame Blaster had given to her of two Damon photos, one where he was with Danes and Sylvie and Tyrone; the other where he was with the Ruffs and Vix. It made her heart soften. She pushed herself off of the bed, slipping her feet into slippers before padding out of her large, decorated room. She hesitated when she neared the infirmary, so she decided to check Vix's actual room first. Tapping on the large doors, she waited for a reply.
There was a long pause before a "come in" was uttered, and Christie pushed the doors open. Peeking inside, she spotted Vix sitting on his blood-red bed, headphones in his ears as he looked at a photo. His gaze was lazy and sad, eyes lowered with lids half-closed.
"Vix...? Are you feeling okay?" she asked, closing the door shut.
He closed his eyes. "I'm fine."
"Well, I don't think you are," Christie answered, crossing her arms.
"Then why'd you ask?" Vix shot her a clearly agitated look.
"You broke down in front of me this morning, Vix—I'm just concerned!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air.
His eyes widened before smouldering with frustration—frustration that he took out on Christie. "Leave me alone already! Will you stop being so nosy!? So what if that happened? Just forget about it!"
"How can I forget about such a thing, you inconsiderate asshole!?"
"Just do it! You don't care about me and I don't care about you, so let's not start now!" he snapped back.
Christie paused. While his words were true, they still stung. Her cheeks flushed with her anger, and she stomped forward. Raising her palm, she slapped him. Hard.
His face was forced aside by the hit, his hair falling into his face. Vix's eyes were wide.
There was a long pause where Christie was panting hard with anger and Vix sat in stunned silence. Then her anger swirled away, down into the deeper parts of her and Christie sucked in a deep breath when she realized what she'd done. "Shit, Vix... I—"
His wide eyes suddenly darkened. "Just forget about it," he said.
"But I didn't mean—"
He pointed at the door. "Get out of my room," he commanded darkly.
Christie stepped back, feeling her worry, anger, and regret join together in a mess of tangled emotions. "Look, I'm sorry but you were pushing me away—"
"You don't care about me and I don't care about you," Vix repeated, finger still aimed at the door. "Get out."
This time his words stung even more. "I'm sorry, okay!" she yelled loudly, growing exasperated.
Vix shook his head. "I told you I don't care. You slapping me further proves that neither of us worry for the other. I'm restraining my anger right now, so get the fuck out of my room, Christie."
Just then, announcements came on (Danes had installed PA's in every room of the giant mansion to better contact and organize people). "Could Christie come meet Danes in his study immediately? I repeat, Christie needs to meet Danes in his study immediately. It's an emergency."
Vix glanced up at the announcements. "There," he said, "go run to to your precious, forever correct uncle like you always do."
Christie hesitated but she knew she couldn't disobey Uncle Danes. "I'm really sorry," she whispered once again in a desperate tone, before running off.
Vix was left behind with his eyes shadowed and fists clenched.
Meanwhile, Christie rushed away to Danes' study and its large, wooden oak doors. She opened the doors and entered nervously. "Yes, Uncle?"
"...They've finally made their move," he growled.
"What?" Her eyes wide, she blinked hard, unsure if she'd heard him correctly.
"As I said, those vermin have finally made their move." Danes took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. "Follow me."
Christie watched as he went and approached a grandfather clock. The clock's panel required a key. Danes pressed the key into the lock, and pushed the panel open. It revealed a dark and long staircase. "Uncle...?" she whispered.
"Come along now," he said gently.
So she followed him down. As he lighted torches that hung from the wall, she asked, "What did they do?"
"See for yourself." Danes pushed a button and large, steel doors opened up to a cavern. It looked like it was made of many crystals, with bats hanging from the roof of the cave. Computers and tables and artifacts and cars sat inside. Christie and Michael used to joke that this was Danes' Batcave and he was actually the Batman. But right at that moment, it wasn't the time for joking.
Christie stared at the latest addition to the cave. Two long, large tubes with seemingly blue glass stared back at her, the glass almost opaque. "What is that?" she breathed.
"Your parents."
She jumped, looking over at her uncle who'd approached with silent footsteps. Her eyes widened. "What...?"
"I'm sure that you remember how they disappeared quite awhile ago," Danes began, his voice still and calm.
"Yes, but... I thought they were gone. Forever. This isn't forever," Christie managed to reply, her own voice breaking. "Are they...dead?"
Danes shook his head. "I don't think so."
"What do you mean, 'I don't think so'!?" Christie cried.
"I know this is a hard thing for you to comprehend, dear, but listen to me." Danes placed a hand on her shoulder. "Jamel found them in the courtyard when he got back from hunting with Ross. He'd smelled blood and saw them, nearly dead and unconscious. They wouldn't wake up no matter what we did, and they hung between life and death. In our desperation, we have put them in these freezing machines to preserve what little life of them was left."
Christie felt her throat choke up. "And you think they did this?" she whispered.
"I know they did this. The messenger you saw onstage at the party informed me that they had found them outside."
She watched her uncle pace back and forth. "So what now, Uncle?"
"This was an act of battle," Danes replied, stopping in front of her parents. He stared into the glass, staring at the faces of Chris and Maggie. "And well, if it's a war they want..."
Christie waited with baited breath.
"It's a war they'll get."
"Does that mean we're going to do it? We're going to start the fight?" she asked, her heart beating harder.
In front of her, Danes nodded as he uttered, "Yes, my dear."
"Then it's really happening," Christie whispered. Danes nodded again, his next words sending chills down his niece's spine.
"This means war."
*(A/N: Reference to the Powerpunk Girls!)
ME: Woo-hoo! Finally done! Sorry it took me awhile. I wanted to say they cryogenically froze her parents like Mr. Freeze did in Batman: The Animated Series and other popular media, but apparently that's not the actual term when it comes to freezing humans. The actual term is "cryonic-freezing", which is putting humans into ice in hopes of being able to help them in the future. But as of right now, there's no way you can reverse cryonics, and even if there will be in the future, I don't know when that is.
So I didn't know if I wanted to cheat and mention cryonics anyway and say that this world actually can reverse it, or if I wanted to chest further like Batman: TAS did and instead say "cryogenically frozen" because hey, it's fiction, right? But instead of trying to be realistic or fictional, I decided I'd just be rather vague. So take it however you want.
BUTCH: You said last chapter would have fluff, but this chapter has even more fluff.
ME: But a lot of it's not with the Ruffs~
BUTCH: Screw you.
ME: Are you telling me you want the Puffs and Ruffs together? I gave you some fluff with Buttercup, didn't I?
BUTCH: Oh shut up!
BRICK: What I want to know is what the hell happened to me!?
ME: Maybe I killed you for real this time. *shrugs*
BRICK: *narrows eyes* Kuku... *yells* I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU!
ME: *jumps up and starts to run* And ooh look Danes has decided to start the war! I wonder what this'll mean for our heroes!
BRICK: *chases* Get back here!
BUBBLES: *smiles* Leave a review, everyone~!
BLASTER: Or else~