A/N: Wackier than the last? I think so!
A/N: Appearances from my nearest and dearest, and more random references than you can shake a stick at!
*
And The Dead Unite
*
"This is a stupid story!" Prue spits as she scuffs her foot off the side of a passing rock, which, hurt by her offensive gesture, begins to cry and rolls away. "Only a stupid person would write such a thing and only equally stupid people would read it, much less enjoy it!"
She's been ranting like this for a good half hour. Mostly, everybody who can hear her has tuned out, including myself and Cole. However, as the [stupid] author of this story, I do know that very soon the tale will progress, and thought this might be a good place to reassume the actual telling of the story, as you've missed rather a lot.
A lot being, a lot of words, and shouting.
Cole sighs brashly, clearly getting tired of Prue's continual heated comments on my intelligence. "Prue, do you wanna know why this story is getting written? Why we're here, together, and why that rock rolled away when you kicked it?"
"Well it rolled away because it was hurt, dumbass," Prue retaliates, then pauses. "Can rocks do that?"
The rock in question happened to overhear Prue's wondering and answered: "Conventionally, no."
Slightly taken aback, Prue enjoys an abrupt, cut-off silence before adding her thoughts on this revelation: "Oh," she says, "of course." Dismissing the rock as if it were no more common than a falcon on fanfiction, Prue turns to Cole. "You were saying? About finding out the point of this... story?" When she said 'story', she used air quotes. Bitch.
Before Cole can answer, a small, vicious-looking bird flaps in and perches on Prue's shoulder. "I have a complaint," it squaks. "If you could refer to me as THE Falcon? I'd appreciate it all the more." With that, the small bird flies straight into the fire for a premature death.
"Oh but it's so close to her birthday," Prue says in a mournful voice. "I was gonna get her a camera."
"I was gonna give her a hunk o' demon love," Cole mutters, then quails under Prue's glare. "Anyways. I say we go to the Source."
Prue's nose wrinkles. She quickly rubs her fingers across it a few times to straighten it out before it gets so bad she'll have to use an iron. Again. "I don't wanna go see him," she whines, "he'll try to obliterate me like he did when he was alive and all that jazz."
Putting down the bottle of beer he wasn't previously drinking, Cole sniffs and reaches into the fridge that wasn't previously there and pulls out two more, handing one to Prue, once he's done the chivalrous thing and opened it for her. He takes a swig of his own before realising he had been intending to say something. "Oh, I don't mean that Source," he quickly interjects between beer-swilling, "I mean, The Source... of this story."
"You don't mean-"
"I do."
Once she's opened her bottle, slightly disgruntled that Cole didn't have the politeness in him to do it for her, Prue gives a full body shudder. Can Cole really mean they should visit the author of the story, they should actually seek out and destroy- Prue means, find - KT?
A comforting chill sweeps through the underground room they're in, the flickering fire crackling warmly as the air hits the flame, and it spits out a piece of bone, feather melted onto the gleaming white fragment. The Falcon (rest her soul) really should be more careful when playing with fire.
Prue sniffs to herself and-
"Well who do you think I was sniffing to? Invincible121?"
Crikey, Prue, bad mood much?
"What can I say? I'm a reflection on the page."
"Will you two shut up?" Cole glares first at his charming companion, then up at the roof of the cave. "You're giving me a headache."
Prue stops short, confused. "You mean... you can hear her?"
Rolling his eyes, Cole sighs once more and nods, not really bothering to expand. So I will for him. As Cole is [unfortunately?] also a main character of this story, and at some point we will be focussing on him only, he can also somehow connect with, understand and, seemingly, hear the narrative. Don't look at me, I didn't decide this... or did I?
There is a creaking noise as suddenly the walls of the cave begin to spin around them. In fear Prue leaps into the air just when the floor also begins to move, and somehow Cole negotiates his way so that when she lands, it is in his arms, presumably so he can make some innuendo comment.
"I did not!" he yells angrily at the roof, thoroughly displeased that now anything he says to Prue will sound like a pathetic come-on. Which it most likely will be.
Gently Cole places Prue back on her own feet, but has to catch her again before she falls over since the room is spinning around them so fast. "What the paige is going on?" Prue screams, her voice barely carrying through the wind which doesn't really exist, but they still sense it from the friction of their bodies moving through the air at such speed. "We're in a cave! Those don't move!"
Trying desperately to contain the nausea inside him, Cole swallows noisily and clings onto Prue, careful not to touch any of her 'womanly' areas for fear I will ridicule him, and closes his eyes, hoping the dizziness will stop. "I don't know," he yells over the whipping sound of air buffeting against him. "But I think we're in a spinning top!"
"A what?"
"A spinning top! You know, those things that kids play with, they flick them and they spin across the floor-"
Somewhere in Jamaica, maybe in Brazil, on top of a little mountain, beside a grassy hill, a little boy is indeed playing with a spinning top. With a jerk of his hand, he sets it reeling across the stone slab he is using as a small arena, and his competitor also throws her own top into the game.
Prue and Cole cry in horror as they feel the two toys crash into one another, colliding with such force that the two companions are thrown onto the ground and slung against the stone walls sharply. "What's gonna happen?" Prue screeches, tears stinging her eyes from the pain with which she'd hit the wall. "When will it stop?"
Cole does not answer. He is unconscious, having smacked his head against a particularly jutting ledge.
Outside, the players yelp and whoop in joy as the two spinning tops crash and thud into each other, until eventually the one containing Prue and Cole runs over a small rut in the cement slab, hops out of it, skids several inches across the stone and trips over a miniscule pebble which first causes one end to smack against the ground, and then the whole top to lurch into the air and fly right off the slab, landing softly in the grass.
"You lose, Jazmin," sneers Tyson. "I'm gonna be a beyblade master mathingy!"
Grabbing his bey... thing, Tyson snickers and runs off into the distance, shortly before falling off a cliff to his death.
Jazmin sighs and picks up her cracked spinning top, much to the terror of Prue who was currently scrambling over to revive Cole before her world was, once more, shaken up by movement. Grimacing while staring at her toy, Jazmin places it back on the ground and stands up. "Bugs in hell," she breathes, and looks in the direction Tyson ran. "That kid takes this whole thing way too seriously."
She walks away.
Inside the spinning top, Prue sees light pour in from the gaping wide crack in the plastic rock and seizes her chance of escape. "Let's go, bentos!" she yells at Cole, but he's still out cold. Growling in distemperment, she attempts to use her telekinesis to levitate him outside and gives a grunt of appeasement when it works. A woo. And hoo.
Suddenly Prue halts in her tracks and looks around her. "Are you being sarcastic?" she demands.
Well... yes.
"Oh."
Get on with it, Prudence.
Deciding to ignore me, Prue swishes her hands and sasheys out of the beyblade after Cole, careful to whack his head off the stone walls several times before he's home free. Each smack is met with an unconscious grunt as the air is battered out of his body, and Prue smirks to herself happily before hopping out into the grass and revelling in the warmth of the depleting summer sun on her skin.
"Thank my astral self I'm not Paige," she murmurs to herself, reflecting on how Paige would turn into a pile of dust at the first hint of contact with the sun. Shaking out her hair, Prue realises just how tall the grass is in comparison with her, and frowns. "Uh," she starts, but the idea hasn't quite formed in her head enough for her to speak aloud.
So I decide to give her a hint:
Prue. You're two inches tall.
As her face relaxes now that her suspicions have been confirmed, Prue sighs and breathes an "oh". Then, quickly as she stopped, she starts again. "What?" she yelps, leaping into the air and thrashing at a particularly slender blade of grass, images of 'Honey I Shrunk The Kids' attacking her in a barrage of killer bees and sloppy, slobbering dogs. "What do you mean we're two inches tall? In fact, don't answer that. You'll just say something sarcastic and bitchy and I'll be forced to kill you with my thumb." She holds up her miniscule, size-of-a-needle-point thumb and gesticulates with it threateningly.
Cole takes this as his cue and wakes up. "Where am I?" he moans groggily, sounding like a New Yorker on summer vacation at 10AM when her Scotlum friend has decided to call and wake her up. He rolls over with a groan and looks down at himself, suddenly realising there's a rather revealing tear in his black pants. With a yelp he whips onto his stomach and glances up at Prue to check she wasn't looking.
She was.
Smirking, Prue decided to take her frustrations out on the demon.
Minutes later, Cole is wandering around with nothing but a grass skirt on. He looks rather dashing, if one might comment.
"You can't."
Oh hoh. Mister Snappy!
A/N: Appearances from my nearest and dearest, and more random references than you can shake a stick at!
*
And The Dead Unite
*
"This is a stupid story!" Prue spits as she scuffs her foot off the side of a passing rock, which, hurt by her offensive gesture, begins to cry and rolls away. "Only a stupid person would write such a thing and only equally stupid people would read it, much less enjoy it!"
She's been ranting like this for a good half hour. Mostly, everybody who can hear her has tuned out, including myself and Cole. However, as the [stupid] author of this story, I do know that very soon the tale will progress, and thought this might be a good place to reassume the actual telling of the story, as you've missed rather a lot.
A lot being, a lot of words, and shouting.
Cole sighs brashly, clearly getting tired of Prue's continual heated comments on my intelligence. "Prue, do you wanna know why this story is getting written? Why we're here, together, and why that rock rolled away when you kicked it?"
"Well it rolled away because it was hurt, dumbass," Prue retaliates, then pauses. "Can rocks do that?"
The rock in question happened to overhear Prue's wondering and answered: "Conventionally, no."
Slightly taken aback, Prue enjoys an abrupt, cut-off silence before adding her thoughts on this revelation: "Oh," she says, "of course." Dismissing the rock as if it were no more common than a falcon on fanfiction, Prue turns to Cole. "You were saying? About finding out the point of this... story?" When she said 'story', she used air quotes. Bitch.
Before Cole can answer, a small, vicious-looking bird flaps in and perches on Prue's shoulder. "I have a complaint," it squaks. "If you could refer to me as THE Falcon? I'd appreciate it all the more." With that, the small bird flies straight into the fire for a premature death.
"Oh but it's so close to her birthday," Prue says in a mournful voice. "I was gonna get her a camera."
"I was gonna give her a hunk o' demon love," Cole mutters, then quails under Prue's glare. "Anyways. I say we go to the Source."
Prue's nose wrinkles. She quickly rubs her fingers across it a few times to straighten it out before it gets so bad she'll have to use an iron. Again. "I don't wanna go see him," she whines, "he'll try to obliterate me like he did when he was alive and all that jazz."
Putting down the bottle of beer he wasn't previously drinking, Cole sniffs and reaches into the fridge that wasn't previously there and pulls out two more, handing one to Prue, once he's done the chivalrous thing and opened it for her. He takes a swig of his own before realising he had been intending to say something. "Oh, I don't mean that Source," he quickly interjects between beer-swilling, "I mean, The Source... of this story."
"You don't mean-"
"I do."
Once she's opened her bottle, slightly disgruntled that Cole didn't have the politeness in him to do it for her, Prue gives a full body shudder. Can Cole really mean they should visit the author of the story, they should actually seek out and destroy- Prue means, find - KT?
A comforting chill sweeps through the underground room they're in, the flickering fire crackling warmly as the air hits the flame, and it spits out a piece of bone, feather melted onto the gleaming white fragment. The Falcon (rest her soul) really should be more careful when playing with fire.
Prue sniffs to herself and-
"Well who do you think I was sniffing to? Invincible121?"
Crikey, Prue, bad mood much?
"What can I say? I'm a reflection on the page."
"Will you two shut up?" Cole glares first at his charming companion, then up at the roof of the cave. "You're giving me a headache."
Prue stops short, confused. "You mean... you can hear her?"
Rolling his eyes, Cole sighs once more and nods, not really bothering to expand. So I will for him. As Cole is [unfortunately?] also a main character of this story, and at some point we will be focussing on him only, he can also somehow connect with, understand and, seemingly, hear the narrative. Don't look at me, I didn't decide this... or did I?
There is a creaking noise as suddenly the walls of the cave begin to spin around them. In fear Prue leaps into the air just when the floor also begins to move, and somehow Cole negotiates his way so that when she lands, it is in his arms, presumably so he can make some innuendo comment.
"I did not!" he yells angrily at the roof, thoroughly displeased that now anything he says to Prue will sound like a pathetic come-on. Which it most likely will be.
Gently Cole places Prue back on her own feet, but has to catch her again before she falls over since the room is spinning around them so fast. "What the paige is going on?" Prue screams, her voice barely carrying through the wind which doesn't really exist, but they still sense it from the friction of their bodies moving through the air at such speed. "We're in a cave! Those don't move!"
Trying desperately to contain the nausea inside him, Cole swallows noisily and clings onto Prue, careful not to touch any of her 'womanly' areas for fear I will ridicule him, and closes his eyes, hoping the dizziness will stop. "I don't know," he yells over the whipping sound of air buffeting against him. "But I think we're in a spinning top!"
"A what?"
"A spinning top! You know, those things that kids play with, they flick them and they spin across the floor-"
Somewhere in Jamaica, maybe in Brazil, on top of a little mountain, beside a grassy hill, a little boy is indeed playing with a spinning top. With a jerk of his hand, he sets it reeling across the stone slab he is using as a small arena, and his competitor also throws her own top into the game.
Prue and Cole cry in horror as they feel the two toys crash into one another, colliding with such force that the two companions are thrown onto the ground and slung against the stone walls sharply. "What's gonna happen?" Prue screeches, tears stinging her eyes from the pain with which she'd hit the wall. "When will it stop?"
Cole does not answer. He is unconscious, having smacked his head against a particularly jutting ledge.
Outside, the players yelp and whoop in joy as the two spinning tops crash and thud into each other, until eventually the one containing Prue and Cole runs over a small rut in the cement slab, hops out of it, skids several inches across the stone and trips over a miniscule pebble which first causes one end to smack against the ground, and then the whole top to lurch into the air and fly right off the slab, landing softly in the grass.
"You lose, Jazmin," sneers Tyson. "I'm gonna be a beyblade master mathingy!"
Grabbing his bey... thing, Tyson snickers and runs off into the distance, shortly before falling off a cliff to his death.
Jazmin sighs and picks up her cracked spinning top, much to the terror of Prue who was currently scrambling over to revive Cole before her world was, once more, shaken up by movement. Grimacing while staring at her toy, Jazmin places it back on the ground and stands up. "Bugs in hell," she breathes, and looks in the direction Tyson ran. "That kid takes this whole thing way too seriously."
She walks away.
Inside the spinning top, Prue sees light pour in from the gaping wide crack in the plastic rock and seizes her chance of escape. "Let's go, bentos!" she yells at Cole, but he's still out cold. Growling in distemperment, she attempts to use her telekinesis to levitate him outside and gives a grunt of appeasement when it works. A woo. And hoo.
Suddenly Prue halts in her tracks and looks around her. "Are you being sarcastic?" she demands.
Well... yes.
"Oh."
Get on with it, Prudence.
Deciding to ignore me, Prue swishes her hands and sasheys out of the beyblade after Cole, careful to whack his head off the stone walls several times before he's home free. Each smack is met with an unconscious grunt as the air is battered out of his body, and Prue smirks to herself happily before hopping out into the grass and revelling in the warmth of the depleting summer sun on her skin.
"Thank my astral self I'm not Paige," she murmurs to herself, reflecting on how Paige would turn into a pile of dust at the first hint of contact with the sun. Shaking out her hair, Prue realises just how tall the grass is in comparison with her, and frowns. "Uh," she starts, but the idea hasn't quite formed in her head enough for her to speak aloud.
So I decide to give her a hint:
Prue. You're two inches tall.
As her face relaxes now that her suspicions have been confirmed, Prue sighs and breathes an "oh". Then, quickly as she stopped, she starts again. "What?" she yelps, leaping into the air and thrashing at a particularly slender blade of grass, images of 'Honey I Shrunk The Kids' attacking her in a barrage of killer bees and sloppy, slobbering dogs. "What do you mean we're two inches tall? In fact, don't answer that. You'll just say something sarcastic and bitchy and I'll be forced to kill you with my thumb." She holds up her miniscule, size-of-a-needle-point thumb and gesticulates with it threateningly.
Cole takes this as his cue and wakes up. "Where am I?" he moans groggily, sounding like a New Yorker on summer vacation at 10AM when her Scotlum friend has decided to call and wake her up. He rolls over with a groan and looks down at himself, suddenly realising there's a rather revealing tear in his black pants. With a yelp he whips onto his stomach and glances up at Prue to check she wasn't looking.
She was.
Smirking, Prue decided to take her frustrations out on the demon.
Minutes later, Cole is wandering around with nothing but a grass skirt on. He looks rather dashing, if one might comment.
"You can't."
Oh hoh. Mister Snappy!