Disclaimer: I can't believe I forgot my favorite part of the whole story-- reminding you that my existence is totally and completely inadequate by telling you I DON'T OWN SUIKODEN. BUT THAT DOESN'T MATTER, DOES IT, BECAUSE I DO OWN A COMPUTER, A KEYBOARD, AND A WORD PROCESSOR SO I'M GOING TO RAPE YOU OUT OF FIFTEEN MINUTES OF YOUR TIME NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO. MUAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Sorry. I lost my Ritalin prescription.

Did I mention how creepy it is how much I sound like Jack in this story? Which is reeeeaaaaaaally funny, because usually I spend my time trying not to sound like Jack. We must be spending too much time together.

I need s p a c e.

~~~

Oh God. My head.

Time to see exactly how bad this hang-over is.

What's your name?

Nash Latkje.

What's your alias?

Nash Clovis.

How old are you?

Er, 30.

No, seriously.

35?

You're sober enough to be ashamed of your age. Good job, now get to work.

Work? I don't like the sound of that.

Do you like eating?

I'd be lying if I said I didn't.

Then get to work.

Damn it. I hate it when I'm right.

Groggily, I lift my head up. It's already past sunrise, seeing how a good amount of sunlight is pouring through the window (the perfect companion for a hang-over, if I do say so myself), and there's some mangy thing on the foot of my bed which I can't quite make out.

Oh my God. It must be that bastard dog that's always peeing on my socks. What's-his-name. Cookie? Kuroko? And what's he doing in my room? I don't know, but likewise, I don't care, because that dog is road kill as of now.

I crouch down slowly, my back arched (but then I remember in the mornings my back always hurts--such is the curse of mortality--and I stop), and get ready to leap. Ready? Three, two, one...

POUNCE!

The dog obviously didn't see it coming, because it's not moving. Even as I bring it to the floor, he doesn't even let out a yelp. I must be getting stronger, because usually they put up some sort of fight, but this is literally as easy as fighting with my scarf.

Wait.

I stop pounding the dog in an embarrassed pause, holding the limp thing in my hands.

It is my scarf.

Ahem. This never happened. In fact, forget I mentioned it.

~~~

I'm right outside of Thomas's office. All I have to do is ask him what job he has for me, then I (sort of) do it, and I get paid. Graciously, if I'm allowed to quote the sign.

I wonder what he'll make me do. Maybe he'll make me a lead in one of Nadir's plays. No, wait. A chief executive officer of Nadir's plays. They get paid tons and hardly do anything.

Read: my kind of work.

I tie my hands in a knot, thinking about how great it'll be. CEO Nash. No. All Mighty Overlord Clovis. Yes, the latter is really fitting for the new me. The new, spy/CEO me. Of course, I can't tell anyone about how Thomas assigned me to be a CEO. They'd all get jealous. Yep, gotta keep it on the down low.

Smiling confidently, I reach for the knob. This is going to be great. I'm going to be a chief executive officer of something spellbindingly exciting.

~~~

'Mop the stairs.' His exact words.

I can't believe this. If there were an iceberg that stood for my dignity, this would be the ship that collided into it.

Well, I guess there's no reason this has to be a bad experience. In fact, this is a down right essential to a castle's well-being. If the stairs weren't cleaned, then people would slip and break their necks. That settles it. When I'm done cleaning the stairs, I'll stand by here until they dry, just in case anyone stumbles down. Should a lady trip, my arms will be there, strong and willing. And what with the new equality of genders nowadays, gentlemen... you lie where you fall.

Yeah, this is a great job, as a matter of fact. They might even construct a statue or two of me, in honor of my selflessness. Not that I'm a narcissist or anything, I'm just saying that a few statues of me might liven the place up.

Though I could do without this apron. It is a little... well, you know. Effeminate.

And this dirt simply is not coming off. If I scrub any harder, I'll wear a hole in the floor, and it's going to come out of my 20 potch an hour.

Oh, let's face it. This job blows. If anyone walks by and sees me doing this, I'll have to kill them, possibly by maiming them with the mop. I can make it look like an accident.

And boy am I tired. It's Sunday morning and only eight o'clock, and everyone knows the only half-way decent place to be before noon on the weekends is in bed. What the hell am I doing here?

...Oh right. Yesterday I went bust.

What have I done to deserve this? Something in a past life, I'm sure...

And before I can elaborate to myself about why God has it out for me, I feel my legs fly out from under my body as my foot it caught on a bar of soap. In a perfectly graceless second, I am flying down the stairs screaming, knocking over the bucket of water and breaking the mop, one by one, until I finally reach the bottom of the steps and land flat on my butt.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

"Too bad that didn't kill me," I mumble with a bitter smile as the water pours down the stairs into a giant puddle, soaking through my scuffed brown boots and now-ripped pants. Magnificent.

I fall down on my back, sighing. This is bad. This is bad. Not to mention unfair, painful, and outright ridiculous. I close my eyes for a second. Maybe if I just fall asleep, somebody will drag me back to my room and put me in bed, where I belong.

I open them, and am shocked to see someone looming over me with a perplexed look.

"Chris--" I jerk, trying to keep my voice steady. "Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday."

I give her a knowing smirk. "And you assumed I wouldn't be sleeping?"

She smiles. "When I heard a girl screaming, I knew you wouldn't be far behind."

A girl screaming? There was no girl screaming--

Wait a minute. When I screamed--did I sound like a girl? She thought I was a girl? Yep, that's it. Someone has it out for me.

I stand up, looking down at her with a wink. There's no way I'm letting her one-up me. "Chris made a joke. That's something we'll have to tell our kids one day."

Her smile vanishes as a blush sets into her cheeks. "Our kids?"

"Yeah." I glance at the grandfather clock behind me, then face her again. "And time is ticking--we better get started right now."

"I can't believe I was about to apologize to you!" She throws her hands up, shaking her head.

"You don't have to apologize. There are other ways."

"I know I'll only regret asking, but what do you mean?"

"Well, my mother used to kiss my scrapes and bruises to make them better." I point to a space right between my cheek and corner of my lip. "I believe you thwacked me right here."

"Don't be absurd."

"I'm not. I'm just a poor victim who wants to see better days."

"I slapped you, I didn't stab you!"

"You didn't? The pain was so blinding, I couldn't tell."

"This is why I get angry! You contradict everything I say!"

"I do not."

"Nash!" She looks like she's getting pretty angry. "You weren't completely innocent in the whole thing, either, so don't act as if you were. I simply was taking the higher moral ground and apologizing first."

"Apologies aren't exactly your strongest suit, huh."

She rubs her temples, shrugging. "Why do I even bother? In any case, I'm sorry for yesterday." She extends her hand to me.

I pause for a moment, as if I'm deciding, and then accept it. "Well, it's impossible to hold a grudge against someone who admits their wrongs."

And just now, I actually feel a splash of embarrassment.

I am shaking hands with Chris Lightfellow...

...And I am wearing an apron.

She pulls away. "I wouldn't get used to it if I were you. Well--" she looks at the puddle of murky water with a cocked brow, but otherwise says nothing. Praise the lord. "--I have my rounds to make."

"It was a pleasure talking to you." To be perfectly honest, I want to be left alone while I wonder what the hell I'm going to do. Hypothetically, I could mop the entire mess up. But of course, I broke the mop. It's fucking incredible, my life.

As she walks away, I tell myself to keep my morale awake. This mess isn't going to clean itself up. If it did, then I'd be out of work now, wouldn't I? For a smart guy, I can be really dumb.

~~~

Oh God, this is awful. It simply will not stop coming down. I tried to soak it up with my scarf, but while I did that, the puddle's size seemed to double. How much water could have possibly been in that damned pail?

On top of that, I'm soaked through and through. Why doesn't somebody with pneumonia just cough on me now and be done with it? At least I'd have an excuse for going back to my room.

Clunk clunk clunk. "*Gasp*". "Keep walking you dolt."

What?

Oh super. Someone's coming to laugh at me. You might want to turn away while this is still G-rated--I'm not making any promises here. If they laugh, I kill. It's just that simple.

"Hi Mr. Nash!"

I turn slowly, stalling for time. Because turning around slowly is going to make all the bloody difference in this situation.

Bloody... oh God. Those stupid Zexens are rubbing off on me.

Not that I hate the Zexens. I'm not a prejudice person. I hate everyone equally.

"No, you moron. This way. This way."

I sigh as I recognize the two people.

On the bright side, it's Viki.

On the dark side, she's with Little Viki.

Honestly, what is the point of even trying?

Viki is straying from the Almighty Little Viki (who has taken it upon herself to teach Viki Senior how to be less like... Viki Senior), and is walking over to me with a big smile and quick, pert little steps. It's not like I can run away, either--Viki would probably think we were playing tag and hit me over the head with her staff. It's happened before; three months and a concussion later, I'm still on the mend.

Before I can say a word, Viki jumps on my back, throws her feet out while grabbing at my nose with her hand and starts giggling. "Got your nose!"

Little Viki glares at her coldly. "That's your thumb, imbecile."

I shrug her off my shoulders. I would yell or something if I could be bothered. But I can't, so I don't.

"It is not!" Viki protests, staring at my 'nose' wedged between her middle and index finger. "It's his nose--oh. It is a thumb." She starts looking at it in fascination. "So, I got his thumb. Got your thumb, Nash!"

"It's not his thumb."

"Then who's is it?"

"Yours."

She wiggles her thumb around, grinning at Little Viki good-naturedly. That's a nice thing about Viki--she's sweet and non-threatening, even if a little on the mentally challenged side. "You're so smart. What would I do without you?"

"Don't patronize me."

"Wha?"

"Patronize. Pat-ron-ize. Oh yes. That's three syllables. A bit too advanced for you."

I wonder if I should say something.

"Sooooooooo, where are we going?"

"We were going upstairs," Little Viki looks quizzically at the soaking wet stairs and raises her eyebrow, "but I guess Nash's genius cleaning skills has made that idea useless."

I frown at Little Miss Know It All. "How do you know I spilt it?"

She begins ticking the reasons off on her fingers. "One, because you're the only one here. Two, because you're a moron. Three, four, and five--because you're wearing an apron and even I know you're not that retarded to wear one unless you were cleaning, because I said so, and because I am always right."

"Well, I hate being the bearer of bad news, but you're wrong."

"Am I?"

I am just about to deny mopping the stairs when I see her staring at me with slanted eyes and a tight, impish smile. She knows that I know that she's right.

God, I hate that kid. She has a way of making you feel two inches tall.

"Well, in any case," she sniffs, looking pleased with herself, "I'm not getting my shoes wet with that water. So, Nash, be a doll and clean it up."

"You're not the boss of me."

"Chop, chop, maid."

"Listen, you--"

"Hurry up or I'll tell that blond knight about your alternative lifestyle." She points at the apron. "It suits you, but not everyone's as open-minded as I am about cross-dressing."

You've got to be kidding me.

"When I was your age, I respected my elders."

"When you were my age, we were still looking for the wheel."

See, I told you someone was going to die. Just give me a second here--

Nash, she is only a child.

I thought you were leaving.

Oh--er, well, I am. But before I do, I want to offer you a last bit of information.

It better have something to do with Little Viki having a replacement for her star, or else I'm not interested.

You know what, screw you. Kill the kid. I don't care anymore.

What? You were going to let me kill Little Viki? What kind of a conscience are you?

You're so thick.

Whaddya mean?

It's called reverse psychology. You're a disgrace to your gender--whichever one it might be.

Shut up. What, you've never seen a guy in an apron before?

I have. Augustine happens to own a lovely one...

That's it. It's time to drown you out with bad thoughts.

What? No Nash--don't.

Burning villages, dying puppies--

I'm not kidding. Stop it.

Kids not eating vegetables.

...I can see you're digging deep here.

Old ladies. Stabbity-stab-stab.

You're a horrible person.

Sierra!

I'm out of here. Good luck fucking up your life by yourself.

Ho-ho-ho. I'm good.

"Ooh, I have an idea!" Viki crows. "Why don't I just... teleport the water somewhere else!?"

"Don't think too hard, you'll get over-stimulated."

Viki shrugs and turns away from us both, her eyes searching around the room for something that has caught her interest.

"No, wait!" I shriek, clasping her shoulders and turning her around. "What did you say about teleporting?"

Viki looks at both of my hands and giggles, peeking at Little Viki. "I think he likes me."

"No! I mean--yeah, you're really nice and all--but your idea just now. You can just... move this all away?"

She twists a thick, jet-black lock of hair around her fingers with a sugary smile. "Uhhhhh-huhhhh."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" I let her go. This is great. Someone must be looking out for me. Like a guardian angel or something.

That's actually kind of creepy. Every step I take, my guardian angel's watching me. When I wake up, when I buy my coffee... when I get dressed. And I can't even file a restraining order.

But whatever. This is great.

She points her scepter outward, bowing her head as a veil of straight hair falls in her face. "Where do you want me to teleport it?"

I'm about to reply, 'Anywhere is fine' out of sheer desperadoes when I remember there's no rush. I should have some fun and use my what's-it--imagination.

I lean forward and whisper in her ear.

She nods a few times. "Ummmmm, okay!"

This is a beautiful moment for me.

~~~

I just checked out of work--I'll get paid tomorrow, after they tally up how much I've earned (they said the stairs were spotless, but they'd have to dock me a bit for the broken supplies). In short, I couldn't be happier. I'm going to go to my room, take a shower, eat dinner, and then go to bed. I could get used to this, honestly. Working from eight to three and taking the rest of the day off. The pay is decent, too. Yep, I honestly can say I could get used to this.

As I pass by Borus's room, I hear the clanking of armor and the twisting of door knobs as he stomps out into the hall.

He's right behind me, but I don't turn around. "Gash, or whatever the hell your name is--"

"It's Nash. Practice it in front of the mirror. It helped you remember your name, right?"

Borus steps in front of me. He's soaked to the bone--his hair is plastered to his head, and his armor is dripping murky water.

He folds his arms over his chest, tapping his foot on the ground. "Well, aren't you going to say anything?"

"I would, but it's too easy."

"A few seconds ago, water just poured into my room from nowhere." He looks at me expectantly.

"Oh. That's nice."

His face turns crimson. "I think you had something to do with it!"

I smirk at him ironically. "I can't get a thing past you, Borus! I thought being on the other side of the castle would cover my tracks for sure."

He glares at my sarcasm, going face-to-face with me. "I'm watching you, Clovis."

I continue smiling at him pleasantly as he backs away. God, it's hard not to laugh. especially since he's completely right, but knows that the idea that I'd go out of my way to make him angry is far-fetched. If my conscience taught me anything, it's that reverse psychology is a handy tool.

Speaking of tools, Borus is patting his armor dry a few feet away from me with his hand. Obviously not one of his better thought out plans, though, since his gloves are wetter than his armor. These knights know nothing about cleaning.

As I push past him, I give him a spiteful nod. "You might want to consider taking the armor off before you rust."

Damn. I'm good.