Heh…sorry for the rather long wait…my computer got all screwy. Anyways, here it is! Chapter Two! Woo hoo.
"You know, it wouldn't have been so bad if they kept their memory. At least they would remember us."
George rolled his eyes over to Numair, who had spoken, and then rolled them back toward Dom, who was being whacked with a fork by four-year-old Keladry. His own so-called wife Alanna was running around screaming at the top of her lungs and poking unsuspecting people in the ass with her wooden practice sword. And while Kel had whacking issues and Alanna had screaming issues, it seemed Daine had some kind of weird anger issue. Numerous times she would burst into tears and wouldn't stop crying until she got what she wanted. Then she would sit there and hiccup, glaring at everybody from beneath her wild hair.
Alanna ran passed George, long thick red curls flying everywhere like bizarre flames, and poked him in his sore butt.
"Dammit, child, come back here," he roared, bolting out of his seat. She threw her sword at him; it hit him in his noggin. "Alright, you little snot, that's it!"
King Jonathan of Conte watched him chance the little purple-eyed menace around the mess hall. Queen Thayet groaned when she heard Daine begin to scream. Numair stumbled over to her and picked her up by her collar.
"What do you want?" he screamed. "What do you need??"
Her response was to wail louder. To everyone's surprise Numair burst into tears too and fell into a fetal position. Kel—to Dom's immense relief—stopped whacking him with the fork and waddled over to the sobbing man. She stuck the fork in his buttocks.
"EEK!" Numair shrieked, startling Daine enough to halt her loud, pointless tears.
The people in the mess hall observed this action with disbelieving faces. They were all friends of the Lioness, the Wildmage, and the Protector of the Small, friends who wanted them back to normal. Jonathan had called for all who mattered to come and help him think up a plan. Obviously Numair had too much to handle at the moment and therefore was not reliable.
Alanna looked the same: short, stocky, redheaded, violently violet-eyed, and intimidating. Even at four. Curly-haired Daine was still herself basically, though her blue-gray eyes weren't grave (in truth they were downright menacing). Kel, though—she had blond hair, slightly curly, with huge eyes that were more green than brown and a height small enough to rival Alanna. Nealan of Queenscove refused to acknowledge the fact that his tall, mousy-haired friend had shrunk to a thin, blond, and—there truly was no other way to describe her personality—preppy child.
"That is not Kel," he insisted. "It just can't be."
"I can't wait to lord this over her," Cleon of Kennan crowed gleefully. "My gods—Kel was one bratty little child! Why, my sister is—what the heck do you think you're going to do with th—HOLY SH—"
"Hush, Kennan," Buriram Tourakom hissed sternly. She gestured angrily at the three terrors. "They're children!"
"Yeah," Alanna snapped. "We're just children. We're nothing more than—"
Silence.
"Well," George managed weakly. "She hasn't changed much."
"No, she hasn't. Gods damn it all, give me that stupid fork!"
Dom grabbed the fork away from this miniature snob and whacked her own butt with it. She glared at him with all the attitude she had managed to gather in her young…old…whatever…life.
"Excuse me?" she said arrogantly. "You shouldn't be rude to a lady. It's not nice."
A lady. Kel. Lady Kel. Riiight.
"Yeah, well, I'm not a nice person."
"Obviously not," she huffed and, with her nose stuck way up there in the clouds somewhere, stomped off.
"Is it just me or do we have on seriously big problem on our hands?" Jonathan muttered after being hit with a spoon.
"Oh," Kel said, crossing her arms after being hit with an apple, "no you didn't. I know you did not just hit me with an apple!"
"So what if I did?" Alanna sneered, putting her hands on her hips. "You gonna do something about it, you meanie?"
"Yeah, I guess I will."
"Bring it on, snot-face."
"Alright, carrot-head, that's it!"
As the hotheaded redhead and the surprisingly stuck-up blond started whacking each other with everything they could find—forks, spoons, plates, broccoli, you name it—George quietly hit his head on the table and purposefully fainted. Dom stared at them and shook his head. When the horrible image did not disappear he shook it again. This happened plenty of times but for some reason the image refused to go away. Numair curled up into a ball, wide-eyed, thumb stuck in his mouth.
Daine threw herself on the groaned, kicked her legs and beat her fists on the floor.
~*~*~*~*~
Sorry this chapter is so short but I want to post another one and I don't feel like saving it and finishing it later and it's one in the morning and I am tired and so…blah. You get the whole screwy picture.
