Bored Blooregard Chapter the fourth A "Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends" fanfiction Written by Cartoonsey DeJubbyjub
Answers to Reviews:
Sabertooth Kitty: Thank you, I'm glad you think it's cute. Yes, you would be very correct about the pairings.
Miss Understood Genius: Thank you! I'm glad it makes more sense to you now.
Mangolious Kiwi: I try to get the right balance of details and dialogue, but it can be very tricky... Thanks!
Barry I. Grauman: It's good to know that somebody out there knows what the heck the characters are supposed to do, because I honestly am just guessing at this... And your welcome! -
I'm sorry if I've missed anybody; I answer the reviews I see at the moment, but sometimes more come in... Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!
"..." means speech
'...' means thoughts
/.../ means telepathy
Toast streched and yawned, her square/diamond-shaped hands reaching towards the almost unseen ceiling. She had finally finished her book and was feeling ready to go and find her fascinating visitor from earlier. Although she would never tell Icy for fear of making history repeat itself, the small, brown and tan, imaginary friend thought that Bloo's feelings for his creator were familiar. Like her own feelings for her late creator while she had still been alive familiar.
"Does that make him a trouble maker?" Toast wondered aloud. A grin erupted over her face as she added, "Cause if it doesssssss, I have a new riiiiiival!"
Although she gave most people the impression that she was innocent and a perfect angel to boot, Toast could quite quickly prove her love for causing chaos within a matter of milliseconds. Unless you made or enforced the rules that is. Mr. Herriman would never know that sweet, little Miss Toast was actually the biggest trouble maker in the history of Foster's, minus Bloo. Yes, Toast had caused quite the amount of mischief once. Well, when she could get away from Icy.
"Toast, who was our visitor?"
'Speak of the devil,' was the thought that ran through the small, imaginary friend's mind. To the owner of the voice she thought, /His name is Bloo. And he's still got his kid./
"...Hmmm, most intriguing," mummured the shadow just within Toast's sight of the hallway. The voice turned sharp as the shadow added, "You're not thinking of starting another 'war' are you, Toast? The last was enough! You need to start behaving like-"
"Ah, go get stuffed, ya old bat," the trouble maker grinned. Toast's words sounded like sugar as she added, "I would never ever dream of breaking a rule, honorable big sister. How could you possibly think so lowly of me?"
"Your sarcasm is amusing but most certainly unnecesary," was the reply as the shadow stepped into the gentle yellow hues escaping Toast's room.
The shadow was revealed to be a most curious looking, feline creature. She was nearly eight feet tall and seemed to be made of different blues, the dominant one being navy. Her hair style made her look far more like a medival jester than a cat, however, and the lack of whiskers and huge ears seemed to emphasize the idea of this being a highly fun, and funny, imaginary friend to hang around. If someone were to approach Icy DeJubbyjub with that mindset, though, he or she was likely to find himself or herself with nightmares and a few less appendages. Icy was violent in the extreme when angered, upset, offened, or simply felt that you had done something bad. Her previous boyfriend could tell you all about-
Toast yelped as pain shot through her head. She rubbed the wounded area and looked up to see Icy glaring down at her.
"You're permitting your mind to wander, Toast-chan," the taller of the two calmly explained. "And you haven't answered my question."
"What question?" was the muttered inquiry.
"I asked whether you have gotten it into your mind to go wandering out of the hallway, and, if so, if I might join you," Icy patiently repeated. A rare smile graced her normally stone-like face as she added, "Sixteen years have gone by since last I visited the main area of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, and I don't need to tell you that I miss it."
An evil smirk found its way onto Toast's face. She knew that "it" was actually someone. A very tall, red someone. The mischivious creation also knew that she had just been given the perfect oppurtunity to wreck havoc once more as well as play Cupid. Icy's eyes said quite clearly to the smaller of the two that Icy knew what the other knew.
And Toast knew she was happy about it.
--- One Minute, Three Detours, and a Dead End Later ---
"Tell me, dearest little Toast," growled Icy, "where we are again."
"I told you already," was the reply. "I know exactly where we are but I have no idea where the rest of the house is."
The two were, in short, hopelessly lost. It appeared that sixteen years was more than long enough to completely annihilate Toast's ability to navigate the old, Victorian mansion. Then again, Toast had never been capable of not getting lost in the Home, and Icy found herself wondering why in the world she had agreed to allow the smaller to lead them anywhere.
/It's by pure luck alone that we haven't gotten stuck up on the roof,/ was the annoyed thought that passed through her mind and into her sister's. /And if we do end up there, I will hurt you, Toast DeJubbyjub./
"IT'S NOT MY FAULT YOU'RE TOO DUMB TO FIGURE OUT WHERE WE ARE!!" Toast suddenly screamed in frustration.
Icy's eyes flashed a beautiful scarlet-like red as she unsheathed a lovely set of nightmarishly sharp claws.
Toast's pupils became mere specks, and her ears flattened against her head.
Silence reigned over the unused hallway for all of two blessedly peaceful seconds as a small bird cheerfully twitered just outside the nearest window.
Down in the game room, Wilt and the others curiously, and a bit uneasily, turned their faces to the ceiling as what sounded like a faint explosion, and the protest of something large and solid (like, say, a door, for example) as it was twisted into something else, sounded. A shiver went through the basketball loving, imaginary friend. He mostly didn't want to think about what the sounds undoubtedly were signaling...
Bloo, on the other hand, was beyond curiousity. He very probably would've immediately run off to investigate the noises had Mac not quickly intervened and had not a small, slightly ruffled bird disgustedly flown through the window and out the door of the room.
"Uh, so what happened after you opened the door?" the boy asked, genuinely curious about the events of earlier that morning that Bloo had been insisting had occured. Given the place, Mac couldn't honestly say that they weren't possible.
Bloo's eyes shot back to his creator, "Huh? Oh, yeah! Well, there was the weird looking girl..."
...A groan filled the hallway as Toast awoke to find herself dizzy and hurting in several places. She should've known better than to have done that, but sometimes the small, imaginary friend just couldn't keep her mouth shut. Considering the trouble it had gotten her into the past thirty years, anyone would think that she really should have known better.
"Come along, little one," Icy calmly walked down a different hallway. "I know where we are and how to get to the kitchens from here."
'Sure you do,' Toast mentally muttered to herself as she climbed to her feet and followed the tall, imaginary friend. '...Duh, Toast, she probably does...She was the one to get us off the roof...'
Sure enough, Icy's memory proved to be as sharp as ever, and soon the both were able to eat a slightly late lunch and speak with Mr. Herriman. He gave the two of them sixteen years worth of updates in two minutes, via Frances and a new key ring (He gave Icy the key ring. Toast had "accidentally" lost the last one she'd been given, and Madame Foster had insisted that only Icy be given one this time around after the owner of the home had recently found the last one covered in what appeared to be bread crumbs and grape jelly.), and sent them off to "go do whatever it is you two do" before telling the younger Foster of the house to start on a seemingly endless list of chores. Toast suffered another assault but felt it was worth it to get Icy out of the area. The taller was infamous for volunteering whoever was around her for chores.
The smaller counted forty two visible red lines on her small body as she and Icy continued along towards what had once been Icy's favorite haunt: the library, study area, general "let's hang out and have a groovy time" place, and the only location within the boundaries of the Home where Toast had managed to privately set a personal record of reading one thousand poems in under twenty-three hours. Not even the older of the two creations of the now late Miss DeJubbyjub could read that much without needing a break, and Icy was a literature fanatic.
'...perhaps so, but could it be possible for him to have..?'
Toast almost ran into a wall out of shock. Never before in all her life had she ever heard any of Icy's thoughts. The older sister had always seemed to have a natural ability to block the younger's telepathy. What was this she was hearing though?
'I doubt it. He wasn't one to ever give up patience, was he? Afterall, look what he managed with you. You swore to never feel such things for anyone, but- TOAST, GET OUT OF MY MIND THIS INSTANT!!!"
The small, brown and tan, imaginary friend, fearing a particular nasty clawing up this time around, turned and fled down random hallways, not once in a full minute stopping to see if Icy was even giving chase. Finally, however, Toast's little legs gave out, and she collapsed.
It was who knows how much later when Toast finally came to. She felt tired, hungry, in need of a bath, and very much alone. This was a perfect example of why she so loathed Mondays. Everything went wrong on a Monday. If you had a good plan and it was set for Monday, it was sure to fail. If you had a project due on Monday, you were sure to lose it. And if you had to pee and were in a foreign amusement park or mall, you were sure to be able to not find a toilet, regardless of how badly you had to go.
...Sweet seeds of sandy strawberries, why did she have to have such rotten luck when it came to figuring out where in the name of pencils she was? Toast didn't have the slightest idea of where she was headed, but hopefully it wasn't the roof. That place was cursed, she just knew it was. No matter how hard she tried to get off of it, she never could. And she'd been stuck up there ten times to the day. Cursing her sense of direction, Toast quickly changed hallways; she could recognize the door to the roof if nothing else in this house.
Fifty-seven hallway changes and thirty-eight wrong doors later, Toast found herself in front of yet another door she didn't recognize. She shook with anger and frustration and told the unfamiliar area exactly what she thought of it.
"Hey, Toast!"
The small, imaginary friend stopped her mindless ranting about stupid, crazy houses and turned to see who had addressed her. To Toast's absolute horror, there stood Wilt, a limb shorter, several scars richer, and only one fully functioning eye.
She gaped, Wilt grinned, Coco coco-ed a greeting, Bloo waved hi, Mac smiled, Icy glared, and Eduardo let out a sob as he dashed forward, snatched Toast off the ground, and crushed her against his chest out of pure joy.
"Hermanita!!!"
Author's notes:
Okay. Nobody kill me if I used "hermanita" incorrectly. Words get translated in strange ways occasionally, and I don't wanna have just had Eduardo call Toast something indecent. I don't know how it could happen, but it could. -.- You'd be surprised at how things in one language can mean a totally different thing in another....
I hope you enjoyed the fourth chapter, dear reader. Please tell me what you think of it by pressing that little "go" button down there...
Thanks,
Cartoonsey