Author's Note: Well, guess what? The rest of my computer seems to be working, except for one minor inconvenience- I can't go online at home. So, while that means you can't im me, you can still review! Review! Make me happy and remind me there are some out there with a normal, working phone line.
Disclaimer: If I owned it, do you really think I would have let Timmy lock Tootie in the closet? Get real, people. (mutters curses at the writers for letting him do that and leaving her there)
Chapter Five: Doubt and Dissension
(Fairy World, Jorgen Von Strangle's debriefing room, 5:45 p.m. EST)
"Well, sir, I'm only reporting what we've heard and seen over the past seven months or so," a small, squeaky voiced teal haired cadet protested and waved a folder in front of Jorgen's face. He seemed extremely anxious and all the more so because every time he had brought up the situation, he was promptly ignored for what Jorgen deemed "more important matters". The only thing was, he didn't know how far the conflict could escalate before more parties involved were murdered and the perpetrator went after Fairy World.
"And I told you there are more important things!" Jorgen thundered and shoved the cadet aside. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to return to my very muscular bath and-"
"He killed a fairy!" The cadet, Frank, snapped, refusing to be dissuaded from his job. "You can't believe he isn't a threat to Fairy World and the Earth!"
"Who? I warn you, puny fairy, if you're lying to me…" Jorgen threatened and, the hand not occupied by holding up his towel produced a glowing wand. "I will not stand for this."
"His name was Cal," Frank said and shuffled through the folder to produce several documents. "Well, sir, you may not wish to see the pictures, they're quite graphic…"
"Show them to me!"
"Yes, sir, right away sir," Frank stammered, wondering why it was his hapless job to deal with Jorgen. Surely someone else could do it, someone less terrified of Jorgen. Well, actually, he could care less if they feared Jorgen, he just didn't want to be there right now, delivering this news to him.
Finally, he found the proper glossy black and white pictures (the fairy taking the shots was rather found of black and white photographs, he felt it produced a greater effect and Frank couldn't help but agree- he preferred the blood in shades of grey instead of red, the shot was real enough) and showed them to him. Crossing his fingers over his wand, he awaited Jorgen's reaction. Of course, he was no fool and knew the head fairy would be ticked, but how angry he would be was yet to be determined.
"WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!" Jorgen screamed and several passing fairies ducked for cover. Frank couldn't blame them, he wanted to as well. The walls shook and he knew he'd been in a stranglehold in a few seconds, even if this wasn't his fault. Jorgen just operated that way.
"An anti-fairy, he's well, it's complicated…" Frank trailed off, finding it difficult to breathe because he was, as he'd expected, having his lungs squeezed quite painfully.
"Explain it to me," he retorted dangerously and all the cadet could do at the moment was merely nod, no oxygen allowing his all important respiratory system to engage. Well, if Jorgen wanted the entire story, he'd have to let him breathe some time soon or he'd just faint in his tremendous fist.
"Better?" He muttered and let up a little. The cadet gulped down air for a few minutes, grateful for its existence and his own. Although Jorgen'd never actually killed anyone, he'd gotten rather close quite a few times (no one really called him on it, either, all being pretty terrified to do so).
"Explain all of it now."
And Frank did. Upon completion, Jorgen swore a blue streak and poofed off to the records to check up on this. Cadets weren't known for factual reports.
Sighing heavily, Frank stared at the spot he'd previously occupied and shook his head.
"I wouldn't want to be Cosmo or Wanda right now…"
(A chateau in Marseilles, 12:55 a.m. {approx} local time)
Wanda didn't want to be Wanda right now. In fact, she'd settle for anyone else, aside from Juandissimo. He, her husband the pompous ass, enjoyed himself immensely and she simply lay there limply and waited for him to finish. Part of her wondered if she'd ever been satisfied fucking with him (this didn't feel like making love, it was vulgar, profane, and generally unpleasant).
At long last, moaning and groaning as if the world was going to end and he wanted to show it how passionately he would fornicate in the remaining few minutes, he relieved his macho ness and lay on top of her, grinning. She wanted to punch him out but this was neither the time nor the place. God, he repulsed her.
"Well, mi amor?" He inquired and twirled a bit of her hair on his finger. "How was it?"
"Are you done?" Wanda replied coldly, not bothering to spare his feelings. "Because I was before you started."
Stunned a bit at her jab on his performance, Juan retained his smile though it grew strained. Was she not satisfied with him? But he was the greatest lover in Fairy World!
"Are you not happy, my love?" Moving his fingers from her face to her shoulder, he massaged it tenderly. How could she be unhappy? Any fairy should be overjoyed to have him as a husband, let alone her!
"I don't remember ever being happy," she whispered and closed her eyes. Like she was a pool and he was plunging into her to quench himself, Juandissimo had seemed to "get off" on his own ego. For example, there was no way he could have that much fun and that many orgasms when she felt like he was docking in her port.
However, her comment about unhappiness struck her as false. In a forever elusive memory, one in which she felt different and was different, some fairy and cheese (why cheese?) made her content. But whenever she tried to approach (or attack) this recollection, a paralyzing spasm whipped through her body and mind like a poison.
Ah, no matter. She is merely pulling my leg. I know what will work, a bout of tickling. When we were dating, her ribs used to be especially ticklish. I can have her laughing and joking in no time. Cosmo and her love for him couldn't have composed her heart and soul. I will lay claim to her, buffoon, wait and see.
Reaching his fingers down to her ribs, he began to tickle her but to no avail. Wanda's bitter look was replaced by a frigid one and she neither laughed nor cracked a smile. Instead, she shoved him off.
"Don't touch me," she spat and grabbed her clothes. She wanted out of here, this foolish macho boy grating on every last nerve. Did he really expect her to smile? If she wanted dissatisfaction, she would watch TV reception on an antenna.
Angrily, she pulled them on, frustrated with him and his phoniness. Even if it was the dead of night, anywhere was better than here, any company better than his. Anything was better than this.
"Where are you going?" Juan cried in alarm. "Don't you wish to stay with me?"
"I wouldn't want to stay with you if you were the last fairy alive!" Wanda retorted and, fully dressed, slammed the door shut and sped down the stairs. Rain lashed at the windows like a disillusioned women dispelling her tears and rage and she smirked. Good, cold and hard, just like her.
Upon reaching the last step of the arduous, winded staircase, Wanda discovered, much to her dismay, she had no idea where she intended to go nor, despite indications of her residing for quite some time here, why she possessed no memory at all of the general layout of the city. Still, the only other option was to return to him (she shuddered at the thought) so she thought she'd wing it.
Speaking of winging it, how on earth was to maneuver about the city without being spotted? Without her wand, she was virtually powerless. If she was indeed caught, she'd need to have some insidiously clever disguise to make it appear as though she were a child with an abnormally large head instead of a fairy with wings and a crown. This would require some stealth.
Realizing abruptly the lock on the door had rusted shut, she concentrated hard and attempted to poof outside without her wand. Fairies could use magic without their wands but such magic was usually considered dark and thus only for anti-fairies. For the time being, she'd resort to black magic.
The first attempt flopped. Instead of cleverly popping outside like she'd planned, a searing hot pain that threatened to rip her apart spread from her head to her toes and she bit back a scream. She went blind for a second and fell out of midair, the pain, like being burned alive, was so intense her whole body ached.
Then the agony ceased and she could do it. Poofing above a large puddle, she surveyed her reflection: a loose bun atop her head (her hair coloured red, when had that happened?), dark yellow earrings, dark yellow shirt and the customary black pants. Something had to be done about the wings and crown, thought, they were dead giveaways.
Ignoring the alterations in her appearance, she flew over Marseilles where most of the businesses were closed for the night. A few cafés were open and, spotting a chair occupied by only a beret and a grey wooden trench coat she swooped down to steal it. Having no qualms about procuring clothes by illegal means, she dropped to the cobblestones and darted out of sight. The trench coat was too long, she'd have to adjust it.
A tall man with cropped black hair and a moustache waltzed out of the bathroom and gasped, glancing at the table his articles had just been. Looking very upset, he screamed out to no one in particular, "Ou est ma chapeau? Mon blazier!"
Wanda, safely hidden behind a dumpster to the side of the café, sniggered appreciatively. Oh, honestly, he could always buy new ones. Humans were so needy.
Shutting her eyes, she focused on reducing the trench coat to her size. Another searing pain began, this time in her stomach, and she thought her innards were going to burst open. At the same time, a gigantic green magical scissor cropped the coat. Naturally she knew the two were related but it was a bit hard to ponder this when her abdomen felt like it was going to split open.
"Cosmo…" Wanda whispered, doubled over in pain. Her hair turned a shade darker as did her eyes, clothing, and earrings. For a second, she thought she was going to pass out.
The green scissors vanished as did a vague recollection she'd so desperately clung to. She felt better, though wistful and longing to know who Cosmo was or why she'd desired him at a time like this. He'd imbued a feeling she could not name in her and the colour of the scissors seemed connected to it.
Shaking her head to clear it, she retrieved the coat from midair and mocked her sense of desire. She wanted nothing, she needed nothing, she was Wanda, cold hearted bitch. Whoever the hell Cosmo was, he was nothing she should concern herself with.
"Cosmo, you idiot," she muttered and smirked. There, he was an idiot, she'd solved her dilemma. If only she could remember him for more than five seconds…
From behind her came purple smoke and she quickly stashed the items in a crack between the brick and the wall. Juandissimo hadn't wasted any time locating her, had he? Goddammit, why was he so persistent?
"Why did you leave?" Juandissimo snapped and fiddled with his wand. He had no intention of allowing her to wander far lest she find those wretched photos and acquire a little knowledge of her past. Even if it was stored in a dilapidated house difficult to locate by night, he didn't want to take chances.
"Why do you care?" Wanda retorted, folding her arms over her chest, cross.
"Because I love you and I worry about you," Juandissimo murmured and cupped her chin in his palm. Her eyes were wide and defiant. They also appeared downright red, he should have that checked out.
"Bull shit. You only love yourself," Wanda slapped his hand away and stood apart, searching for heaven knows what in the dark. Another reason she despised him- he was sappy and a narcissist, not to mention a terrible liar.
Juandissimo's mouth fell agape at the profanity she'd uttered. It was so uncharacteristic of her- even as a teenager, she'd never cursed. While he didn't deny he was in love with himself to a certain degree, it stung him to think Wanda felt it conceivable he loved only himself. Didn't he love her? Did he? Of course he did…
"I love you," Juandissimo whispered, the words flat in his ears.
"You're a horrible liar." Wanda, this time with no difficulty, poofed off to the chateau, her hair, eyes, and attire dropping another shade.
Juandissimo followed and tried to talk to some sense into her. This proved cumbersome because, clearly, she wasn't interested. She preferred to spurn his advances and, once, to threaten him. Where had his Wanda gone?
Nowhere, his Wanda had gone nowhere. This was his Wanda, the one he'd constructed with his lust. The true question was, where had Cosmo's Wanda gone and this was precisely what an irate Cosmo demanded to know of an ignorant Timmy.
(Timmy Turner's bedroom, 5:45 p.m., PST)
Slumping against his pillow, Timmy regarded Cosmo (positively distraught) with one eye open. The fairy still ranted and raved (he'd done so for three straight hours, that had to be some sort of record) and the pink hatted boy examined his arms instead of looking at him. At least Tootie (right after the storm) had wrestled his wand away from him before he successfully murdered his godson. That was a relief.
The loss of his wand hadn't meant the loss of anger, though. When The Other had "casually" strolled down to the now swampy track to usher Timmy up to school for his detention and to give Cosmo an earful and a gaping wound in the stomach, Cosmo transformed into a pencil (a bleeding pencil, but one nonetheless) and proceeded to stab Timmy every five seconds. The poor boy had little graphite marks (it would have been lead but Cosmo hadn't thought of that) up and down his arms.
Unlike his sobbing in Tootie's arms, Cosmo now flat out refused to cry, believing it would just what the murderer ordered. Timmy was pretty weary of being treated like a hardened criminal, especially since Cosmo kept sprouting nonsensical theories, ranging from coordinating Wanda's murder with The Other to aiding Juandissimo in her kidnap. Not only was he sick of them, but he couldn't even ignore him to do his homework (not that he was trying hard, mind you) because Cosmo had thrown his books out the window.
"Shut up!" Timmy screamed and his godfather froze in midair. "I'm not friends with Juandissimo, I didn't help kidnap Wanda. I have no idea where she is and I almost wish Gifoalski had killed me today, it'd be better than sitting here and listening to you accuse me of everything from jumping her to stuffing her body in a trash bag and chucking it into the woods! If you want me dead so badly, why don't you go ahead and kill me? Here, I'll make it simple for you- I wish I were dead!"
Cosmo gasped and his mouth hung open. Hands trembling badly, he glanced out the window and tried to prevent the words from penetrating. He wouldn't…he couldn't…he really thought he wanted him dead?
"Do you really think her being gone is easy on me? At least when she was here, she kept you from killing me. She actually loves me, unlike you," Timmy spat, continuing. "You're just keeping me around because Fairy World would want to know why you killed your godkid!"
"What about you?" Cosmo retorted, his godson's words still not sunken in yet. "Keeping me around just in case Fairy World wants to know if you really were going to kill us? You obviously wanted Wanda dead so you did away with her!"
"I didn't kill anyone!" Timmy bawled and buried his head in his pillow. The rest of his words were muffled by it and punctuated by sobs. "I wasn't going to. I love you guys…."
Shaking badly, the words finally made it through Cosmo's thick head and he bit his lip, his eyes swimming in tears. He floated close to his head. Wanda could have had a point before, he was getting dangerously depressed.
"Timmy?" The green fairy whispered and, quivering, extended his hand out to stroke his hair. Timmy, still shuddering as sobs rocked his body, ceased and took comfort in the little compassion Cosmo offered.
Turning himself over on to his back, his eyes met Cosmo's. Hurt and betrayal shone in the fairy's eyes (hurt because Timmy's words shook him to the core and still the sting of the "deal") and grief and depression in the pre-teen's (still grieving his parents and his godparent's loss of trust in him and the events of the past still affected him). Neither could take this any more, it was tearing them apart. Something would have to be done about it, someone had to make the first move…
Cosmo tentatively reached out to embrace Timmy when he jumped up and darted out of the room. Okay, well, that wasn't what was supposed to happen, but they were guys, although neither were exactly the epitome of the male gender. Besides, a thought (rare though those were in either case) had just occurred to Timmy and it could be the key to finding Wanda.
Remembering he required a jacket, Timmy spurted back into his room and offered Cosmo a small smile. He then retrieved his pink coat (just as Cosmo discovered a spare wand) and Timmy disappeared, leaving the fairy to levitate above his bed.
Although he was no longer in earshot, the fairy said anyway, to clear the air and alleviate his guilt, "I believe you and I'm sorry…for everything. For being a jerk and making you think I wanted you dead…I don't…"
With that, Cosmo began to cry again. "I love you…"
(Dimmsdale Public Library, 6:00 p.m. PST)
Tootie seriously questioned her sanity. Even seated here now, the pacifying books and sedate atmosphere failed to tranquilize. In fact, they were having the opposite effect- she was at the brink of sanity, she assured herself.
For no sane person could, being of sound mind, see their very dead fairy godfather inside books, particularly her Chemistry one. Oh, she wished she were sane…Then, perhaps, Cal wouldn't be staring back at her from a chart of diatomics.
"Go away!" Tootie pleaded in an urgent whisper, eyes brimming over with tears. Today was rough on her and it took every ounce of her will to (a), remain awake and, (b), not to start crying. Honestly, how did Mrs. Gilran expect her to study with everything going on?
"I won't 'go away' until you talk to me," Cal shot back, his body see through and oxygen's diagram visible. "And don't even try to study Chemistry, I know you don't care and it won't really help you in your life."
"You're dead and I'm going crazy. Yes, that's it. I'm going crazy and soon I'll be driving around Dimmsdale in a fairy detection van, screaming at the top of my lungs about fairy godparents," Tootie muttered and didn't spazz. The uncontrollable spasms must have something to do with your godparents being alive…
"I hope not, you're way too young to drive. And I know I'm dead, you don't have to remind me."
"No," Tootie moaned and sank low in her chair. Meanwhile, the couple making out to her far left paused and stared at her. "No…"
"No, I'm not dead? Yes, I am," Cal chuckled. "Wow, I knew Chem rotted your brain but I never suspected nearly this much damage."
"No…"
"No, Chem doesn't rot your brain or no, I'm not dead? I'm pretty sure I'm dead, so you must mean Chem doesn't rot your brain. True, they haven't done any studies-"
"No…"
"Oh, they have? Well, time flies when you're dead."
"You're not here! I'm hallucinating. That's it, I'm hallucinating. I'm not going crazy, I just need sleep. Yeah, that's it, sleep. Night, night, hallucination of Cal."
She then fell asleep on top of her Chem book. None, aside from Cal, noticed because the studying section was to the far back of the library and the couple making out had resumed their extra-curricular activity. Things just worked that way here.
Entering her dream with a sigh, Cal found himself in an imaginary replica of Dimmsdale Public Library. Okay, if he could still dream, he'd have chosen a better setting than but she was exhausted, so he'd leave it at that. Besides, the purple chimps swinging from the overhead lamps were a nice touch.
"You know, Tootie, if this were my dream, I think I'd like it a tad more exciting. Dreaming about the place you're asleep in isn't terribly inventive," Cal teased and smirked at the tome dream Tootie tried to read- "La chemie for les espagnols".
"Chemistry in French for Spanish, huh? With a book like that, your dream self will be asleep too. I know, I'm no Timmy, but c'mon, look up. I'm not half as boring as that thing," Cal said and floated down to her level. "Toot, Chemistry won't make any sense in French or Spanish if you don't understand it in English."
Bleary eyed, Tootie blinked in bewilderment. "You're de-"
"Can we just get past that point already? Yes, I'm dead, nice to meet you, became a ghost when my affairs weren't set on Earth-"
"Huh?" He had her attention, for what it was worth.
"This is where you come in…"
Rather concerned, the librarian, an elderly woman in a gray dress, shook Tootie by the shoulders. Still the girl would not wake for a good ten minutes and when she did, a piece of paper appeared from nowhere and her fist closed around it. Some sort of magic?
"I need to use your elevator," was the first thing Tootie said upon waking and reading the note (how was beyond the librarian, there seemed to be nothing on the note). Taken aback, the woman merely pointed and Tootie, leaving her books but taking a locket, went in the suggested direction and took the elevator up to the nonexistent third floor. No one saw or heard from her from that dimension for six months.
(The Other's Victorian museum, 7:00 p.m. PST)
He'd left over an hour ago, for some odd reason unable to recall where the mansion was .So he'd wandered, replaying the conversation in his head. All right, so he hadn't been terribly attentive and sheer force of habit had led him there.
The wrought iron gates loomed impressively in front of him and he gulped. God, he hadn't been here in months, not since he trained to kill Cosmo and Wanda. The decision and its aftermath weighed horribly on him and he wasn't sure if he had the strength to take on The Other now when he hadn't before. After all, this was his element and not Timmy's.
Perhaps he'd better sneak around the back. Sauntering in through the gates would only serve to announce himself and this was far from his intention. At any rate, he knew the alternate entrances and exits by heart and could just as easily go through them.
This is for Wanda, Timmy reminded himself steely and, using a low hedge as a springboard, jumped the fence. Unfortunately, he'd selected the wrong shrub; he discovered this when he landed, quite painfully, on a lawn gnome that was actually a trigger to The Other's defense system. Maybe The Other had redecorated since he'd been here last (an unpleasant image of him adhering Cosmo and Wanda's head to the wall from the what-if spell rose and he hastily swallowed it back down).
Okay, ow…Limping because his groin had broken his fall, he, incredibly slowly, made his way to the window Tootie (from a past life, it felt like) had snuck in. The library was only one corridor to the right- he'd make it! Yes, only a few more feet and "The Lost Book of Nostalgia" would be his.
Fortunately, the window was open so Timmy, cringing, crawled inside and instead of banging his knees on the table that used to be there, he landed in The Other's waiting arms. Dazed, it took him a good five minutes to realize his error and by that time, The Other had stolen his lips in a kiss. Damn, why didn't he think things out before he did them?
"Bon soir, Timmy," The Other grinned maliciously. "How are you feeling? Is your genitalia all right? I saw you tumble, not something I'd wish to engage in. Really, you should have surmised I'd know of your visit. You could have spared the excruciating pain by simply announcing yourself through the main gates, I promise no lawn gnomes would have prodded you in unpleasant places."
Groaning, Timmy shoved at The Other's chest, but he was too feeble to accomplish anything. Dammit, stupid lawn gnome, if he hadn't the misfortune of becoming intimate with it, he wouldn't (a), be in so much pain right now, or, (b), have The Other's hands roam about his body. Well, Cosmo could always "rescue" him, but he was beginning to resemble "Timantha" with the amount of times he'd been the damsel in distress (his money was on the pink outfit helping that misconception).
"Feeling better?" Playfully, Lorenzo groped him and he groaned again. Applying pressure to an already sensitive area, ow…Nerves tingle and blood rushed to that special part of his anatomy.
"Get off!" Timmy snapped and punched Lorenzo hard in the chest. Once again caught unaware, The Other released him and Timmy managed to use the fall to his advantage, gaining a few feet in his dash to the library. Fortunately, the book depository was a mere twelve paces from his old bedroom and within limping distance.
A large, high vaulted ceiling and mahogany bookcases and interior walls, and desks greeted him. Wow, with all that wood, it was truly a shame The Other wasn't some variation of vampire. Timmy would have loved to sharpen a stake and thrust it deeply into his chest ("This is for Cosmo and Wanda, for my parents, Tootie's parents…"). Ah, but he was getting ahead of himself. First, he needed that book.
However, knowing of its existence was not quite the same as possessing it and there were thousands of books to sort through. The Other's collection was immense and it would take days to locate one particular tome unless you could verify its general location. Fortunately, even minus a card catalog, he could find it.
A bevy of books descended upon him and he felt the top layer of his hair singe. Fire breathing books, how truly delightful. Well, if The Other wasn't chary, he'd burn his estate to the ground but that was of little comfort at the moment. He'd thought he'd like to live to see tomorrow as opposed to being incinerated.
Turning his head swiftly, Timmy just scarcely had enough time to duck for cover when the fire breathers met the water gushers and they duked it out. Oh, yeah, the water elements resided one case away from the fires, he reminded now. But that meant he was precariously close to the-
"Wind books," Timmy muttered as a particularly powerful gust swept him off his feet and threw him around the room. Well, wasn't that something- he'd opened a tornado (an upper level magic book). Lady luck really had it in for him, didn't she?
Craning his neck, a small pitiable cry filled his ears and he recognized it. Accompanying it was a miniscule blue book, open at the center and weeping. A velvet, dark blue bookmark wiped its tears and waved at Timmy.
That's it! If only I could reach it!
"Cease your onslaught!" The Other commanded and Timmy, stranded atop a bookcase, merely stared at him. Well, that was pleasant, he was to be sure not to do it again real soon. The next time a magical cyclone unleashed its fury and an evil anti-fairy he'd inadvertently wished for halted it, marooned him, he'd bring a parachute (or a Cosmochute, however things worked out then).
Still sobbing, the little blue book flopped down at the far end of the case. Only half was settled, the rest dangled. Upon realizing its fate, it broke into wails anew and Timmy covered his ears; it was so shrill.
"I'm so lost!" The volume cried. "I don't know where or what I am!"
"You're a book and you're about to be mine," Timmy replied, inching his way towards it. Darn it, crawling on a stomach was not how I planned to do this. Okay, so I didn't plan anything! So sue me, Butch Hartman.
"You don't want that book," The Other grinned. "You want 'How to Draw Fairly Oddparents Characters' (available from amazon.com, go ahead and search for it). I hear they give you a free crayon with every purchase."
"I've seen that book- it stinks. Butch Hartman sucks," he retorted, within grasp of the book. C'mon, just a little further. Disproportioned arms, don't fail me now.
"Now, don't say that. The man makes good money drawing chicken scratch. I mean, he's a professional."
"Yeah, well, he makes cruddy drawings." Got it. Timmy, at long last, procured the book and promptly fell off the end. Oh, crud.
"I wish I had a parachute," Timmy yelled, about to hit the floor face first. C'mon, Cosmo…
"What'll wishing do?" The Other quipped and stepped forward to catch him. "Unless you and your godfather are on speaking terms again, which I sincerely doubt. Why don't you just wish for Wanda back, too, while you're at it?"
"Where the heck is Wanda?" Timmy replied and braced himself for impact. "What did you do to her?"
The Other laughed, a cruel, mocking guffaw. "If I had killed her, both you and Cosmo would have known by now. Unfortunately, I haven't the foggiest notion where she is currently."
Lorenzo caught Timmy just as Cosmo appeared. Better late than never, right? Wrong.
"You really needed my help, huh? Thought with me outta the way, things woulda gone smoother? You, I believed you! I thought you cared! Now I know you're just a murderer!" Cosmo sobbed and Timmy, kicking Lorenzo in the face, sprang to his own defense.
"I'm not! Cosmo, you gotta believe me, I do care. This isn't what it looks like!"
"Oh, no? I know what it looks like! You great big liar, you're still working with The Other!" With that, Cosmo poofed away very upset. Timmy thought he'd like to murder The Other right now. He had almost been on the verge of making up when he'd shown up.
"You," Timmy growled and suddenly exhausted washed over him. Lorenzo would be dealt with, later. If he tried anything now, he'd be worse off than before.
Spotting an open window to his left, he flung himself out and scampered up the grounds and out the gates before Lorenzo could object or try to prevent him from doing so. (Then again, Lorenzo too was extremely exhausted, since Timmy and he were linked and anything afflicting Timmy troubled him as well). The Other cursed bitterly but at least, now, he knew the situation at home. Cosmo was never going to forgive Timmy, not if he had anything to say about it.
(Timmy Turner's bedroom, 8:45 p.m. PST)
He could hardly remember the walk home. There was a green streetlamp and a light and that was it. For some odd reason, he also thought he saw a green fire hydrant, but that was impossible, wasn't it? Cosmo hated him again.
Finally, turning the knob to his room, Timmy fainted, succumbing to his fatigue, and the book slipped from his clutches. Promptly opening up, it fixed Cosmo, currently kicking things, with a peculiar glance and said quite audibly, "I am the book to find those memory-less, lost fairies."
Angrily, Cosmo shot back, about to destroy Timmy's video game system, "Yeah, so Timmy can go and kill Wanda."
"Beg pardon? No, his intentions are noble, I would not have permitted myself to be captured otherwise. Perhaps you should trust your godson more, he risked his life and limbs for me," the book said sagely.
Books don't lie, do they? But…if Timmy risked himself for it…he wasn't lying?
Shutting itself, the book only pointed its bookmark at him accusingly. First Wanda, now books were laying into him? But now he felt terrible for treating him like this…
"Timmy?" Cosmo whispered and tenderly lifted him onto his bed. Waving his wand, he dressed him in his p.j.s and floated above him. The thought never occurred he'd done magic for his godson for the first time in months and he hadn't botched it, even without Wanda.
"Cosmo, please believe me…" Timmy murmured.
Feeling light-headed from all the magic he'd done that day, Cosmo flew down beside him and transformed into a cat (just in the mood to be aloof). He licked Timmy's hand and moved closer so he could lean on him. Timmy was bound to have nightmares and he didn't want Tootie to lose sleep over them.
Yes, that was it. This was for her benefit and not because he really believed Timmy. Books could lie, couldn't they? (He'd never read one from cover to cover, so he didn't know himself, but couldn't they?)
Groggy, Cosmo blurted out before he fell asleep, "Sweet dreams…"
(Timmy Turner's basement, a.k.a, Vicky's part of the house, 11:30 p.m. PST)
Mark Chang stifled a yawn and fought the sleepiness threatening to possess him any minute. He'd been awake for nearly forty-eight hours and the only reason he remained so now was because he scalded himself making Vicky's dinner and it still burned. The throbbing actually kept in tune with her heartbeat, which either meant his lower arm asserted itself more often than he'd like or her heart palpitated.
There was a loud crack and Mark froze, listening. Unfortunately, the basement was dimly lit, but he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what it was. Loud cracks were seldom followed by good news.
"Good evening, Vicky," The Other crooned and settled on her bed. Fists balled, Mark stood and glared. What the hell did this guy think he was doing, sauntering in and acting like he owned the place? So arrogant, so brazen, so conceited…Lorenzo.
"I don't think you're welcome here," Mark snapped and pulled him up by his sweatshirt. "In fact, I really don't think you belong anywhere near Vicky, DeMedici."
Lorenzo laughed and shrugged Mark off. "Well, well, if it isn't the alien. So, you're human now, apparently. I'm astonished you haven't slept with Vicky yet, she's an easy lay."
Unbeknownst to both of them, Vicky was awake and watching the little melodrama unfold. She was eagerly anticipating Mark's response. His actions when he thought her unable to hear would determine his trustworthiness. Would he agree with him? Or was he really in love with her?
Instead of replying, Mark delivered the strongest punch he could muster and gave Lorenzo a black eye. Trembling with rage, the former prince assumed a fighting stance. How dare he insinuate Vicky was a whore! She'd probably still be a virgin if this creep hadn't stolen it away from her.
"Don't start up with me, alien. It's hardly my fault your girlfriend is a prostitute, though I dare say she at least knows how to satiate a man now. After all, she pleased me," Lorenzo smirked and drew up a defense shield. Mark had gotten lucky, it wouldn't happen again.
On the bed, Vicky stifled a sob, reliving the rape. Silent tears slid down her face but she hesitated to hug her knees to her chest- they could hear her move. The Other, just go away, leave me alone…
"Your puny shield won't protect you, human," Mark retorted and thrust his fist, equipped with an oddly glittering glove, straight through. "Yugopotomians have more advanced technology."
"I am not a human. Do not insult me and deem magic 'technology'. Anti-fairies are superior to all, especially your race of slimy, tentacled blobs," Lorenzo shot back and produced the transistor.
"You're an anti-fairy, then. Well, I know one thing, you're no man. No real man would take from a woman and hurt her like that."
"Oh, I suppose you think yourself to be masculine? Oh, look at me, I'm the insipid lovelorn cretin who does the whore's cleaning, cooking, and even attends to her when the boogey monster-" The Other broke off when Mark kicked him in the ribs. There was a satisfying crack and Lorenzo had to pause to heal himself.
"Vicky is no whore. I love her and you will not desecrate her name with your foulness. You die now," Mark snapped and pressed a red laser saber into his chest.
"Au contraire," The Other replied and teleported himself to the bed. "However you wish to fight me, perhaps you would like to do it with Vicky as well?"
He then seized her from behind and pressed the hilt into her throat. She gasped as it dug in, getting closer and closer to her jugular vein. Pleading silently, she first tried eye contact and then, suddenly recalling, telepathy.
Just let him go, please.
What sort of freak would wage a losing battle and then take a hostage? If only I could attack him…that's it!
What's it? What the hell are you talking about? Vicky replied, completely baffled.
Not a physical attack but a mental one. It's where you fling your projection at your opponent and proceed brutally assault all you can. Actually, it's immensely painful, and, of course, totally wicked! They taught us how to do it in school.
What kind of school is that? (Hmm, I wouldn't mind being able to hurt someone like that. But if he hits him and The Other blocks and slits my throat…)
Oh, I doubt he'll see this coming. You see, DeMedici's weakness lies in his poor defense. He's accustomed to using an outrageously powerful offense and leaving himself wide open. Just watch.
"Now, now, I'm sure we can reach an agreement somehow. If I were to, say, accidentally slit her throat, you wouldn't find that amusing, would you? Not to mention all the carnage you'd have to clean up and, after a few months, the stench might begin to aggravate you. However, to the contrary, if you persist in acting so 'gentlemanly', this may be your only opportunity to fornicate with her. She might be a tad unyielding, when rigor mortis sets in, but to each his own. If you want to have intercourse of the non-verbal nature with a corpse, that's your problem," Lorenzo smirked and fondled her breast with his left hand, moving rapidly downward and venturing towards her crotch.
Mark charged, sick of the threats, insults, and horrid treatment of his beloved Vicky. She felt this surge run through her, a bit like a stallion. It reared and subsequently knocked him out. She couldn't say she was ungrateful, The Other was about to grope her.
The knife and the arm holding it fell away and Mark unceremoniously tossed him off the bed. He then, stealing the transistor, pointed a teleportation device at him and he vanished. Mark too didn't want to take any chances.
"So, my love, have I proven myself yet?" He beamed and Vicky grinned back.
"You did it! You stopped him!" She leaned forward, perhaps to throw her arms around him, when something different happened. Instead of embracing him, she kissed him. He tasted a bit like apples and his lips were so soft…
Mark kissed her back and she gasped as her whole body began to tingle pleasantly. She didn't want him to stop but she couldn't, she shouldn't…
Pulling back, Vicky frowned and tried to ignore her racing heart. Houston, I think we have a problem.