Fandom: The Misadventures of Tron Bonne
Title: Really Thrifty There
Subject: Forbidden Treasure
Wordcount: 465, but it's this way to be followable and not abrupt yet brief. Excuse excuse.
Pairing: N/A
Characters: Tron and the Servbots
Rating: G
Notes: Robert Ripley is my forgotten idol, even though the TV show the museums spawned royally sucked compared to Guinness. Or was it Guinness that sucked? I forgot. The battle of extremes was so long ago so my memory is crap.

But, gee, this one is disgusting but still makes me smile.

Tron stepped out from the Gesellschaft's hatch to the deck, observing the lovely sunrise painting the sky. She was not the one to be satisfied by smashing her face against one of the small, circular windows in the midlevels and today, as boring as the endless, stretching sea was, felt different: it was a time to savor this beginning before shoving off to the usual work routine.

She stopped seizing the day when she noticed Number Fifteen, who was innocently jogging around the inner perimeter of the deck: he was wearing the worst sweater ever. Hotly, she approached him; if any of the servbots were buying things from behind her back, they would never hear the end of it.

"Number Fifteen!"

The servbot, taking immediate note of the tone, froze and turned towards her in attention. "Yes, Miss Tron?"

"Where did you get that hideous sweater?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

"Number Four made it for me." Fifteen pulled at the bottom of the sweater. "It's a little itchy but it's nice being able to jog on cold mornings!"

Tron sniffed and, soon enough, was storming about in search of him, the scratchy sweater in hand. The yarn it was made with was odd; its colors ugly with white entwined with a familiar brown.

"Number Four!"

Number Four jolted up from his early morning duties of taking inventory in the Storage Room, finding Tron storming inside and towering over him.

"Y-yes, Miss Tron?" He cowered in her shadow.

"Where did you get the tacky," – here, Tron waved the sweater in his face- "Ugh, yarn to make this thing?"

"Oh! You mean the sweater I made for Fifteen?" the servbot gulped. "From here."

Tron blinked. "From here?"

"Yep! I saw Eighteen clean and pull the hair out from your brush and I remember watching this thing on TV with this lady making yarn out of dog hair and I was bored and was curious so I-"

"Eyuck!" Tron made a face. "This thing is made from MY HAIR"

"And Teisel's," Four sagely added, perking up.

"That's disgusting!" Tron stuck out her tongue and threw the sweater at Four. "Don't take hair from my brush and make things with it ever again!"

Watching Tron stomp out of the room, her morning ruined, Four sighed and paused his previous task for a moment, taking the sweater and heading back to the deck. Surprisingly (and conveniently), Number Fifteen was just outside the door.

"You can have this back." Four offered the sweater.

Fifteen smiled, or tried to, and took it. "Thanks! I heard Miss Tron doesn't like it but I do."

"I thought she told us to do things to help save money." Four shook his head. "Between you and me: Miss Tron can be so fickle!"

Fin