Hello! This is Ms. Midnight speaking, and welcome to the first blow of the Contest of DOOM (Kali's title). I am lucky enough to start this battle of the romance writers, and let me begin by saying "Nyah, nyah, Kali! This is a Chali Donofield! Busted! NYAH!"
Okay. Now that I've colleted myself, I would like to actually claim something.
I own these characters. I really do. Chay Whitfield is my OC from The Nickel, and Karen is the embodiment of Kali! I OWN THEM!
But I don't own their world. That's Eoin Colfer's. BUT I OWN THE CHARACTERS, SO IF YOU WANT TO USE THEM, YOU HAVE TO ASK ME!
Oh dear. I believe I forgot myself there. Please, do forgive me. Well, let lay out the rules for this contest.
1. An author can only use a specific universe once.
2. The OC character must obviously be either Semine or Kali, but the actual names "Semine" and "Kali" cannot be used.
3. Reviews are points. One review therefore equals one point, so review all of Semine's stories many times!
4. Nothing too explicit. Mushy stuff should end with the uber kiss.
5. Teasing allowed, but nothing too cruel.
6. NO GRAVE-DIGGING OR CRADLE-ROBBING!
That's that! So please read and review!
Enjoy!
Karen glimpsed into the louge on her way back from her motorbike, the plastic container in her hands. She saw a few secretaries and Recon officers on their breaks, but only one of them caught her attention.
Karen didn't fall in love. It wasn't her style. She was straighforward. She was thoughtful and intelligent. Logical. She weighed her options, comparing and contrasting her plans before even considering putting them into action. Love was messy and out of the confines of rational thought. And besides, when you fall head over heels, you are so much more likely not to land on your feet.
Karen had no intention of falling on her ass.
Still, she half-heartedly suppressed an "Ooo..." as as passed, gazing at one of the officers.
She knew him. Heck, she was in Records; she had tabs on just about everyone. His name was Chay Whitfield, a corporal.
'Damn it,' she she thought as she headed back to her department. 'Get over it! You're acting like a lovesick Mud Girl!'
Karend placed the plastic container onto the foldable table, nicknamed "Oasis" because of the Records Department tradtion for morale boosts.
Modays were so depressing that it was impossible to be cheered up, so no one tried on Mondays. On Tuesdays, someone brought in coffee. Wednesdays, someone printed something entertaining to be passed around the office (the first person in the office would find it on the Oasis, and would fax it around to the next person who came in, and so on).
Though sometimes these cycles changed, Thursday was always Karen's day. She brought in homemade cookies; today's were toadstool. She was fairly sure that the cookies, as well as her work, certainly earned her the small raises she got at Christamas time.
She let out one brief, piercing whistle, and strated to walk back to her desk, when she literally bumped into someone.
"Hey!" she said, her natural snippiness over taking her. "Watch were you're going!"
"Sorry," a disttinctly male voice said. "Didn't see you there."
"Look, elf, I have flippin' purple hair. Kind of hard to miss," Karen said, smirking to take some of the sting from her posion-tipped words. She finally looked up into the face of the man in question, and barely restrained her jaw, which begged to be slackened.
Chay Whitfield stood in front of her, a smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth, an eyebrow raised.
"Hey, I said I was sorry," he said playfully. "Are those cookies free?"
"Sure; if you're in Records. I can get you in, if you really want me to."
"Really? Thanks! I'd appreciate it."
"All right then. First and foremost, you need to look the part. Hmm..." Karen pretending to analyze the corporal and think zealously. "Well...you're not a female; at least, I think you're not..." Confirmation was given by way of nodded head. "So you therefore cannot possibly have any hygiene skills at all!"
Karen quickly reached up and mussed up Chay's parted hair, grabbed the collar of his shirt and twisted it, yanked a section of his shirt out of its tucked-in position, and pulled her reading glasses out of her pocket, putting them crooked on his face.
"Join the queue!" she exclaimed, and departed to her desk.
A half an hour later, she remembered her glasses.
Karen peeked out at the table, and saw that it was, tragically enough, empty, with the exception of her plastic container. She cussed and proceeded to mentally berate herself. She would have to see if she could get her spectacles back the next morning.
As she walked back to her bike that afternoon, Karen considered the Recon officer she had assisted earlier that day.
"I ought to go into disguise," she muttered, rememebering her seat-of-her-pants alteration.
Dumping her container into the compartment over the back wheel of her vehicle, Karen pulled out her helmet and popped it on.
Getting onto her bike, she heard a familiar voice calling, "Ma'am!"
Karen glimped to the left and saw a goblin -...woman?- walking down the street. Assuming that was the "Ma'am" the voice was addressing, she turned on her engine.
A strong hand clapped onto her shoulder, startling Karen out of her wits. She glared over her shoulder and saw Chay, breathing heavily. Karen turned off her engine.
"Yes, can I help you?" Karen asked, a bit sarcastically.
"I think these...belong to you," Chay panted, holding out Karen's reading glasses.
"Yeah, they're mine," she responded, taking back her glasses. "Thanks. And, to my knowledge, I'm still a 'Miss.' My name is Karen."
"Ah. Well, my name is..."
"Chay Whitfield, yes, I know. Remember, I'm in Records." Karen wiggled her fingers. "I know all."
"Entertaining," Chay said, good-naturedly. "By the way, those cookies were great."
"Thanks. Thursdays, if you want more. But I can't get you in anymore, I can barely read without these things."
"I'll see want I can cook up. Thanks!"
"No problem. G'night," Karen said, and started up her engine, roaring out of the parking lot, enjoying the wind against her helmet.
Thursday rolled around again, and Karen waltzed in with lichen cookies.
She had seen Chay before Thursday, but they didn't have time to speak with each other. They nodded politely and went on their respective ways. Now, she lay her contianer on the Oasis, popped off the top, and let out her whistle.
Karen watched as a few recognizable people stepped up. Suddenly, she glimpsed someone new through the corner of her eye.
An older member of Records with a graying mustache and a goatee came up. His shirt had a few smudges of diferent-colored paint on it, perhaps a tribute to a passion for art. The older fairy took a cookie, and came over to Karen.
"So," the older gentleman said, "what do you think?"
Karen's eyes popped and she started to smile. "No way," she laughed, "no way."
"Way way. How'd I look?" Chay asked, popped off the facial hair.
"That, I'd have to admit, was pretty damn cool. You looked great."
"Thank you, m'lady," Chay said, and took a bite out of his prize. "Mmm...good cookie."
"Glad you like 'em. Gotta go; work to be done."
"All right. I'll see you around?"
"...Yeah."
As Karen walked back to her desk, she got a weird fluttery feeling in her stomach.
Four Thursdays later, Karen had noticed that her chats with the coporal had gotten longer, and that she was staring to know more and more about him. She enjoyed talking to him, which was suprising, she she hardly enjoyed ever speaking to anyone.
On this, the fifth Thursday since the two had first spoken, Chay came up to her, fidgeting.
"Something wrong?" she asked, slowly raising one of her elegant eyebrows.
"Er...no, not really. I just think someone is trying to kill me."
"Oh. Nothing out of the ordinary then, eh?" Karen asked, sweetly sarcastic, as always.
"Good point. And uh...Karen?"
"Yes..."
"Well, I was wondering..."
"Chay," Karen said, grabing the corporal by the chin and forcing him to look at her. "Eye contact is a beautiful thing."
"Oh."
"Go on..."
"Well, I was wondering if...you're busy tomorrow night?"
"About time you asked that. How's eight o'clock sound?"