The Joke's By OZ
"I don't believe it."
Those four words, whispered in a disbelieving voice, and spoken by the normally unflappable Heero, succinctly summed up what the other four pilots were thinking.
They included:
Duo's: 'Dude! And here I thought Treize had no sense of humor. Zechsy must be rubbin' off on him.'
Trowa's: 'Interesting design. I didn't know it was possible to do that with paper.'
Quatre's: 'Oh, Allah! Think of the needless waste of trees. I'm going to have to make certain Rashid sends it all to be recycled.'
And finally, Wufei's: 'Injustice! Those dishonorable curs!'
OZ had TP'd their safe house. Two-ply toilet tissue wound around the entire cream-colored edifice – one of the few mansions Quatre owned with a normal paint job – through the trees, around the bushes, over the meticulously kept flowerbeds and across the once – but not now – immaculate lawn.
And in a giant spider web of paper towels, 'OZ Was Here' was spelled out in midair.
Revenge would be had.
But first…
"Maxwell!" Wufei hissed, unsheathing his katana with a loud shushing sound. He stalked towards his prey with a murderous look in his dark eyes.
Violet eyes widening only slightly at the sight of his stalker – hey, he saw it pretty much every other week what with all the pranks he pulled – Duo said, feigning innocence, "What?"
"This is all your fault," Wufei seethed. "You perpetrated that injustice on not only my hair, but also on the entire Preventer base. And now, they have struck back!" With a loud cry, he swung at Duo, barely missing the end of a just-disappearing braid.
Duo, no fool, ran from his attacker, pouring on the speed. The heat was on. And he burned easily.