Hi again. Thanks for looking at this thing, people. Thirty-Five of you have wasted ten minutes of your life reading this. *Sniff* I'm so proud... Anyway...
Our hero continues her valiant efforts to own Invader Zim.
TAF: Well, if I can't own you, can I own your rubber piggy?
Zim: Huh. I guess you can own that. Here ya go.
TAF: Best. Day. EVER!
Chapter 3: Psychology Solves Nothing!
There was a perfectly good undisguised alien in the room, and no one noticed. She was tired, sure, probably a little smelly and unsanitary what with the lack of a shower, but you could still recognize her as an alien.
At least, Dib could. He threw a glass of water at her. Her horns pressed flat against her head at the sting.
"What was that?" she hissed, "Is your water poisonous or something?"
"No," said Dib, "Well, yes, but not THAT poisonous. Aliens have very sensitive skin."
He made some notes on her reaction.
"Oh," she said, "So I guess humans don't? Cool, you're like, the master race. A delusional, corporate, master race. Reminds me of the Irkens."
"By the way, how was detention?" Dib asked.
"None of your beeswax," the Vortian hissed.
"That bad, huh?"
"I never want to see another math problem in my life," she muttered, "Which is kind of bad, considering my line of work."
The conversation was cut short by the loudspeaker crackling on.
"Would Dib, Zim, Gaz, and Lak Shmi please come to the guidance office for Skool Psykology? Cause y'all kinda actually need it, a lot. Like, really a lot."
Zim hissed and Dib let out a little groan. Lak Shmi remembered the last time she had been in a psychologist's room. It mostly involved being zapped with electricity for the amusement of the Irken jailers. This time, however, Lard Nar would not be there, muttering oaths against the Tallests, sarcastically putting his feet up on the table. Man, she missed that guy. Luckily, he discovered the flaw in the security system... heh. Good times...
"Come on, aliens. Quit your dramatic internal monologuing. Are you afraid of some stupid Psykologist?" Dib growled, dragging both extraterrestrials from the room by their wrists. Gaz met them down the hall. Lak Shmi looked up at her dazedly from her rather undignified position.
"Are you... Gaz?" she asked, pulling Dib's hand from her wrist and struggling to her feet.
"No," said Gaz.
"I guess you are, then," Lak Shmi grinned a little.
"Your voice annoys me," Gaz said. Lak Shmi shrugged a little.
"It tends to do that to people. Once, I was singing this song, and-"
"JUST SHUT UP," Gaz clenched her fists, "Look, here we are. Prepare to be bored out of your mind... if you even have one."
The unlikely group stared up at the door. The title was hideously misspelled. Dib noted it had undergone some renovations since Dwicky. Inside, one could vaguely make out some zen candles and Hindu ornamentation. One shrine was dedicated, somewhat ironically, to the goddess Lakshmi. Zim was tired of staring at a door. He kicked it down, revealing a woman sitting in the lotus position, smiling serenely.
"Welcome, kids," she said, "Can you sit like me?"
Lak Shmi just sat down, her knees bent like that naturally, so it was no big deal. Gaz refused to sit. Zim and Dib argued about nothing until Zim said, "Yes it is... times infinity!" and it was over, then he and Dib decided refusing to sit would be a good idea, too.
So there was Lak Shmi on the ground, and them. The Psykologist sighed. Why were there so many weird kids? WHY!? If she had her way, they'd be drugged up and sent on their way.
"So, I hear some of you are aliens?" she said, prompting discussion. Zim and Lak Shmi stiffened.
"Yes! Them," Dib pointed, "Don't you believe me?"
Gaz snorted, and the Psykologist just smiled a fake grin, "You must be Dib. You have to get over calling people aliens, I see. We'll work on that," she looked at Gaz, "And you're Gaz Membrane?"
"No," said Gaz, "That's not my last name."
"Ah," the Pskyologist said, "And is there anything you'd like to work on?"
"People remembering my last name."
"What do you think of the other kids here?"
"I don't see any other kids. Dib doesn't count, and Zim' and Lak Shmi are centuries old," she said, "Can I leave now?"
"What do you think of them, though?" the Psykologist's smile was seriously getting on Gaz's nerves.
"I want to destroy Dib for being annoying," she said coldly, "I want to destroy Zim for not destroying Dib, and I want to destroy Lak Shmi for making me feel icky and depressed. And I want to destroy you for asking me stupid questions."
"I made you depressed?" Lak Shmi asked, confused, "How?"
"You breathe."
"Now," the Psykologist said briskly, "What about you, Lak?"
"You don't have to call me-" she paused, then sighed, "I just want to go home. I want to find Lard Nar and find out what's wrong with him. I want to stop all the crazy mad science-y dissections going on. That goes for you too, Zim. I want to save the universe from imminent ethical implosion. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I'm a radical? AN ANARCHIST!? CLINICALLY INSANE!?"
The Psykologist almost cried. Three worst case scenarios in one day? She should be paid double to take a breath in this room. Horrible mutated child... she shuddered. Those... horns...
"What about Zim?" asked Zim.
She hadn't wanted to ask, but it seemed there was no choice. "What's up with you?"
"I'M NORMAL!" Zim declared proudly.
"GOOD. You can go, then..." she said, waving him away. Zim saluted and marched out of the room.
"Oh, COME ON!" said Dib, "He was the craziest one here!"
"Pft," said Gaz, "Look who's talking."
"All RIGHTY!" the Psykologist slammed her hands on the table, "We'll meet again next Tuesday, OKAY?"
"Okaaaay," the two children and one technical adult said, for what was not the first time in their lives and most certainly not the last. What with the way things were going.
"GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" the woman shrieked, losing all her previous poise and calmness.
Dib and Lak Shmi ran like heck. Gaz stared hard at the Psykologist.
"I seriously want to destroy you," Gaz said. The fleeing child and technical adult heard muffled screams coming from the Psykology room, but they didn't pay much attention. Muffled screams were always coming from somewhere, and with their respective backgrounds, both were used to it. FInally, they stopped in the hallway. Dib went off to do something about Zim's latest plan.
Lak Shmi sighed, slightly releaved that Psykology didn't involve electric shocks on this planet. But it was still horrible. Suddenly, the bell rang, and a stampede of children came rocketing from the rooms. She was knocked down, and crawled under a chair until the last crazed child had burst from the Skool to freedom. Ow... at least they weren't calling her a deformed mutant today. She had almost hurt someone after that. She didn't much appreciate jerks calling her deformed.
Or anything other than her name, really.
It was another "thing" she had. Sometimes, she felt an odd urge to shout "I AM LAK SHMI!" which would hardly have made any sense, considering Zim had a similar tag line.
There were rules governing that sort of thing.
Anyhow, it was time for her to buy a wig. People on this planet didn't have horns, and some of them seemed to rather like dissecting those who did. She shivered and drew her uniform closer around her. This planet seemed... off, somehow. Even more so than Irk. Like it was being rewritten or something.
She entered the Wig Store, the bell ringing. A waif-like girl with a blue wig looked at her, bored. The store was actually called Wig Store. Lak Shmi appreciated its integrity.
"Hello," said Lak Shmi pleasantly, "I'm looking for a wig to cover up these strange growths on my head."
"And the fact that you're bald?"
"That, too."
"Yep," said the clerk, straightening the blue monstrosity, "How old are you?"
"30," she said, counting in her head.
"You're short. Short and bald. And old," the clerk sifted through a Bucket o' Wigz. "Here's one."
It was a blonde pixie-bob kind of wig. Lak Shmi put it on. It covered her horns if she pressed them against her head. Which was painful.
"Thanks," she said, "How much?"
"Twenty dollars," sighed the girl. Couldn't this costumer read the tag?
"I don't have money," said Lak Shmi, "Would you take... my goggles?"
She pulled the goggles off her face. The clerk blinked at them. "I guess," she said, "They're cute. I could use some new cosplay stuff. Where'd you get them?"
"They were a gift," she said. From Lard Nar.
"Ah."
Lak Shmi left, affixing the wig, and the clerk put the goggles on. She blinked around. Things looked different. She pressed a button on the side of them.
"Hi, Shmi!" said a voice, and the clerk jumped, her wig sliding off a bit, "This is a recorded message from me, Lard Nar. If you found this, you were probably fiddling with the goggles because you were in danger and/or bored out of your mind. I'm also not with you. In fact, I'm probably a slave or captured or in a lot of pain right now. SO COME RESCUE ME! I NEED HELP! NOW!"
The clerk ripped the goggles off. She stared at them in wonder. Someone needed help. Someone who knew the short lady with horns. Meh. It wasn't her problem...
***
"Agh! Stop it! STOP IT!" Lard Nar bellowed. This tickle fight had gone too far. The Tallests had taken to abusing their prisoners for their own sick amusement, and also because they thought it was funny. Unfortunately, the Fangirl had nearly bitten one of Purple's remaining two fingers off in his attempt to conquer her ticklish-ness, so she was declared the winner.
She was also declared mad.
Lard Nar rolled away from his foe and hid in the corner. The Fangirl hissed a little when Purple tried approaching her again. Tallest Red laughed.
"She's almost like an Irken!" he said.
"It must be her weird, alien-ness acting up," grumbled Purple, "We should get someone with a license to do horrible tests up here."
"Yeah."
Lard Nar crawled over to where the Fangirl was sitting, humming quietly to herself.
"That was demeaning!" he grumbled unhappily, "I really have to escape now before my dignity is lost entirely!"
"That was creepy..." The Fangirl said.
"Yeah," said Lard Nar, "It was. So, are you going to help me bust outta here or what?"
Suddenly, God broke through the ceiling, except in this case God died his hair and wore a trench coat.
"Excuse me," he said kindly to his creations, "There has been a mistake..."
A/N: The Massive's tickle fights are universe-renowned for their scope and severity. Yep. BTW: Any weird alien "things" are based off "things" I actually have. Just a fun fact for you.