Chapter 4: " Aftermath "
Zim was becoming slightly dreary from the amount of shock and pain that his body had been experiencing. His neural functions had been slowing down, trying to keep his system in recognition of it's pain. He managed to lift himself from the cold tile floor to his knees, and he could sense that close in his presence were the kids that were staring at him. He could feel their eyes burning their imprints in his body and it rose an anger and an embarrassment. But he was hurting, and he didn't have the needed energy to try and yell at them for their cessation. He slowly picked himself off the floor and when able to stand erect, sieved his way through the crowd. Is Zim okay? I wonder how he survived the acid. He's a wimp, I bet he's going to cry. He lost that fight big time! or...did Dib lose? He could hear all types of whispering and jargon that was being shared within the kids' ears. But he could care less about the rumors they were creating against him. He just needed to be home.
Zim exited through the front doors and made his way to the sidewalk, stumbling slightly. Right now, his body was making him suffer. His ankle and knee were sore beyond belief, his skin was still in shock from the water, the milk, not to mention being whacked in the face with the cursed plastic water bottle; all of it was bringing him agony. His pain was causing his mind to fog and he didn't want to think. He didn't want to feel. All he wanted was to go home. Home would be his sanctuary. It would be his comfort. For a reason, his mind was only able to center around that. He dragged his feet as he continued meandering, and soon his closed thoughts ran rapid about extreme indignation towards his offenders, and onlookers. It was an unscaled spite that seethed it's way through his body; even his pain ignited his anger. Thoughts going so far as predetermined murder entered his mind. Through his anger he lingered upon them to feed upon the unsatisfying ideas that only chipped away at his temper.
What a pathetic rage. You brought that upon yourself. How could you let yourself victim to those useless emotions? Why didn't you plan something? Instead of blundering like an idiot, going head first, demanding for your blueprints. There are no words to describe the imbecility; the betise off those actions, the irrationality of your conjuration of ideas, and your overall hotheadedness. You shame yourself...and so effortlessly.
Zim shook his head, mostly from regret. Why didn't he think of something? He was taught tactics and plans of action so that he could overcome any sort of situation that proved problematic. Yet he always discounted those practices and resolved using his childish fury. It was always embarrassing! And yet he never learned from those mistakes. Zim would've linger on that subject if his head wouldn't kill him in the process.
He entered through his doors and felt a reassurance crawl through his body. It wasn't even a good feeling the way it shivered up his spine. He turned around slowly and closed the door behind him, finally feeling slightly safe behind the vague ocean of eyes. Belonging to the curious people who would inevitably generate conspiracies and questions.
" They're all watching...I know it!" Zim muttered. " I exposed myself too much back there...I can't afford to do that again." Zim contemplated about how much of a fool he'd been. They all saw his body's reaction to the milk, and yet he so imprudently continued that skirmish until they saw the other reaction with water. It unearthed many hidden secrets and identities which should've been kept buried, but Zim wasn't in the right of his mind at the time. You're not in the right mind now.
" Oh my blueprints..." Zim whined. He made his way to the sofa and slowly lied on the cushions, feeling a soothing aid to his sore muscles, but gritted his teeth to the striking pain at his bruises. He rested his head against the armrest and let out a sigh. He wished that his idea of reclining on the couch was more favorable towards his wanting ease of pain.
" Sir. You appear to bear more bruises and injuries than before. Have you sustained more from within the time span of 8 hours, 30 minutes, and 31 seconds?" The computer asked. Zim closed his eyes and rested his hand against his forehead. He sighed slowly, and he could feel the swollen presence of his bruises placed upon his head.
"...Yes...I have." Zim answered deeply. "...Computer...What happened to your voice apparatus? Why does it sound so...soporific? " He asked quietly. For the past few days he noticed how monotonous and prosaic the voice of the computer sounded, as if it's only purpose was to serve primitive duties, without even the benefit to complete them out of boredom. However he didn't question it until now.
" I...er...I thought it was a little...fun to try and experiment with my voice apparatus...to sound like a default mechanism... I also-uh...did research for more...eloquent vocabulary, if you will." The computer replied, with a normal voice, the one he was built with. " I...Well—I thought it made me sound more...you know, scientific like and...like an expert." He chirped.
Zim breathed in and out for a few more moments, contemplating about what he said before he shook his head.
" It doesn't...it makes you sound annoying. Don't do it anymore." Zim said hardheartedly. The computer's engined stirred a bit before there was a silence. Zim knew that small rirring was an emotion process throughout his computer's system. His computer was built to be sentient, for reasons unknown, however Zim thought that it made the machine more intelligent; He was even able to process thoughts. Zim also regarded his computer as male, mainly because his voice was programmed to fit one and the computer even preferred the gender role itself. Another small mechanism sounded before his computer spoke again.
"...Yes sir..." He remarked, morosely. After a short pause, Zim felt a twinge again in his chest, and the feeling brought his eyes open. It was that same...emotion? That he'd felt before. Thrice already it occurred and he still didn't know what it was. But the feeling was over before he could linger on and try and discover why he felt the way he did for those span of seconds. It annoyed him slightly and he rested his head back down against the armrest.
"...Sir, your shoulder seems to serve you well...I guess it really is beneficial to be an Irken." Computer remarked. Zim furrowed his eyes and glared at the television screen.
" What is that supposed to mean?" He asked, offended.
"...N-Nothing, sir. I didn't mean it like that." He responded. " It's just your DNA and structural build make it easier for you to recover from injuries. I-I've noticed that your shoulder isn't hurting you...as bad anymore."
" Tch! Damn my shoulder." Zim muttered. From the aforementioned incident of the injury of his shoulder, thoughts of Gir came back to mind and it made him grimace slightly. It was logical that Gir was still hiding. His small mind wouldn't be able to repair itself that quickly, especially from the emotions and after affect.
Gir is completely useless to you. Not only is he inutile from his rambunctious behavior and childish psyche, but he has a mental capacity so limited that a comparison wouldn't be in due because his condition is so unprecedented. He's only a burden. But if you actually cared about your mission, you would've gotten rid of him the day you retrieved him.
Zim lingered upon the thoughts for a while, reflecting if those instances would be of any use and benefit. Though he waved the thought, but not entirely out of conclusion. Zim groaned as he remembered the pain and he took a deep breath.
"...There were other ways that we could've used to relocate your shoulder..." Computer remarked. Zim only nodded with disinterest and ignored the statement. However, the computer continued on.
"...I did some research upon it...There were other...more therapeutic ways. Using force to relocate your joints isn't exactly conventional...however, from the looks, it does prove to be...efficient enough...and prompt." He said, with a slight chuckle. Zim disregarded the one-sided conversation and continued on with writhing. Though the Computer took quick notice to Zim's uncaring behavior and discontinued the subject. or a while, he remained quiet and left Zim to wheeze, and to let his body heal.
" Sir...If I may..." Computer said. Zim took a few moments to think about what he was wanting to do, but he responded anyway.
" What?" He sighed.
" I...I suggest that you should allow yourself into a dormant state." He said, uneasily. Zim opened his eyes and glanced back at the television screen.
" You suggest I fall asleep..."
" Yes...I know that from your race you don't need to, but however I do know that it is possible for it to still occur...I...I uh." Computer paused for a moment and allowed a few engines to run before talking again. " I've been doing research on this planet for a while now...Since we've been here for around a year...I was able to link into data sights and gather information. Of course I...I speak of internet sights and web-pages and whatnot...but...I found out that sleep can help the healing process." He remarked. Zim sighed and shifted around, and lied upon his right shoulder.
" I don't need sleep. I'm fine." He replied.
"...I recommend that you do...I sense and...I-uh...analyzed that you are in quite some pain...And just from the view...ooof...It would help your situation...Plus, your shoulder and your head wouldn't be in much pain anymore." The Computer said. Zim allowed the thoughts to mind and he contemplated about what the computer was suggesting. It was true; he had been in quite a lot of pain. He remembered how much it hurt just to walk home, from his limbs. Zim sighed again and began to allow the process take place. Unlike for humans, and because Irkens didn't need sleep, he could consciously compel his body to do so. Zim leveled his breathing, and closed his eyes. It was then that he felt his mind begin to slowly slip away from him, as any conscious thought faded away into surreal realities and imaginations. He was also able to control how deep of a sleep he would fall to.
Slowly, after a minute passed, Zim had fallen asleep, and the Computer had turned a few engines, and searched through his self implanted Media player. He browsed through the queue of his selected favorite music and searched through the 'Peaceful' categories. The Computer chose an arrangement from Gabriel Fauré; Pavane Op. 78. After wards he listened to it in peace, and he knew that while Zim was in his dormant state, He would be undisturbed by the music. To ensure that, the Computer turned down the volume closely to the quietest it could be.
Even though as a simple mechanism made for the service of others, and simply to be an inanimate object, the Computer liked how he was still able to enjoy the small things of the world, and he was grateful for his intelligence and sentience. Even though his line of work could be demeaning to his existence and moral standards, the up sides were listening to music and indulging into novels, works of fantasies and sci-fies. He even had found a few of his own favorite authors and musicians.
After a few moments had passed, however, Gir had exited from the toilet from the kitchen. He gingerly mounted off the seat and almost tip-toed towards the living room. The sight of Zim made him stop and he stared at him for a few moments before he decided to sit in place. From what the computer could tell, he was trying to figure out what had happened. Why did he decide to sleep? Why are there bruises on him? The Computer thought that Gir was thinking those thoughts, as he saw how curiosity lightened his eyes. After a while, Gir turned his head to the television screen, and finally realized the music that was playing.
For a while he contemplated what he was hearing, until he stood up to move closer to the screen. As it continued playing, Gir sat down again at his spot and stayed still as a statue. He was listening to it! Even though he probably had no idea what it was, he was actually enjoying it, in a sense. Gir blinked a few times, and he shifted around to where he was criss-crossing. To his surprise, Gir had stayed until the music ended, where he blinked a few more times and stood. There when Zim shifted in his sleep, he mistook it for him waking up, and ran back down the underground base.
•••
After school ended, Dib managed to decrease the swelling and bruising that appeared on his face. Thanks to the nurse, he was able to borrow a cold patch and make them look at least more sightly. The bleeding from his nose and mouth however sporadically came and went. So in such cases, he kept a handkerchief in his pocket. Throughout the school day, he'd been slightly angry at Zim, for the obvious reasons, and for the fact that always seemed to reinforce itself as if it needed to be a constant reminder that the school kids were just so stupid to know that Zim was an alien. He was steaming! From water! And yet they claimed it was acid. Unbelievable. Dib fumed. Gaz and Dib walked home together, following the usual path they took as always. However they didn't exchange any words, and the presence between the two was silent, as silent as it could be from the wind that blew rather strongly. Dib shoved his hands into his pockets to shield them from the cold, and Gaz did the same. At least now I know that there are benefits for having jackets. He mused. He thought a little more about the event that took place until he had realized something.
" Oh yeah...uh, Gaz." Dib began.
" Mm." She hummed in response.
" Thanks for...uh, helping me out...if you wouldn't have been there, I might've gotten more bruises and probably been beat unconscious." He chuckled. However, Gaz only hummed another mmhmm and it made his attempt at humor even more awkward. He coughed nervously and remained silent the rest of the way home.
As they entered in the house, Dib took off his socks and shoes and placed them within the closet. He sighed and walked down the hallway to his room. He opened the door and entered through the slight mess that was abound. He had the small urge to clean his room, and pick up the things that were randomly spotting the room, However he was focused on finishing the studies he had on the blueprints. Dib sat upon his chair and turned on the computer, re-opening tabs and documents that he had used last night. He began into his same process which he conducted last night. A little while into his research, Gaz entered his room with a soda can. She watched a while before she began drinking.
" How many languages did you find?" she asked, lifting the can to her mouth. Dib stopped and blinked. After trying to think of a rational conclusion, his mind drew blanks and couldn't come up with any. He needed to process the information he'd just received; Gaz. The Gaz was actually curious about what he was doing. He turned slightly towards her.
"...uh...last night I did around 340 languages." He said casually. At the answer, Gaz almost choked on her drink. She coughed out liquid particles and secured the can in her other hand. She cleared her throat before speaking.
" Why?" she coughed.
"...Well I needed to have at least a tenth of the research down. I mean...I have a lot of other languages to go." Dib replied with a shrug. Gaz paused for a moment before shaking her head.
" That's just doing too much...Wait...How many languages are in the world?" She asked another question, coughing still. Dib widened his eyes at the inquiries that were leaving her mouth. It was starting to become baffling. Dib blinked again and scratched his palm.
" Uh...around...6,912 I think." He remarked. That was when she paused and looked at him for a few moments, estimating in her head how much time and research and patience exactly it would take to research that many different languages. She shook her head at the amount of work that would be required for that amount of research. She knew herself well; she wouldn't have the motivation to do 20. Gaz coughed one more time and set down her drink on his desk. Dib continued working and he noticed slightly how she stayed to watch. After a while, Gaz shifted on her feet.
" Hows your face? I saw you took a couple of blows." She brought up. Dib grinned crookedly.
" I feel fine. I have small bruises but they don't...Well, they hurt, but they don't hurt too...Well, they hurt a lot, but...you know...not enough for me to be in absolute pain." He remarked, and continued on with his studies. Afterward, there were no other words shared.
There would be the occasional dubious grunt and huff as he did his calculations, and more specifically, to the notes he took, but however there was no denying she was interested. He could tell that she was contemplating. He saw that she was watching his research, but she was still doubtful about the whole idea. But she was giving it consideration. Perhaps reluctance consideration, but nevertheless she gave it her attention. Something that Gaz never does if it doesn't have any sort of significant pertinence to what she was doing.
How did he know that? Of course, of her actions of watching him study. After seeing Zim's reaction to the fact he had stolen his blueprints, and how so far what she'd seen had nothing to do with the world they live in, it would...kinda make sense for her to be slightly convinced. Though after the 50th language Dib had studied today, she left with boredom, unmotivated to sit through all of that time just to watch someone study. Dib was surprised she stayed so long in the first place.
It was then that their father sauntered into the living room, greeting Gaz with proclaims and bursts of gusto. However he took notice to Dib's absence in the room, and made his way to his bedroom. He detected instantly to the small bruises that were on Dib's head. Dib waved the idea and reassured him that he had just fallen down from the tables during lunch. That wasn't entirely a lie, though. His father however shook his head and demanded for the truth. When Dib tried again to restate that was the truth, his father became impatient. In all honesty, Dib never saw his father so adamant to find out about the doings of his kids. Especially if it had to do with injuries.
"...I got in to a fight." Dib sighed.
" What?" His father almost boomed.
"...I uh...got into a fight."
" With who?" He demanded.
" I-uh...with Zim." Dib remarked. A disappointed sigh left his father's mouth.
" Why can't you two ever get along? All I hear are gossips and insults from you two!" He chastised. Dib remained silent for a while and he rubbed his hands together. He tried his best not to look his father in his eyes but eventually he willed himself to do so. The intensity of his father's concern made Dib feel uneasy. That was when he had grabbed him by the shoulder and lead him to the other room. He set him down at the chair in the kitchen and he sat in front of him.
" Tell me how it began. Did you win?" He said, more austere. Dib scratched the back of his neck. He didn't exactly understand why he brought him in the kitchen, but he never questioned his father's motives. It just wasn't part of his nature to do so.
" Ah, Dad...It's...It's really not—"
" Son..." He said sternly.
Dib was slightly surprised by his father. And his last remark sent a cold chill down his spine. His father was never really the one to be intimidating; however his height and voice could be a factor into that category already. And when so serious, it could really make an impact. Dib shifted in his seat and blinked a few times.
"...uh...okay—I-I got into this fight because I...uh...I stole—um...blueprints from—"
" You did what? You stole? From who—Zim?" His father said, shocked.
" I—yeah... from Zim." Dib replied, becoming nervous.
" Why did you do that, Dib? I taught you better!" His father exclaimed.
" I-I know! I'm sorry...but Zim has..." He paused, desperately trying to find words to form an explanation.
" Zim has what?" His father questioned. Dib's tongue felt immobile and unable to form any words that he wanted to express. He sighed eventually and finally came up with the idea to try and show him rather than explain.
" Hold on, Dad." He said and pushed his seat from the table, and jumped down.
" Hey Where do you think you're going?" His father said firmly.
" Hold on, I'm going to show you the blueprints." Dib reassured. After a few moments, His father loosened and stood up from the table and flicked off imaginary lint from his clothes.
" I don't approve of this at all, Dib. You know that you're not supposed to steal, I don't care from whom. You're not supposed to." His father said, in process of following him to his room. Dib entered and for a split moment felt a sense of self-consciousness when he opened the door to the disarray of his room. However he forced the thoughts and feeling from mind and continued to his computer. There he picked up the sheets and handed them to his father. He took them gingerly and studied the etchings and captions.
" You see? It's in another language. One I've never seen before. I think that this might be proof for Zim being from another planet." Dib said carefully. He knew what his father's feelings were on the subjects of paranormal investigation and supernatural experiences. Those ideologies were of nonsense and complete idiocy in his eyes. However his father was looking at the pictures quite pensively. Dib almost received the thought that his father might've believed him if it wasn't for the slow, daunting glance from the papers to his son's face that told him otherwise.
"...You stole them because they were in another language?" He asked, gravely. Dib knew where this was going; His father thought he was racist. And for him to think so only gave him cold shivers and made him appear more intimidating. It was quite difficult to prove things of otherworldly nature to the one's who believed in only scientific proof and evidence. Dib sighed and rubbed the back of his head.
" I know what you're thinking, Dad, but that's not the case. I took those and I studied to see if the had—
" Dib... Somebody from another country, and who speaks a different language doesn't make them an alien!" His father almost yelled. He was infuriated; and even though his glasses were still on and his heightened lab coat collar, He could slightly see the blood rush to his face.
" Dad! I'm not saying that people from other countries are aliens! I'm saying that Zim is!" Dib replied defensively. " Look! I did research!" He said and rushed to his computer. He turned it on and went to his studies and documents.
" I've studied lots and lots and lots of different languages! I...I'm not done yet but I can assure you that this language—" Dib gestured to the blue prints, and tapped at the symbols. "—has no correlation with any other of the spoken languages on earth!" He confided. However, His father could almost be considered glowering right now. His hand that didn't hold the blueprints was in a tight fist and he still as a statue. Dib swallowed nervously and his hands sought each other.
"...Dib...you will take this back to Zim...and apologize." He said. Dib felt almost a panic rise in his body.
" But Dad..."
"...Dib...do the right thing." He said finally. His father gingerly grabbed his son's hand and put the blueprints upon his palm. He left the room without another word. Even with his presence gone, Dib could still feel the austere disposition and cold mood that had emanated from his father. One that he never knew existed.
• • •
Purple strode through the hallways of the empire. He wandered slowly, pensive, hands folded behind his back. There were a few times where he passed by an Irken Invader, and was greeted with a formal bow, and an addressing of My Tallest. Purple would form a smile on his face but would reply nonchalantly, despite the expression, with As you were. However the process didn't make them stop when they greeted. It was a quick acknowledgment, a quick response to that acknowledgment, and things came back the way they were. There were other times where he encountered janitors, servants, and other service drones that had the identical salutation. Purple would only nod to them.
He entered into his quarters and relieved a sigh from his mouth. His room had been neatened while his departure was present. The bed was straightened and the sheets repositioned. The floor swept and clean, glimmering from the blue incandescent light that shone from his ceiling. As an Irken, the bed was only present for luxury purposes. It posed no real importance to him and he only used it when he contemplated, or when he required a more comfortable seat. However, it was nice to sleep and restore a bit of energy every once and a while.
Purple removed the bold, oval gauntlets that weighed his wrists, and slid his slender fingers out. Along with the other, steel plated armor that he appareled in for the appearances, he removed from his chest and torso. He placed them accordingly into his closet and massaged his muscles. It was never comfortable to wear such unnecessary defense. The only clothe that were of small comfort was the robe he wore underneath. At least that wasn't decked with solid steel. Purple stretched, and sat upon his bed.
As he was to continue before he was interrupted, he resumed ordering his snacks in alphabetical and color order. He appreciated the look of a rather dashing disposition of a nice kept shelf of treats. This way it helped him to know that others didn't think him a disorganized fool.
However, his thoughts kept rearing back to the event that took place today. With Red. It didn't help that he was so blind enough by his own temper to make decisions that were irrational, but it really showed the true character when he made irrational decisions of information that was supposed to be classified. The thought would've brought back a sense of vexation, if he didn't have the sudden idea race his mind about the Control Brains.
They have ears within the palace, within each and every corner, room, and crevice. The only privacy that the Almighty Tallest is allowed is that of their quarters, and even then, servants and drones allow themselves into them without a second thought within everyday. The Control Brains monitor what happens around the palace, for they are the ones that truly rule. On behalf of their inability to move, they result to being manufactured with their hearings extended throughout the entirety of the place. When Purple remembered that, he couldn't help but receive the small fears of paranoia and slight spine tingles.
I need to warn this to Red...They might've overheard us. Purple thought to himself. There was no doubt in his mind that Red didn't notice this himself. He might've been a blundering fool when it came to keeping secrets and keeping calm, but he was just as analytical and quick to details as he was. Purple sighed at the thought, knowing he would have to replace some of the metallic apparel to appear more appropriate.
Purple leisurely made his way down the hallways of the palace. The palace hallways were rather dim, actually everything about the palace was shadowed with darkness. Mainly from the lack of windows. However, he took notice to the welly-obscured wires that lined the corners of the hallway. It wasn't that the Control Brains were paranoid, and suspicious. But in fact they just liked to be acquainted within the events that occurred within the Palace. Curiosity, to put it lightly. However, it still didn't fail to unsettle him whenever he sensed their presence.
Purple arrived at Red's door and knocked upon the cold steel surface. A thought ran in his mind, and he actually approved to the feeling. It wouldn't hurt if they placed carpet within many parts of the palace. Like the Observatory, or the Gallery. That would be nice. Purple mused. The door opened and Red glanced from the slim opening. The small amount of curiosity that lightened Red's face fell to a dark, bitter appearance of displeasure.
" What do you need?" Red asked unpleasantly. Purple furrowed his eyes and lowered his head.
" Don't sound so sore, Red. I came to give you some advice." He said, equally matching his irritation. Red scoffed at his remark and opened the door wider, as he felt no longer the need to conceal himself. He was dressed in his red robe, his armor having been replaced.
" Last I recall, your advice usually has an under-meaning of lecture." He said. Purple casually allowed himself in and ignored the aura that emanated from Red when he did so. Actually, he acknowledged his increase of vexation with a small, mocking smirk.
" Lectures belong to those in need of them. You simply cannot learn for yourself." Purple joked. However, Red in his usual bad mood, disregarded the lightness of his voice and only regarded the sting it provided.
" If immature taunting is the only thing you came here for, then I welcome you to the door." Red said deeply.
" No...I came here for more important issues...It's just fun to counter your own anger." Purple said, amused. Red placed his hands behind his back and raised his chin. His impatience and extreme disinterest was vivid. He even released a sigh in slight preparation in the upcoming conversation. In turn, Purple lowered his chin, appearing more serious. Red closed the door and locked it shut. He glanced back at Purple and stayed in one spot.
" I need to understand that your little...proposal of leadership and control wasn't in fact true." Purple began. Red's eyes furrowed intensely.
" You returning to this conversation brings me umbrage, Purple. I don't want to talk about this." He said. Purple shook his head, and let out an easy, light sense of chuckling. Maybe he wasn't as quick to details as he thought he was...
" As it may bring you...displeasure...I assure you that it will be beneficial if you allow me to finish."
" Your assurance brings nothing but more displeasure." Red said, impatient. He even demonstrated it with crossing his arms over his chest. Purple furrowed his eyebrows. He would at least expect Red to listen just to a little bit to what he was saying. His absolute refusal wasn't exactly eccentric, but it had always been a subject that Purple had some knowledge about. Not to mention it was immature.
" What's the matter with you?" Purple asked.
" Is this what you came here for? To concern about my welfare?" He retorted. Now he was taking offense to things that didn't even have a direct or indirect insult. Not even with sarcasm. Purple shook his head.
" Does it matter—"
" Yes...it does." He confided.
" Red, I came here not to anger you. I came here to—"
" Purple...I will not repeat myself." Red said, his arms falling to his sides. Red was unusually upset, even for him to be so. He wasn't so quick to anger as Purple could recall, not so much as he is now.
" Red...what is it that has made you so...infuriated? If it was the argument, that took place hours before." Purple asked, genuinely confused.
" You venture too deep, Purple. That is none of your business." Red spat. " Now...If you only came here to speak about our argument from before, then you shall leave. I am in no need or mood to quarrel."
Purple shook his head slowly. He was already glaring at him. It had only been half a minute to anger him to the point that Red was obstructing his ears and commanding for Purple to leave his presence. However, there might've been more to what met Purple's eyes. Maybe there was an actual reason that he didn't know about that personally angered Red and not some excuse like the pastimes he had used. However, it still shouldn't blind him to recognize the underlying words that Purple was using for him. The fool...He's just as imprudent as ever. Purple thought to himself. He raised his chin and sighed.
Red opened the door once more and motioned for his departure. Purple lingered a while longer, watching his eyes before he decided to move. He swiftly placed a note on Red's dresser as he slowly moved past him, and exited the room without another word. When he entered the hallway and when the door shut, Purple let out a smile and continued his way down. It seemed that planning ahead was always beneficial.
Red sighed as he locked the door, and placed his hand flat against the face of it. Purple was his colleague, a best friend, a rival and his co-leader in the service of the Irken Empire, however despite his connection with him, Purple was the most detestable person who ever existed. His presence could bring more utter disgust to an individual than the presence of a damned defective, if he really tried. And he does. Every time.
Red straightened out, and folded his arms behind his back. He believed that appropriate mental and physical posture helped invigorate the flow of reaching a calm, stable state of mind, to relieve stress. He blinked slowly and paced around the room for a bit, letting his thoughts diverge away from Purple; The spark of all flames. He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. If he didn't believe in these practices of controlled conduct and behavior, It would leave him to be a very stressful, and unhealthy person. Red needed it to rely on, knowing that his biggest disadvantage was his habit to walk the shortest avenue to anger. Which in turn, the one to reason and logic in endangered patience was miles, almost.
You're patience only becomes "endangered" when you speak with Purple, and that's because you refuse to try and keep your patience. You hold a grudge which prohibits any wants to compromising and logical thinking. Red's narcissism spoke. It was the quiet voice located in the back of his head, always and only there to counter any sort of thoughts he had. It would always tell him the blatant truth of his actions, and sometimes even be the flint to the spark. That would only be on behalf of Red's inability to accept the truth, and he knew that voice spoke only of the truth. However, stubbornness is a very stubborn wall to get over. Hence it's name.
Red sighed and dropped his arms to his side, and finally opened his eyes. His thoughts were going no where to help him with his outreach to peace. They only ventured to other places that brought vexation as well. Red sat down at his bed, and rubbed his bald cranium. It seemed like everything brought a feeling of stress, disregarding the degree of which it emanated. And he hated that the most. He sighed once more and glanced around his room. Red then saw a small folded paper curiously placed upon his dresser. He had the feeling he knew who it was from. And it wasn't a good one.
Red walked over and unraveled the paper, reluctantly. And as he stretched out the jointed paper, He began to read it. As his eyes traveled over the words, Red huffed at the light insults and shook his head at just how much of Purple was portrayed within the paper. Further in, he began to feel slightly disappointed at himself, and over thought the insults he'd directed to Purple. Not to much, on virtue of Purple's endemic sarcasm which never failed to annoy him.
Dear Idiot:
How did I know you were going to shove the door in my face? Well I'm talking about you, in the first place. Better thank me next time you see me, because I know you didn't think of this;
I only brought up the idea of yours again because even with the door closed, I know The Control Brains can still hear. I made it seem like to them it was just me ensuring you weren't being stupid. So they wouldn't suspicious if we talked about them or anything else.
As I aforementioned, the Control Brains have ears of the gods; I know they overheard our conversation in the Massive, and especially since we had a heated argument. Plus you had the thought yourself when you looked around at the ceiling. Next time you have another grand idea to Complete control and Subjugation to all, Talk to me with correspondence; you idiot.
Third of all, We need to bring up our little argument to the Control brains. They are going to think we are keeping secrets. From what they know, we don't know they eavesdropped, and that we are not sharing this subject to anyone. So we need to start having a chat about this, using our computers for chat rooms. Those databases are the only things the Control Brains aren't wired to, and are not monitoring 24/7. We need to think about what we're going to do, and fast, or else we might be summoned, charged with suspicions of conspiring and other prohibited acts. So tonight, yes, tonight, You need to start corresponding. We have to get this done and over with.
I will be expecting that thanks in your first message, in your first line.
Forever not yours, Purple
Red contemplated about the message for a while, before he sat down at his desk. He wove his fingers together and placed his elbows against the desk platform. As annoying and stupid as Purple was, and as much as he hated to admit, Purple was right. Not about everything, but about most of it. Red had the thought that the Control Brains were listening. It was when he remembered their presence he felt the extreme mortification and anger at himself, in the Massive. Which was why he had misfired it towards Purple just a few moments before. It was always when he was proven wrong that it would annoy him; That was another reason towards the misfiring.
Though for a reason, now he contemplated it with consideration. Purple could be appreciable when he wasn't being so childish. He could also be considered an...okay person, if not for his incessant need to take advantage of Red's patience...And his selfish habit to put himself first in front of everything and everybody else. Red sighed and massaged his head a while more.
" Computer; On..." Red commanded. The machine activated and brought up his desktop.
" Roxi?" Red remarked.
" Yes, Almighty Tallest Red?" She replied.
" Check my Daily Log list. Are all of my errands done for the day?" He asked, scratching his chin.
" Yes, sir. They are."
" Good...Computer; bring out the keyboard. Roxi, you may enter sleep mode."
Red said and set his fingers in position upon his keyboard. He paused for a few seconds to decide on how to begin this message back to him. And after a while, he felt that for once, he would humor Purple.
" Yes sir...Thank you sir." Roxi replied. Sleep mode was when the computer's personal engine would shut down, without completely turning off the system. The voice command activator would be set to off automatically as well. The machine and it's general functions would be set on, but as he called her, Roxi, would be independent from any further commands and functions from the system. Red opened up the chat room site and opened the email, writing the message like he was supposed to. He began it with the expected thanks, in the expected first line. However, he would not fail to include his own sarcasm this time.