10 August 2016
I would ask who missed me although if I do there will probably be a rotten tomato thrown somewhere along the way.
I had this written in July and there is actually a legitimate reason why I didn't post it, but it's too long to explain so never mind.
Review so I have a reason to spam someone's inbox, by the way. Haven't done that in a while. Withdrawal symptoms.
40: Cleaning
of houses that used to be perpetually hopeless.
Artists often titled their works, didn't they? Something profound to make the art piece more intricate and intriguing and intoxicating and all those other—what? Your art pieces don't have a title? What are you talking about?
Bandana Dee was no artist himself, he could clearly declare. His castle identification card had his occupation printed out as "Minion" and his village identification card labelled him "Castle Scum". (They were the same thing in the end, so there was no confusion there.) He did doodle here and there, but they were mostly just incomplete, furry, spineless sketches. But he did title them. ("Thing One", "Thing Two", "Rare Nice Thing One", "Fail Two-Thousand-and-Three", &c.)
He did pride himself at being good at naming things, though. If the castle was a piece of art? "Upturned Image". The Halberd? "Unanticipated Escapism". The interior of Kirby's house? Carnage.
If someone looked into Kirby's house and another said that a civil war had taken place inside there, they might be believed.
There was no such thing as stepping on flat ground in Kirby's house.
When questioned on how he got from position to position in his house, Kirby had blinked and tilted his head. "You just… walk over?"
Impossible.
By then, it wasn't a secret, but Bandana Dee did enjoy heading over to Kirby's. He had more than one friend back at the castle, but one was constantly sleepy and the other yelled too much about the philosophy of cabbages. (Lettuce, too, occasionally.)
"Kirby, are you in?" If he knocked on the door, would it collapse? It looked new, but looks were horribly deceitful. The stall looked as run-down as ever, but the plowed field was dotted with green in neat rows. Bandana Dee didn't know Kirby's schedule; rather, he didn't have one. He went out and socialised purely on whims. He did a lot of things on whims. Only important things were unrestricted from that condition.
The door opened two seconds after Bandana Dee called out. Pink filled the doorway. "Bandana Dee!" he basically squealed. "This is amazing! I didn't have to call the mobile corps to get you! And my shop isn't even open!"
"I've come here myself before, though—"
"Elation!"
Bandana Dee did not make any attempt to reply. Kirby was already jittery with excitement and bouncing off the curved walls of the small room, narrowly missing the lamp after every contact.
...Something was very different, Bandana Dee felt, when he walked through the doorway to the unexpectedly neatly tiled wooden boards. (Kirby was throwing the fridge open and hauling a plastic bag of food out.) He sat against the wall on the floor, right next to the door where it would slam into his face if it was flung open.
Wait—he sat down.
On the floor.
"You… cleaned up your room?" Bandana Dee did realise it was one of those very stupid questions, but he was too busy peering at the stack of bed sheets piled beside the cupboard, pencils bundled up in a ceramic cylinder, and the book entitled Zero-day on his desk. (Although, he didn't see any computers.)
"Hm? Oh, that—I was trying to find my mattress, and I thought it got lost under everything so I went to clear it all up! Then I remembered I left it outside to let it sun for a while." Kirby pranced over, plastic bag rustling in tow, and scooted next to Bandana Dee. "I don't know why you don't sit in one of my chairs, but that's unimportant. Eat!" And then proceeded to stuff his own face with (raw) sweet potatoes.
Bandana Dee would've made an exasperated comment, but he had once combed the entire castle looking for his bandana while it was on his head. Instead, he just quietly dipped his hand inside the bag and tried not to make himself feel so awkward.