Elementary, my dear Watson.

Prompt was to put a favorite literary character in Walmart, so naturally, I picked Sherlock Holmes. :)

-

"Are you quite certain that he came here, Holmes?" Watson shifted hesitantly from foot to foot. "I do not doubt your deductive skills, but this strange building cannot, it seems to me, be any sort of a warehouse."

"Sorry," a mother said as she bumped into his shoulder while pushing past him. Watson decided she must have possessed some extraordinary strength and agility, to carry two children in her arms, push a stroller, carry four shopping bags and maintain normal walking speed. Either that, or it was that mysterious "mother strength," as Mary was inclined to call it. Holmes, of course, did not acknowledge such an unscientific force.

"I cannot be surer," Holmes replied, waving a dismissive hand and eyeing the various brightly-colored food items with a disdainful eye. "I an informed that our good man has entered into this establishment, and as... strange as it may appear, he is a very sly man; although not quite, perhaps, as clever as I am. He would have picked the most expansive shop with the most number of people inside, so as to hide well. The gaudy merchandise is only another reason."

"Pardon me--he has a reason for this..." Words failed Watson as he motioned to the eye-wrenching labels and cage of neon rubber balls.

"He means to distract, inundate, or repulse us," Holmes said, before adding wryly, "I cannot say that he has not done a fair job."

-

"I did not realize England could produce such an extensive selection of children's toys," Watson remarked in awe.

"We have only walked two aisles," Holmes said, "and really, Watson. Your assumptions have misled you again. We are currently in the United States of America."

"What!" cried Watson, astonished. "America!"

"You must have heard the immediately recognizeable American accent and noticed the subtle switch from English grammar and spelling to American spelling in this text," Holmes explained mildly. "It must be excused. The author is not, after all, as competent a writer as our Doyle."

"Spelling! America!" Watson repeated. "And -- author!"

"Do not dwell on such a subject too long, Watson. I am afraid it may be too much for you to handle."

-

"Watson! Have you realized what an invaluable tool this 'laptop' is? With it I shall be able to access such a world of information that I have not been able to before. I am told that a man in the furthest corner of the Asian countries may send an 'e-mail' to a man in England in nearly no time at all! One with no knowledge of all could rise of the height of knowledge by reading on the 'Internet'! Why have I not heard of this before?"

"I -- I cannot be sure..."

"I must have it at once. Take that 'camera,' too; I'll need that as well."

"I... camera?"

-

"Sorry, we don't take English money," the cashier apologized, handing the money back.

"Pounds," Holmes replied shortly. "English pounds sterling."

"Whatever."

Holmes' expression cooled. "You might begin to save money if you did not allow yourself the pleasure and luxury of cocaine and cigarettes, although I am sure a fellow like you might not have the strength to stop. Then you could quit this vile job as a cashier like you want to."

The cashier was aghast. "What?"

"In addition, your girlfriend has begun -- what is that peculiar American idiom? -- 'two-timing' you."

Watson felt sincerely sorry for the cashier; he looked quite young and distraught. There were not many instances in which he felt the need to interrupt Holmes' tirades, but for the sake of maintaining the peace, he tapped on his friend's shoulder. "Holmes, we really ought to be tracking our man, in any case," he said mildly. "I am sure there are fine enough laptops and cameras and Internets in England."

-

In the parking lot:

"Heaven's sake, Holmes," Lestrade said, passing the culprit to his aides. "What took you so long?"

Holmes gave him a tight smile. "I suppose we were -- distracted, of a sort..."

Heroism has gone Commercial

Just an excerpt. Will probably continue this... I like the idea. It's from a prompt at the NaNo boards, from the famous Adopt-a-Plot thread:

"Heroism has gone commercial. There's really no such thing as real heroes any more. They're all just paid to go around and stop evil villains and save the princess and so on. But, to do this, they need villains to endanger the population. As such, the NVA (National Villain's Association) was formed..." (RoboPhantom)

-

“The name's Nix,” Nix said, and stuck out his hand.

“I'm Klaus,” the other replied, taking it. “Why are you named that?”

“Don’t blame the kid, Klaus. My mom liked Star Trek, decided to name her kid something spacey. Besides, half of the time people don’t even use my name.”

“Why not?”

“You’re pretty curious for a kid,” Nix said, giving him a wry look. “It’s because the other half of the time they call me ‘The Black Deceiver.’”

“‘The Black Deceiver’? The villain? Really?” Klaus frowned. “Didn’t he die two weeks ago?”

Nix snorted. “Die? Is our acting really that good? Sorry to burst your bubble, Klaus, but no one dies. No one dies. The last time someone even came close to dying was in ‘76, when some stagehand had one too many glasses of beer and fell into the lava pit reserved for Sugo the Swindler. And he just got away with juice in his lungs.”

“Juice?”

“Mmhm. Juice, the stuff you see in the lava scenes. Some mix of ten different chemicals and red food dye. Stings the eyes like crazy and tastes like puke, but otherwise harmless.”

Klaus looked suspicious.

“So, if villains don’t die... so what happens?”

“Only the names die. The people get recycled. ‘The Black Deceiver’ is my last name and my most favorite, since I got to land a good one on Heero the Magnificent’s nose. They still use computer effects to touch his nose up. But I’ve also been ‘Felix the Unlucky,’ ‘Smitty the Bandit,’ Don of ‘The Demon Duo,’ and a couple of no-name villains you probably wouldn’t know.”

Klaus’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t have thought ‘The Black Deceiver’ would be the same person as ‘Felix the Unlucky’...”

“Start thinking it, kid,” Nix said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “There are a whole bunch of villains out there that are actually played by the same group of people. Just don’t tell anyone, yeah? I lose my job if they find I let the word out. Can’t have the public’s delusions crash yet. This hero-villain stuff stinks, but it makes good money.”

“Who gets paid more, heroes or villains?”

Nix snorted. “What, you want to be one? Heroes, of course. But that’s only because the NHA gets paid billions because of all the action figures they sell. The NVA, not as much--I mean, who wants to buy figures of Sugo the Swindler?”

Klaus grimaced.

“Yeah, exactly. Bit ridiculous if you ask me. A villain does more work than three heroes combined, mostly since they keep dying. Heroes just have to stand there and look pretty. But who do the people like?”

“The heroes.”

“That’s right, kid. The heroes.” Nix paused. “At least, until now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s going to change. And I’m going to be the one to do it.”

One-sentence menace

Yep, it's one of those stories again. Those stories that are just one sentence. The problem with those is that they often don't make sense, or they're too hard to read. I hope mine's neither...

-

“My dear child,” she says, fluttering her eyes and grasping at his cloak; “my dear, dear child, surely it’s unthinkable that you would even imagine the rude, wretched, heartless possibility of leaving me here in this dark, unforgiving hell of a prison; after all, these past two weeks-—or two months, I can’t even remember since I’m so wrecked beyond reason; oh, and never mind what I think, since of course I’ve already forgiven you for putting me in here, dear-—these past two weeks have wreaked havoc on my poor nerves and my poor soul, and have nearly rendered me into a numb and helpless woman--you’d take me back to that wonderful, grand castle of yours, wouldn’t you, if I promised to not do anything to your dear little princess girl again and be a very good mother, my dear child… wait, wait, you’re--you’re not leaving me are you?--”

Sprinkler

One bright Saturday morning, George noticed an oddly shaped sprinkler in his front yard. He didn't remember installing one, and didn't think anyone else would have. Who would install a sprinkler on artificial grass? It wasn't April Fool's or his birthday. And his nieces and nephews hadn't visited for ages.

He stared at it, munching Cheerios thoughtfully, and stood up to get a clearer look. Now, isn't that an odd one? Never seen a sprinkler with that big of a nozzle. Promotion, maybe? No, they wouldn't install without his permission, and Dorothy was on a retreat. And besides, she wouldn't pull a prank like this. Maybe some rotten teenagers? Yeah, he'd go down to the Kenny's later and see what the twins'd been doing lately. Should probably check it out. After breakfast--definitely suspicious.

One more glance--hang on a moment. George froze in mid-glance, mouth, paused, open to receive another milk-soggy bite. Hang a moment, his eyes were perfectly fine, weren't they? Right, right. Not delusional, certainly, but maybe he was just tired--yeah, that's all. Just tired. There's now way it could have--

It shivered.

It was too quick, and he wasn't sure he'd seen it. But--hey! Did it again. Kinda like a wet cat shaking off water.

He went outside in his bathrobe and bare feet, nearing until less than five feet away from the... thing. How'd he think it was a sprinkler, anyway? Didn't look anything like one, now that he could see it up close. Looked like one of those ancient pyramid things, with the boxes stacked on top of each other? Yeah, like a little pyramid. Except green.

He nudged it with his big toe--just poked it slightly--and hey! It shivered again! And dug further into the grass. Sank till there was one layer less. And it looked at him--two little beady eyes he hadn't noticed before blinked at him. Some sort of animal? What animal was that?

"Well--" George said. But he couldn't think of anything to say after that. Should he call animal control? Or maybe the yard guy? Or the zoo? Or maybe the alien society (there was one, right?)? Couldn't make up his mind. Maybe he'd just try all of them. He ran inside, grabbed his cell phone, and ran back out, to make sure the little guy didn't get away. And waitasec! He'd forgotten the phone book! He returned back inside for the phone book and came back out, huffing. Man, he really had to get back into shape.

He called animal control first, since it was 'a' and in the beginning.

"Hello, this is Muller Animal Control. If you would like to learn about our prices and rates, press 1. If you would like to leave your address and phone number, press 2. If you would like to talk to an employee, press 3."

George pressed 3. Waited while the cheesy classical music played.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"I've got a... thing." Words failed him now, of all times.

"Pardon?"

"A thing. I've got this thing. It's ah..."

"Is it a snake?"

"No, no, no, it's not a snake. It's kind of like a box."

"A box, sir?"

"Well, actually, like..."

Heck, the little thing kept staring at him! How was he supposed to focus?

"Like what, sir?"

"Like a couple of boxes."

"... Excuse me?"

"It's like one of those ancient things--you know, the pyramids, except like boxes stacked on each other. And it's green."

"I'm... sorry, sir, I don't know of any animal that looks like that."

"Neither do I."

"Are you sure it's an animal?"

"Yeah--well, no, but it's got eyes."

"Maybe you should call somewhere else, sir."

"Maybe I should."

"Well, thank you, sir."

Click.

That wasn't helpful. Couldn't animal control do its job around here? Maybe he should call the zoo. Tell them that there's a weird new animal on his front lawn. Yeah, that would do it. That would take care of the problem. He flipped open the phonebook to zoo--that's 'm' for 'Mulberry Park Zoo'--and dialed the number.

The thing made a weird noise, like the cross between a squeal and a snort. He imagined that you might get the same sound if you tickled a hedgehog on the stomach.

"One thing for certain," George said. "I can't keep you."

It just looked at him.

A/N: Was that weird or what? I DON'T KNOW WHAT SPURNED THIS.

Prompt: condition

She's in a serious condition, the doctor says. She's in a serious condition. She's in a serious condition. Like echoes of a cool dark cave of black, black endlessness I hear these words again and again, too often, too quickly, too many times.

She's in a serious condition, he says.

And continues.

It's a rare type of atrophy.

Is there a treatment? My father wants to know. There is desperation in his voice, but no hope.

We all know there is no treatment.

Two days ago, I was fine. I was twelve, ambitious, and very much alive. Yesterday, I was a car wreck hovering between life and death, and today, I am much, much more dead than alive. The thin line between life and death is the sterile, cold plastic pumping nutrients into my body, trying to break me out of death's icy grip.

A/N: The end. Just kidding. Maybe. I'm not sure where this was leading... gee, what is with the depressing stuff? I have to write something happy now...

laugh

laugh
and
under
great
hindrances

you won't suffer at all.

little bear

One little bear

Just waiting to be loved

Smiles at a girl walking by.

That little bear

After such a long time

That night in warm arms it lies.

toy truck

On Monday, a toy is sitting in an old cardboard box that looks as if it will fall apart in a blink. It is a small truck, and its paint almost shows a rich crimson--its past color. In a day, this truck's alarm falls off; and soon, its bolts follow.

It waits for a boy--now a man.

On Friday, it is in a trash can.

A/N: There is no 'e'. Anywhere. Whew.

acrostic poem

A long time ago, there was a girl who came upon a magic potion

Labeled, "DRINK ME."

In the moments that followed,

Curious feelings arose

... and she shrank

... and shrank

... and shrank

Ending at ten inches tall.

Shadow

I am your shadow.
There beneath you I lurk and watch,
Wait and lie, scorching the fringes of your mind.
Then, should you scream or cry or bleed
I will be waiting.

NaNoWriMo excerpt

Synopsis:
Oh no! All of the cliches in Happily Ever After Land are disappearing! This means witches are suddenly beautiful and good, frogs are no longer princes, and happily ever afters... are disappearing. Thyan Braveheart, a cliched prince who has diminished into a bumbling, awkward average teenager, is on a mission: to return everything back into the cliched way they were and most importantly, get himself back. But as he continues, he wonders if returning everything back to cliches is what is actually best...

*Note: A fair amount of tongue-in-cheek.

In a wonderful kingdom in a far away land called Happily Ever After Land, there lived a wise and gentle (and not to mention handsome!) king called King Lyon Everheart, who was the sole ruler of this land. He was a king beloved by all, and his decrees were just and impeccably accurate. Although his wife had died a few years into his kingship, he had a daughter, Meridian, who he loved more than life itself, and lavished upon her great gifts and presents to be envied by all of the kingdom’s ladies. She was as good looking as he, and together they were a father daughter pair which ruled the kingdom with dignity, justice, and gentleness.

In another kingdom a little further away from the kingdom far away, there lived a prince whose name was Thyan Braveheart. He was as brave as his name suggests, and had already surpassed all of history’s greatest heroes; for although heroes here and there might have saved one or two princesses, he had already saved his fiftieth princess, with many more to come, because he was still a young man with years in front of him. He was fearless and smart and had little problem defeating the greatest of giants and dragons and monsters. With his faithful sidekick Gil, he conquered the east and west and all of the land surrounding his father’s kingdom, building and expanding its domain.

Occasionally, Thyan visited King Lyon and his daughter Meridian in between his conquests because his father and Lyon had been great friends and classmates in the Hero’s Academy, the central and necessary school for every aspiring hero. As Thyan and Meridian were of the same age and mind, they grew closer and closer until there was very little doubt that they would marry some day.

Here in the world of bright summer days and easily obtainable success, they lived happily—but not happily ever after, because their story was far from over.

-

“Help me! Oh, someone, help me!” The cries of the captive princess echoed harshly against the dungeon walls, and the huge dragon cackled at its prisoner’s screams.

“It’s useless,” it told her. “No one can save you now!”

The dragon opened up its mouth, wider and wider, to engulf the hysterical, kicking, struggling princess. “Princesses always taste the best,” it cackled.

“Stop right there!”

“Who—what?” The dragon stopped in the midst of its eating and turned. “No way!” it gasped. “No one should have been able to get into my cave! I made sure of it!”

Thyan grinned and tossed his ever shiny blond hair, like a model. “No dragon can prevent me, Thyan Braveheart, from rescuing a princess in peril! I will stop you!” He rushed towards the dragon, sword unsheathed, and gave a hearty battle cry worthy of a Grammy. “I’ve come to save the day!”

The dragon breathed in deeply, preparing to incinerate the prince into ashes, and the princess screamed. “My prince!”

“Gil, now!” Thyan ordered, and the huge, muscular Gil came down from a hole in the roof of the cave and landed on the dragon’s head.

“I got ‘im, sir!” Gil shouted, but it was an early triumph, and one hastily made.

The dragon tossed and turned, trying to fling the boy off, and finally managed to fling Gil straight across the cave—but in the meantime, Thyan, with his great sword, The Hero’s Sword, hacked and struck at the fearsome dragon’s neck.

“Oh, why did I ever steal a princess?” moaned the dragon as it collapsed onto the ground and loosened its grip on the princess.

“My hero!” exclaimed the princess, who flew upon Thyan and hugged him and kissed him gratefully.

“Yur sure the best hero in all the land! No one can stand up t’ya!” exclaimed Gil, rubbing his own wounds and staring at his master admiringly.

Thyan laughed, and the three exited the cave. All in another day’s work for Prince Thyan Braveheart, the hero of Happily Ever After Land.

- - - -

Gil heard his lord’s scream from down the hall, where his bedroom was conveniently positioned in the case of an emergency. This could hardly count as an emergency, but neither did getting Thyan a cup of tea in the night, giving him a backrub in the morning, or getting a plate of mid night snacks for him.

“What now?” Gil muttered, and rolled over in his bed. He listened to the scream for a couple of more moments, suffering in agony over the sound. But he realized that Thyan was not the one to solve his own problems and, giving a disgusted sigh, he rose and walked down the hall to his master’s room.

“Sir?” he asked, pushing open the door.

His first thought was Woah, Thyan sure got a makeover. “Hey, Thyan!”

Thyan stopped screaming and turned to him, nearly in tears. “Gil!” he cried, and launched himself at the giant, who caught him awkwardly and tried to push him off himself.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Look at me!” Thyan gestured to his face.

Gil looked at his face. It was strangely normal, he thought. Thyan’s blond hair stuck up in every direction unlike the perfectly brushed it always was. His face was pale and wait a minute, was there—acne on his face? His eyes were still their sapphire blue, but not as bright as Gil remembered—but maybe that was because of the redness from all of the crying.

“You look ridiculous,” Gil said finally, and meant it.

“I know!” Thyan cried. “My face is pathetic! It’s un—un handsome! It’s horrid! I hate it! This is horrible!”

“You know, it’s your own face,” Gil said.

Thyan burst out crying.

Feeling that he was with a complete idiot, Gil gave a weak attempt at consolation. “It’s... it’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is!”

“No it isn’t. Just look at yourself!”

“I already did!”

Gil steered Thyan over to his huge mirror and they stared at the two figures there: a tall, dark haired boy and a somewhat lanky blond boy with swollen eyes and tears.
Gil turned Thyan back. “Nevermind.”

“You see? You see?” Thyan asked hysterically. “I’m—I’m ugly!” After hearing it from his own mouth and the realization of it all, Thyan wordlessly collapsed onto his bed with an arm over his eyes. “Just leave me. I’ll die in my bed, ugly and pathetic.”

Gil stared at him. “You are pathetic,” he observed. “But I can’t have you like that forever. Come on,” he said, and pulled at his master’s arm.

A muffled refusal came from the bedcovers.

“Come on. You’re being childish.”

“I don’t care.”

Groaning, Gil dragged Thyan off of his bed and onto the floor. “Get up.”

“No!”

“Okay, you’re getting up.” Hoisting Thyan up, Gil set his master none too carefully onto a nearby chair.

Thyan was still hiding his tear stained face. “Don’t look at me!”

“I’m not,” Gil said, looking at him.

Looking up slightly, Thyan glared accusingly at him. “You are.”

Gil looked away. “Am not.”

“You were.”

“I was not.”

Thyan stared at the mirror and his frail, shivering form. “I hate it!” he cried, and threw a nearby hand mirror at the mirror.

It hit the mirror and bounced off harmlessly.

“What is wrong with me?” He stared at his hands.

“Come on, Thyan,” Gil said, and pulled him to his feet, which thankfully, he stayed on.

“What are you doing? H-hey, stop! Let go of me, you jerk!” Thyan tried to retrieve his arm from Gil’s steel like grip, but it was in vain.

“I don’t know what’s happening, but let’s take you to someone who does know.”

Thyan hesitated. “Kirina the fairy?” he asked.

“Yep.”

He stared at Gil, and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Hey! How come you’re suddenly thinking?” Thyan demanded.

“I don’t know, I just did,” Gil said, “and I can’t believe I didn’t start sooner.”

Repercussions

A/N: Inspired by Raksab's plot bunny in the Adopt a Plot thread at the NaNoWriMo forums.

For Neil Jackson’s third grade introduction, he said, “Hello, my name’s Edgar Moncherant, my family consists of ex-Mafia members, and I have three snakes and a zebra for pets. Nice to meet you.” For his fourth grade introduction, he said, “Hello, my name’s Alexander Christy, I’m a model and singer when I’m not studying and I’m secretly on the list for the next Grammy award.” And for his fifth grade introduction, he said, “Yo, I’m Black Jack Red, and I come from the alleys of New York City. The part you don’t even wanna know about.”

No one knew quite what to do with him. They told him lying was bad, of course, but that had no effect on him. His lying habits seemed to have no basis—he simply found lying fun. His family, a perfectly normal family, tried punishing him for lies, but that seemed to tell him only one thing: it’s only bad if you get caught. So Neil started disguising his lies with the truth, and soon even his own family couldn’t tell what was what.

He had few friends; no one liked the idea of a friend who wasn’t completely trustworthy. He had sworn a total of seven different times to seven different people that he would never tell a lie again, and proved all seven promises to be lies. And he kept lying through his teeth with a smile on his face, all the way to the beginning of his sophomore year.

Neil started the year off by responding to other students’ friendly introductions, “Hey, my name’s Neil Jackson, and oh—is that a spider in your hair?” There hadn’t been, but it had created a lot of panic and resentment for Neil in the classroom.

The next school year was going to be just like previous years, he thought. Full of gullible and uninteresting classmates.

Neil had no idea that this next school year would be stranger than any lie he could ever tell.

******

“Neil. Are you listening to me?”

Neil snapped his head up so quickly the teacher flinched. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be listening?”

“I just asked you a question.”

“Oh,” said Neil. “I was trying to figure out the best answer to your question.”

The teacher stared at him expectantly. “Okay,” she said. “Tell us your answer.”

He paused. “Yes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes,” Neil said slowly, his mind racing back to their class lesson. What had they talked about again? “That is the answer to my question.”

“Yes,” repeated the teacher, giving him a strange look. “Elizabeth the First became queen in yes.”

A few classmates snickered.

“Yes. November 17, 1588.” said Neil.

Her lips quirked in an effort to conceal her smile. “Well, Mr. Jackson,” the teacher said, turning away from him. “I hope you’ll pay attention in the future.”

“Yes… ma’am.”

As the teacher resumed her lecture, he sat back and let his mind drift. History was easy enough if you were good at memorization. Neil glanced at his watch and sighed. Twenty-five more minutes to go.

***

After the class ended, Grant, a bleached blonde with thick glasses and enough personality to fill a shot glass, caught up with Neil as he was walking out the door.

“That was a close one, Neil!” said Grant. He was also arguably the only friend Neil had.

“I know!” Neil said. “If I hadn’t known the date I would’ve been in big trouble. Miss Brady has seriously been out for me ever since school started. Actually, I bet all of them are out for me,” he joked.

“Well, your lies certainly don’t help. You’ve got to admit that.”

“Didn’t you see back there? My lies saved me!”

“Sure,” Grant scoffed. “Although I bet ‘What was the question again?’ would have worked just fine, too.”

Rolling his eyes, Neil shrugged. “You know that’s not my style.”

“I do believe you have no style,” announced Grant.

“The best style is no style,” Neil said philosophically, shaking his head and trying to fight a smile that threatened to break out.

Grant laughed. “But seriously, Neil,” he said. “I really think you need to cut the lying. Or at least some of it. You’re gonna land in hot water someday.”

“As if I weren’t already?"

A/N: Definitely needs some work, but that's the beginning. Hope you liked that.

Lilies

“Look at them,” Tanthos muttered. “Aren’t they despicable, Arktos? Promising love and money one day, and running away the next? Trying to stay young forever? And love—what is this love? It’s hardly love at all!” His gold-tinted eyes gleamed in disdain and amusement.

“Indeed,” agreed Arktos.

“Humans,” Tantos snorted.

“Mm. Which is why I fail to see the reason of your dragging us down here when we could have gone to Xysensia for vacation. Earth is such a vile place.”

“Why, I wanted to laugh at the little Earthlings, of course. Xysensia’s environment is beautiful—it is, after all, the tropical center of the universe—but it’s so terribly dull. Here, my dear little brother, one may watch all the soap opera drama you want!”

“Unlike some undignified creatures, I’m not amused by watching Earthlings fight amongst themselves.”

Tanthos laughed. “You always were the serious one. Perhaps you are suited to Xysensia: you’re both so dull.”

“And I suppose you fit Earth: you’re both irrational, idiotic, and smelly."

A mock frown spread on Tanthos's face. "Why, how rude! I thought you were supposed to respect your elders!"

Arktos's golden eyes stared at the people below their third-floor apartment window. "Look at that man! See him?"

"See what? I was busy weeping over the fact that my little brother no longer respects me."

Arktos ignored the hint. "He's an imbecile, like they all are."

"Why? What did he do?"

"He's trying to convince the clerk he paid for those items."

"Really?"

"Here's how it works: if the man can argue heatedly and semi-reasonably enough, the clerk will let him keep it, under the thought 'It's only a small item and I don't want to deal with it.' Then, the man thinks 'Since I got away with that, I'll try something larger next time.' And it escalates."

"Won't the owner have something to do with it?"

"It's a cheap stall. That clerk is probably the owner. Oh--see? Just like I said."

"True, true. They should just arrest the man. Humans are far too merciful. That's why they have so many troubles!" Tanthos laughed. "They are an amusing race."

Arktos stretched and flexed his arm. "And of all infuriating matters, we have to look like the idiots as well."

"Well, can't let the humans see our true forms. They're so overreactive that we'd be all over the--what is it?--the Internet, and we'd never be able to return again."

"I'd like that," muttered Arktos. Tanthos patted his shoulder comfortingly, but he didn't mean it and both of them knew it.

A/N: Yet another beginning of a story I may do. The story's plot is not what it looks like here, but I don't have anything else written yet so here is the first part.

"cool"

"See," he said, "you're so cool already that even if you wore uncool clothes, you'd still be cool. But with me, I am not cool, so I have to wear cool clothes to feel cool. Capiche?"

The other blinked.

"See? What did I tell you? Not cool!"

Author's note: I do not know what this will be for. It's just dialogue I'm writing down so I don't forget it.