Get It Right Next Time
For Kelirehenna, cause she's probably the only one who'll actually want to read this. Also cause she enjoys long, deranged email conversations as much as feather-duster does.
"Give me that back right now! Ugh, you - "
"N - come here, stop - "
Mystel sprinted excitedly through the halls of the Tzebult family home, a girly magazine clutched in one hand and Ming-Ming in hot pursuit. She'd never been this angry before! He wondered why. But she was going to catch up with him soon and that would be no fun at all. Fortunately, the main lounge door was open. He darted inside, vaulted over the back of the couch, and laid as flat as possible while trying desperately not to laugh.
Footsteps sounded in the doorway. Their owner paused and sighed.
Ming-Ming scowled around the room, daring anything inside to be Mystel. The furniture seemed unimpressed and noticeably not blonde; she stormed off, hands on hips.
As soon as she'd clattered a reasonable distance down the hall, Mystel sat up, letting out a smothered giggle. The couch shifted under him.
"Er - hehe - sorry about that, Brook."
"Mm." Brooklyn yawned at him, and stirred vaguely. It had been raining near-torrentially for a week, now; having spent the first two days sitting stubbornly outside watching the fish pond, the redhead had come down with a chest cold. Until being unexpectedly landed on, he'd been dozing lightly in front of the Discovery Channel, swamped in a dressing gown that belonged to Moses. The weight of Mystel sitting on his ribcage was making it impossible to re-settle, however.
The blonde bounced happily, causing his teammate to cough. He ignored this and leafed through the creased, brightly-glossed magazine pages, reading aloud.
"...Celebrity wha? - Um, now - what's she wearing? Ooh. Chocolate cake with rum sauce, that sounds good...hey, thats a fancy handbag. Eh?" He stopped at one page. "Cool, a quiz. It says I can find my true love! Awesome. Okay, how's this work? You count up the - hmm - " He propped the magazine, quiz page open, against Brooklyn's shoulder, and began. Some strenuous counting-on-fingers ensued. Brooklyn looked around for the remote control, came up at a dead loss, and instead blinked sleepily at the TV until the volume adjusted itself to his satisfaction.
"Okay, I got - " More counting. "Seventy-nine. And then I have to find someone with the same - ohh, oh right, okay! Umm." The Egyptian bounced again, observing his reflection in the polished wood floor, until some coughing distracted him. He stared for a moment, and then had an Idea.
"Hey, hey Brook, wake up." Mystel prodded his teammate's arm none-too-gently. "C'moooooon - hey! You wanna do this quiz? It's for finding my true love, like - this is the way girls do it. You answer the questions, and I'll work out your score, okay? Okay - stay awake, c'mon!"
"Oh, that's alright, I know that one. Question two, hmm, what's your shoe size again?"
"Nine?" Brooklyn guessed halfheartedly, muzzily horrified that a stir-crazy Mystel was sitting on him uncomfortably and did not seem to be planning to go away. His head felt like someone had poured cement into it overnight. Mystel bounced some more.
"Oh - yeah, I know that one too. Six - what d'you like better, gold or silver?"
The blonde nodded approvingly. "Right-o. Number seven's easy, you like birds best. Eight - hey, are your eyes green or blue? Lemme see."
Mystel leaned back again, frowning.
"Well I dunno, so I'll put green, okay? Yeah. Nine - know that one - ten. Ohh, what flavour of ice cream d'you like most?"
"Lemon," the redhead muttered, rubbing at his right eye. Mystel had poked it quite enthusiastically while attempting to determine its colour, and now it hurt. This wasn't fair.
Meanwhile, the younger of the two was regarding the quiz page studiously.
"They don't have lemon," he declared, "It's just chocolate, strawberry or vanilla. I'll put strawberry, yeah?"
"...I don't like strawberry."
"Fine, I'll put vanilla! Geez, you're cranky when you're sick, you know that? Eeey, stay awake! Oh wait, I can do this one, you're a Pisces. Um - now, which is the best holiday, going to the beach or the mountains? Wake up!"
"Huh - beach?"
"Okay, beach it is. Good. Oh, I know all these - wait, here's - "
Brooklyn attempted to turn over, possibly to block out the other's happy chattering, but found it impossible. Mystel seemed to have put down roots, or something. He tried to think about it and sneezed instead.
"Hey! Whoah, sit still! Only one more and we're done, yeah? What's your favourite weather?"
"I'll put sunny, then. Mmhmm. Now..." There was some more counting. The blonde ran out of fingers, and borrowed a hand that his teammate didn't seem to be using at the moment. He counted up twice and frowned intently at the magazine, then at his collection of fingers, then at the magazine again, and then ultimately at Brooklyn.
"Hmph, well, you've got seventy-one." He waited for a reaction, but none was forthcoming. "And - " he consulted the page again, to be sure. "Yeah. If you weren't so fussy about ice cream, y'know, you could be my true love! Hey, you messed up!"
"Oh." Animal Cops had just come on, and Brooklyn's attention was definitively elsewhere. Mystel slapped at his arm.
"C'mon, I like strawberry, s'nothing wrong with it."
The blonde drew himself up, looking affronted. He hummed thoughtfully.
"...Does Gar like strawberry?"
"Yes, but he doesn't like the beach."
Mystel sighed, and dumped the magazine on the floor. He slumped forwards, leaning on that one conveniently-placed shoulder, and breathed down his teammate's neck.
"Y'know, I haven't even tried lemon," he whined, gazing at the window; rain and wind sprayed it like a carwash.
"It's nice," Brooklyn said noncommitally. The Egyptian considered this for several seconds.
"Will you be my true love anyway? Like, just in case I like lemon?"
Mystel smiled and kissed him on the cheek.
There was quiet for several minutes. Neither felt inclined to move. The television detailed the story of a dog having its leg amputated.
Then the other lounge door opened, and a tall, athletic, pale-haired young man wandered in. Mystel's eyes widened.
"What're you watching?"
"Giles, d'you like strawberry ice cream?"
Garland's second-oldest brother nodded hesitantly.
"Um, yes - "
"You like the beach, too, right?"
"Sure, I - "
Mystel clambered off the couch and snatched up the magazine, inadvertantly kicking his true love in the side during the process.
"What's your shoe size?"
Giles eyed the blonde apprehensively. Mystel danced on the spot, earrings jingling. Brooklyn sneezed again, turned over, and decided to go back to sleep.
Absolut crack. feather-duster can't really explain this. She doesn't know what happened either.
Fic named after the song by Gerry Rafferty, which has nothing to do with this whatsoever.
You've seen those weird girly-magazine quizzes where you determine who your true love is by a load of random things like their shoe size and whether they like strawberry ice cream or not, right?
Giles probably isn't Mystel's true love. But don't worry about it.
Being stir-crazy due to rain is a terrible thing, and probably the only conceivable excuse for this kind of behaviour.
Animal Cops is a TV show where they film the various Humane Societies of America dealing with neglected/mistreated/stuck-in-air-vents animals. The dog had its leg amputated cause it was hit by a car and had permanent nerve damage, but it was fine after the amputation, so don't panic. You know, if you were going to.
Sorry for typos or weird phraseology, this is being posted very hurriedly having just been finished, cause feather-duster has a train to catch.
Keli, I blame you for this!
Everyone else, erm...sorry? feather-duster finds herself unable to determine why the hell she wrote this.
Review and you may be feather-duster's true love, depending on your ice cream preferences.