Dawn of the Personality Challenged Power Rangers
By Holly-Batali and EvilDarkPurpleGirl
Disclaimer: We do not own Power Rangers, SPD, musical theatre, sitcoms, Mexico, Goths (in all forms and terms), germ phobia, Lysol (and other various cleaning products), or Puff the Magic Dragon. However, we do own Puffers the not-so-magical-as-much-as-polyester-fiber dragon.
Chapter One: Sky and Musical Theatre
It's always pretty busy in the Rec Room at SPD headquarters, so today was kind of boring in comparison. It was just the four of us—Syd, Jack, Z, and me (hi, I'm Bridge)—with Sky off somewhere in our room (we're roommates). Today, we were just having half-hearted (or maybe half-effort) staring contests and Go Fish.
"Do you have a seven?" asked Jack in a bored tone. Well, it was kind of bored, and kind of on-the-edge-of-suicide bored.
"No, jump off a cliff," said Z in an equal tone. They got really bored of saying "Go Fish" after a while, so they started making up stuff. The best one so far was "go to Kat and sing I'm a D-squad cadet (our version of I'm a little teapot) in opera-soprano" or "chug a quart of melted margarine and Pepto-Bismol." Maybe even, "go dress up as a pirate and declare yourself as the King of Finland." I didn't fully appreciate "go tell Bridge that Doc Felix said he's allergic to butter," as much as they did, though.
"'Kay," said Z, Jack taking a card. "Do you have…a three?"
"No," said Jack, "go tell Sky he's been reading an outdated SPD Handbook for the past six months."
Syd snorted, "Your funeral." Syd and I were having a staring contest, and had been for the past seven minutes and fifty-eight point five seconds.
Z and Jack both sighed. Then Syd and I sighed. Then we all sighed again. We couldn't even play light ball, 'cause D.C. (Commander Cruger) had said we were grounded from it since Z and Jack had smashed the window and accidentally sent a chair flying, which, consequently, hit a D-Squad cadet in the head, giving him a small concussion. Those gosh-darn D-Squaders get in the way of everything.
I didn't catch what Jack asked for, but Z said, "Go tell Cruger that Sky is quitting to go on as a Broadway singer."
Syd and I gave identical 'hah's!' As in 'hah! As if.' We had known Sky longer than they had, and we knew that Sky didn't like music, not even classical.
Just then we got a shock that broke up Go [insert sarcastic something of your choice and the staring contest.
Sky walked in with his hair untidy and his SPD jacket open over his blue t-shirt. He even had his shirt untucked! He walked over to the couch I was sitting on, apparently oblivious to our ogling stares. He plopped—yes, plopped!—down next to me and crossed his legs at the ankle, reclining and putting his hands behind his head.
"Hello my fellow musically-inclined…friends!" We almost keeled over and died of shock.
"Sky," Syd said timidly, "are you feeling okay? Should I go get Doctor Felix?"
He actually displayed emotion, showing shock. "Why, I'm perfectly fantastically dazzlingly hunky-dory." He smiled in a naïve manner and added, "In fact, I'm melodiously fine."
I decided to read his aura, just to be safe. I took off my glove and waved my hand in front of him. I let out a sort of "ah!" and fell off the couch, my legs sprawling over the seat. I got three or four yells of "Bridge!" but I didn't care. I jumped up and sprinted to the cover of the food bar, jumping up on top of it and squatting down, arming myself with a spatula and a colander.
"All right," I said in a slightly threatening manor to Sky, "who are you and what have you done with Sir SPD-you're-under-arrest-that's-against-regulations-I'm-in-love-with-my-handbook?" Sky just blinked at me stupidly, just like everyone else.
"Amen" said Z, trying not to crack up.
"I'm still me, Bridge," said Sky, looking slightly hurt.
"Define Bridge," said Syd scoffingly.
"Yeah, Bridge, what's up with you?" asked Jack
"Well," said Sky, standing up, "I have an announcement to make."
While we went back to ogling, Sky continued, "I'm quitting SPD."
If Grumm himself had waltzed in to ask for a play-date with Cruger, I don't think we would be more shocked than we were right now. "What?"
"That's right," said Sky dramatically. "I have found my true calling."
"And what would that be?" Stuttered Jack, probably the only one of us who could say anything at the moment.
"MUSICAL THEATRE!" Sang Sky. Seriously, he sang it; loudly and very…Broadway-ish.
I dropped my colander and spatula with a dull thud and a clang, my arms still raised. I guess it was kind of that western ghost town kind of air at the moment. All we needed was tumbleweed; and maybe Clint Eastwood.