Author's Note: So here ya go guys. I haven't updated New Generation or Dangerous anytime recently (though I'm working on it), nor my story Blood Bonds, which is on the CAHA account (also working on it). Still, I was inspired to write this some many weeks ago; I'm just now getting around to posting it. The funny part is, of course, that I had the idea for this before I started my petty little arguments with my own Dusk and Noon (no connection, I swear). Lol. There's still some stuff I'm trying to work out, but for the most part, I look back on the experience with some humor.

So, here. Enjoy, maybe. Laugh, possibly. Review, please.


That "Thing"

The events in this story take place before "Mister Monday"


The sounds of crashing porcelain slamming to a shatter against the marble floor ripped through the dayroom, accompanied by a low, frustrated growl of rage. Bare feet scrambled for purchase as the two elegant denizens did their best to flee from the raining-terror that was their little sister.

"All I wanted was one bloody minute of your bloody time and you couldn't even give me that!!!"

Noon ducked his head as a rather large vase hurtled across the room, slamming solidly into the wall beside his ear. He cringed and tried to run around an end table to hide behind the couch—but found his way blocked by Dusk, who launched himself from a standing position to one rather resembling the fleeing backside of a large cat. The darker twin took shelter behind the opposing end-table, a rather large silver candle-stick clutched to his chest; for defense, Noon assumed.

He spotted the stick's brother and picked it up himself, wielding it one handed.

"Cowards!"

Another, smaller vase flew the expanse of the room to shatter against the polished wood of Dusk's end-table and the dark denizen twitched expectantly. The fine, glittering power that hovered in the air around him was a visual indicator of his sister's wrath; pulverized by her brute, denizen strength, the vase was recognizable no more.

He shot a single, somewhat-frightened glance at Noon, who nodded in unspoken understanding. Dawn's temper was a rarely seen, but much-feared display that could scare the heartiest of beings. Currently, she was garbed in naught by her short sleeping gown, her hair tumbling in disarray around her shoulders. Her eyes were watery and over-bright in the room's sorcerer-lights, her skin pale against the brilliant red flush of anger in her cheeks and shoulders. A faint white glow around her hands flared in intervals as she reached for, threw and retrieved more items to hurl at them.

Her anger was palpable, to say the very least.

"What did we do?" Dusk asked his brother silently, making sure to keep the link between them only. It would do them no good at all if Dawn were to over-hear their thoughts.

He saw his brother shrug, "The fuck if I know. She's the one that barged into our room! If anyone should be mad, it's us." He ducked behind the table again as a golden discus, courtesy of some Upper House diplomat, came sailing through the air.

It struck the table so hard that the edge of it actually lodged in the wood grain, holding it in place.

Dusk swallowed thickly. "Do you think she's upset because…she saw us in bed together?" Their sister had literally broken down the doors to Dusk's bedroom—where Noon happened to be sleeping for the evening—in tears only a while ago. When her eyes had fallen on the two of them beneath the sheets, the rage seemed instantaneous.

There was a snort in his mind. "Doubtful. She wants us together—she gets off on that stuff, I swear." Noon crouched lower behind his table, "Watch your head," he added absently.

Dusk ducked lower and narrowly avoided being clobbered by a stone statuette. The prized object hit the floor and bounced away, safe-guarded by an unbreakable protection charm.

If it had hit his head, it might have actually put a dent in him.

"Thanks," he mumbled silently.

"Not a problem." But there was a problem—and they couldn't put their fingers on it. Noon's brow furrowed with thought, "What do you suppose…?" He trailed off, with nothing really relevant to fill in the blank.

"Dunno," Dusk answered. This was getting them nowhere.

"I know you're talking to each other! You assholes!" Dawn seemed infuriated, but the clear tremor in her voice told them she was crying. "You're so mean! I only …needed…to talk!" She lobbed another statuette, but this one was so far off the mark—and so unlike her usual skill—that they didn't bother to dodge it. It came nowhere close.

"If you would just tell us what's wrong," Noon shouted back, "maybe we could talk this out still!" He peeked over the top of his end table, "Come on, sister, don't be this way!"

She growled at him, tears coursing visibly down her cheeks. "Fuck you!"

The golden twin dropped lower to the ground as a sorcerer-lamp thudded to the ground next to him. The glass bulb around it shattered and the hot liquid-powder essence inside exploded in a puff cloud beside him. He inhaled it accidentally and had to swallow the icy-bitter taste.

Dusk decided it was his turn to try, "You know we love you, Dawn." He risked a look over his table as well, to find her clutching a candelabra to her chest with white, shaking hands. "Come on. Let's sit down and talk this out like rational denizens."

Her gaze homed in on him, cold and edged in steel. "Rational?" She bared her teeth at him, looking for all the world as if in she were in too much pain to speak without clenching her jaw. "Rational? You're so fucking quick to talk about rational, big brother—there's nothing rational about it!"

"Then let's just discuss—," he was cut off.

"NO! Let's not!" She hurled the candelabra like a Frisbee, wheeling on its side to slam into a mirror across the room. The looking-glass shattered but did not break apart, the frame holding them together fairly well.

Dawn took one looked at her reflection in the distorted, ruined mirror and whimpered, turning on her heel to dash from the room. She cried out, "Hideous!" as the door slammed behind her.

There was a still, startled silence in the room. Slowly, Noon rose from behind his shelter, mimicked by Dusk. They moved to stand together in the midst of the wrecked, pillaged room, their eyes surveying the damage.

Damn, she was angry.

"Too angry to be any little old thing," Dusk murmured. He reached out to touch the shattered remains of the mirror gently with a finger tip, studying it. "Do you suppose…?"

Noon nodded, "It's a distinct possibility. I think…it might be…that." He shivered.

Dusk nodded in return, "We may be dealing with a crisis." He glanced around the room, taking in the ruination of their stuff. "Hmm, maybe we should call in the experts."

Noon gave him an easy smile, "Already done."

The doors swung open again to admit two forms. The tired, elderly looking Sneezer pushed a rather sleepy looking Mister Monday into the room.

Sneezer halted the chair in front of them, looking both put-on-upon and quietly accepting. "You rang for me, sirs?" He addressed the brothers with respect befitting their position, but his eyes said he'd rather call them something quite different.

"Yes, Sneezer—we require some information from you." That was Noon, taking charge. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking stern and commanding. "What—exactly—is wrong with our sister?"

"Wrong, sirs?"

"Yes, wrong," Dusk intoned patiently. "She was fine last night but this morning she woke up and is in a perfect tizzy at the moment for no reason we can easily uncover."

Sneezers fuzzy old eyebrow went up an inch, "Oh? Can you describe this tizzy for me, sirs? What are the symptoms?"

Noon rolled his eyes, "Which to choose, there are so many!" His sarcasm dripped strongly. Sighing, he said, "Irritability."

Dusk nodded, "Crying."

"Yelling."

"Violence."

"Accusation-flinging."

"Self-degradation."

Noon glanced up at Dusk, to find his brother scowling. "Run that by me again?" He wasn't so sure he heard it right the first time.

"You heard me," Dusk said. "Self-degradation. She called herself—and I quote—'hideous'."

Noon waved it away, "It happens."

"Not with her."

They glared at each other, at odds with their opinions.

"Gentlemen," Sneezer broke in, "It seems to me you've been hit with that age old problem and one that I, humble servant that I am, have no power to help you with." They stared at him as the curve of his lips became devious, "I've always wanted to let you two loud, noisy nymphomaniac sods drown in a vat of Nothing…but I find that this is much more fulfilling. Death by ignorance." He raised two fingers to his forehead and sketched them a salute, "Good-day, gents."

Noon scowled, "Now hold on there!" He reached out to stop Sneezer but there was very suddenly a loud snort and all of them turned their gazes to stare at Mister Monday as his eyes slowly cracked open.

"Aha," he laughed, his voice raspy with sleep, "Aha-ugh-haha-gh." He coughed a little, his vocal cords unused to the work; his head lolled with exhaustion but his eyes were glittering with amusement and Dusk took that to mean he was lucid enough to talk.

"Mister Monday," he started, "Please, if you know something—anything—I beg you to share with us." His eyes flickered upward, toward the servant and then back down to the master. "Or, if you would, compel Sneezer to give us what knowledge he has on the matter."

The servant looked non-too-pleased with the request.

"Dusk, my dark assistant, I'm very pleased to have seen the day something shakes your unwavering calm." Mister Monday gave them a tired grin, "Aha—it's a wonderful thing to see. Did you know your hair is mussed? Have you been so agitated?"

Noon glanced up at his brother, a lazy grin on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. "Your hair is mussed, darling, because you just had to fight me for top." He tucked a single strand of his own hair away behind the curve of his ear, "If you would just submit like a good little brother..."

"Fuck you, Noon."

The golden one purred quietly, "Later."

Unaware of the running conversation between them, Mister Monday was still talking—doing a great deal more of it in this moment than he'd done in the last fifty years or so.

"A woman's predicament—yes, that's what they used to call it. It's not natural, to denizens, but every so often one of these females around 'bouts decides to take a crack at it, in passing. It's a fad, really—comes and goes. But when it comes, aha," Mister Monday laughed his weezing-chuckle and gave them a half-strong smile, "When it comes, gents, head for the hills, because there's nothing like it, anywhere else in the Architect's Creation."

Noon stared quizzically at his master, then glanced side-long at his brother.

"The Menstruals?"

"Seems that way," answered Dusk, wincing.

Mister Monday nodded, "Just so. Now, if you'll excuse me, I find myself in need of a rest. G'day." He signaled to faithful Sneezer, who shot the twins a pointed, snarkish glance before turning on his heel and wheeling Monday out of the room. The doors closed by themselves behind them.

Meanwhile, both Dusk and Noon were rooted to their spots. They twined expressions of confusion and disbelief…and mild pain. In tandem, a single phrase slipped from their lips, summing up the situation quite nicely.

"Bloody, apocalyptic Hell…"


Tell me what ya thought? Review, please.

-erena g.t. rose