Rating: T (one bad word)
Summary: general silliness, friendship
Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue
Author's note: inspired by a bumper sticker
One night, Hobbes, Pinocchio, and Florence were sitting around a fire. Florence was mending her boot heel, or at least mending the tattered thing as best she could. She indicated this fact to Pinocchio, who shrugged. Who knows when they'd come across another boot – or, better yet, pair of boots – that she could trade for or take? But he'd keep an eye out, he told himself, as he turned his attention back to cleaning his weapon. He glanced momentarily at the kid, who was writing a letter, or making notes, or at least making a plan of some inane kind or another, and asking way to damn many questions, from Pinocchio's point of view. No one in the real world could ever want or need to know that much about this one or its dictator. But just when it looked like they'd have a few minutes' more silence, Tom looked up. "Where does the general keep his armies?" he asked.
Finally, Pinocchio thought. A rational question, and one he knew the answer to. He couldn't help himself though, and replied: "In his sleevies."