Typical Sundays

Disclaimers:  Okay, if I owned them, would I be writing fan fiction?  No, probably not.  I'd be too busy with… other things... 

Warnings:  I haven't decided on any yet, and I haven't started writing this, so I really have no idea how it's going to turn out, and I'm too lazy to go back and edit this.  So whatever happens will happen.  Deal with it; I have.  And the title, "Typical Sundays," is a line from my wonderful friend Ami-Chan.  Why is she my wonderful friend?  Because this perfect stranger provided this title when she randomly IM-ed me one day.  I still have no idea who she really is, but thanks go to her anyways!  And I've been reading way too many Terry Pratchet's and Douglas Adams' books.  You can tell!  (They wrote the Discworld series and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series, respectively, by they way.)

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I need to go to the bathroom, Duo realized suddenly on a bright Sunday afternoon where the sun pelted down on the windows and the roof giggled aloud with every breath of wind.  I need to go really bad.  As he looked around the room, his heart sank into a place in the vicinity of his gut.  Or perhaps his bladder, by the feel of it.  Getting locked in the attic of the ever-reliable safe house when everyone else was on a mission was probably not the smartest thing he had ever done in his life. *

And how, one might ask, did our young hero manage to lock himself in the attic of the ever-reliable safe house on one of the few days that all of the others were away on missions?

Quite simply, he was trying to find a cookbook that would explain how he could make a decent omelet in less than thirteen steps and had remembered a box of books that Quatre had stored up in the attic until further notice implied that someone somewhere in the ever-reliable safe house needed them.  Ironically, just before the attic door of the ever-reliable safe house had slammed and locked itself shut, he had found the book he was looking for: Cooking Omelets In Less Than Thirteen Steps (For Dummies!).  However, after being locked in the attic of the ever-reliable safe house for nearly three hours, Duo had lost his craving for an omelet he could make in less than thirteen steps and was now wishing he had not had a sudden craving for omelets that he could make in less than thirteen steps in the first place and that he was now safely lodged in one of the ever-reliable safe houses bathrooms, where he could relieve his bladder and then order a pizza.

Pizza.  Duo looked around for the box of books he had abandoned earlier and quickly realized that he was sitting on it.  Well, perhaps sitting was not technically the correct word.  Squirming would probably be a much better fit, and yet that involved sitting, in an odd way that Duo really did not care to delve into at this particular moment in time.  He squirmed his way off of the box and peered in, looking for a book that would tell him how to make a homemade latrine out of materials he could find in the attic.  One titled Making a Homemade Latrine Using Materials You Can Find In Your Attic (For Dummies!), ** perhaps.  However, much to Duo's great disappointment, no such book could be found in the box that Quatre had stored in an attic that contains a door that locks by itself in the ever-reliable safe house.

Damn, Duo thought as he returned to squirming atop of the box containing many useless books, and one titled You Could Be An Outhouse Constructionist In Several Easy Steps.

Duo crossed his legs, trying to rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling of an over-reactive bladder that was more than ready to explode on command.  Or, if the whim became it, before the command was even issued.  In fact, possibly before the command was even thought of.  However, this did not seem to work, and Duo was forced to resort back to squirming atop the box.

He swore multiple times, this time aloud, and began to allow different plans that consisted of escaping and obtaining a bathroom, or a toilet, or some equivalent thereof, to seep through and into his omelet crazed and tired mind.  After multiple tries to force the idea of wetting himself out of his mind, he came across, or, rather, stumbled across a momentary thought about pineapples and cheese.  Wondering about the relevancy this thought had to his predicament, he squirmed yet again and began to frantically look about his surroundings.

There was a single window by the other wall.

Before he could stop himself with a thought of embarrassment and possible stupidity, he rushed to the window and pried it open quickly.  Fiddling with his zipper, he finally managed to find a suitable position and issued the command mentioned previously in this story.  His bladder obeyed gratefully.

Shutting the window with a relieved sigh, Duo barely heard the indignant yell coming from below that sounded strangely like Wufei and the laughter that came from Quatre and, strangely, Heero.  There was a high-pitched giggle that later was found to belong to Trowa, who had managed to sample an overabundance of laughing gas during this very high-protocol mission to the dentist office.

Cursing mildly, Duo rushed to zip his pants and cower by the door.

As soon as he leaned against the door, however, it swung open easily, revealing that it had not been locked after all, as opposed to Duo's previous beliefs.

There was a loud shout emitted from Wufei as the front door to the ever-reliable safe house was thrown open.  "Maxwell!  I'm going to kill you!!!"

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* Duo had done many smarter things than locking himself in the attic of the ever-reliable safe house, as one can probably guess rather easily.  However, he had also done many other stupid things that did not consist of locking himself in the attic room of the ever-reliable safe house on a bright Sunday afternoon when nobody else was home.  Locking himself in the attic, however, had so far decided to take the cake.  For that matter, it had gone a long way beyond taking the cake.  It had grabbed the cake, eaten a piece, and ran for dear life before some poor, small child could realize their birthday had been ruined because some stupid event had taken his cake.  And then, to make matters worse, it won several awards for being "the stupidest event involving an attic, an ever-reliable safe house, and a bright Sunday when nobody was home" known to man, boosting it's ego to the extreme and resulting in several other birthday cakes being stolen.

** Unfortunately, this book has never and most likely will never exist.  Although many have come to the conclusion that the "For Dummies" books have covered virtually every topic that could possibly be formed into existence, the authoress has personally checked AmazonBooks.com or some equivalent thereof and found no such "For Dummies" book with the topic of making homemade latrines using materials found in a common household attic.  There was, however, a book titled Make a Bathroom in Your Attic (For Numbskulls!), but the authoress decided that that would go against the chaos she intended the story to have and neglected to bring the thought to Duo's mind.  Thus, she has again maimed and possibly destroyed all rhyme and reason that this story could possibly have.  However, it was later discovered by a man named Galileo, named after the famous astronomer, that rhyme and reason have no reason (or rhyme) to exist in our realm of reality, and therefore could not be maimed or possibly destroyed by anyone, including this insane authoress who seems to be intent on imitating Terry Pratchet to the extreme with such things as these long, drawn out, and probably off topic footnotes.

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I've been reading way too many Pratchet's and Adams.  To be quite honest, this is the first fiction I've ever done that is this insane.  I blame it on staying up late and being heavily medicated due to excess amounts of Advil.  The date and time is currently Sunday morning, two-thirty six a.m.  Have a nice day.  And read Pratchet and Adams books.  They're good.