I…don't even know where this came from. Please enjoy.
The idea of the mooing contest was shamelessly stolen from mashfan4life's fic "Bright Ideas Are What We're Made Of." Go read it. It made me guffaw.
In all my years of experience in dastardly deeds and admittedly less-than-legal endeavors, I can safely and easily say that this is a situation which I have never experienced before. Typically, as both my years of aforementioned experience and Hollywood portrayals would dictate, people have more of a reaction to a gun being shoved in their face. Surprise, shock, fear, dread, crying, screaming, begging…something. Something other than the identical blank looks of near boredom that I'm currently receiving.
Any less of a newly-proclaimed kidnapper might have been rather put off by this unexpected development, but not me. At least not for very long.
"Well?" I demand of the two boys before me.
"Well what?" they reply in perfect unison, their expressions never changing. Well. That is slightly unsettling. Did I perhaps hit my head on something earlier and am only now noticing the double vision?
"You heard me," I growl out, doing a rather expert job of not letting my doubts show, if I do say so myself. "This is a kidnapping. Now if you don't want your pretty little heads blown all full of holes, I suggest you do as I say, and get in the van."
The twins (I've decided that I'm not crazy—er, seeing double, after all, even though it is uncanny how they can be so completely in sync with each other) merely lift their left eyebrows at me, as though in disdain. The nerve. "You couldn't shoot us, or you'd have no one to kidnap."
I falter for a moment (only a moment) at their flawless logic. How are they able to think so calmly at gunpoint? I quickly regroup, feeling rather proud of my swift reply, heartless as a true kidnapper should be. "I only need one of you to kidnap. I'm sure your parents will pay just as much to get one of their spoiled little brats back as both. So, which will it be?"
For the first time, the two teenagers take their eyes off me, turning to face each other instead. "What do you say, Kaoru?" one of them asks.
"I don't know. It can't hurt to go along with it for a while, right, Hikaru?" the other replies.
"I suppose. And we were bored anyway, weren't we?"
"This might be an interesting way to pass some time."
Having apparently come to an agreement, the two turn back to me. "All right. We'll come along with you, Mr. Kidnapper."
"Well…good. Now get in the van." I gesture loosely with the gun to the average white industrial van that I have them backed against. One of them turns and pulls on the handle of the back door, uselessly.
"Oh…sorry," I mutter in embarrassment, quickly pulling my keys from my pocket and shuffling forward to unlock the door. I hold it open for them as they climb in, grunting in response to their lofty thanks.
"Ah, wait one moment," I remember suddenly. "Give me your cell phones." That's basic Kidnapping 101. I can't believe I nearly forgot it. The twins look pouty and reluctant to comply, so I wave my gun threateningly at them and they grudgingly comply, handing over expensive-looking blue and orange cell phones. I ignore the boys' glares as I throw the phones on the ground and viciously smash them underfoot. Feeling rather gleeful, I swiftly slam the back door and proceed to lock them in.
I'm rather proud of this van—it's my latest and most important procurement to kick off my graduation from petty thieving to kidnapping. The back doors can only be unlocked from the outside, and on the inside, there's a solid wall (with just a small window built in for observation) to separate the cargo area from the driving cab of the van. It's a staple in any proper kidnapper's equipment, and I'd like to think it's a little more sophisticated than just shoving people in a trunk.
I start up the engine and roll out of the alley onto the main street, driving carefully and well within the speed limits to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. I'm pretty pleased with myself at the ease with which my first official kidnapping is progressing. Getting the boys into the alley was easier than I expected, and from there it was just a matter of simple persuasion with my gun.
The twins (Kaoru and Hikaru, as I now know their names to be) were travelling through the marketplace downtown with a group of four other boys and a (rather disgruntled-looking) girl. The group had caught my attention because of their unusually dashing good looks and undeniable style, all decked out in conspicuously designer clothing. They were obviously rich. What such a group was doing in a rather lower middle class area as an outdoor market is beyond me, but I took it as a sign, as I had just been scoping for possible targets. What great fortune I have.
The twins weren't my original target of the group, but they happened to wander off and separate from the others, thus unwittingly making themselves easier bait. When they stopped to check out one street vendor's cart of wares and the rest of the group meandered out of sight, it was a simple matter of catching their attention and luring them into the nearby alley with the promise of candy, or kittens, or free porn, or whatever I offered. I can't actually remember now, but that's not important anyway.
What matters is that I've successfully captured my first two kidnappees and am on my way to the secret hideout outside of town. If only my dear mentor in heaven could see me now. I think he'd be proud of me.
It takes a little over 45 minutes to reach the secret hideout, following all the speed limits and traffic laws. I park my van beside the little rundown house and excitedly jump out to retrieve my prisoners. Upon unlocking the back doors, the scene I'm greeted with is once again not one I'd been expecting.
The two boys are sitting propped up against the side of the van, completely asleep. Not quivering in terror, not crying, not praying for their lives, not desperately trying to comfort each other, but asleep, leaning against each other with one's head lying atop the other's. At the sound of the door opening and the afternoon sunlight flooding in, one of the twins stirs awake and prods the other. "Hikaru, we're here."
"Just five more minutes," Hikaru mumbles, snuggling further under his brother's chin. "Milord woke us up too early this morning…"
The other rolls his eyes (a gesture which I'm tempted to repeat, but I'm much too mature for that) and stands abruptly, letting his twin fall to the van floor with a startled yelp. He ignores the ensuing glare and gracefully climbs down from the van, casually using my shoulder as a prop to steady himself. Hikaru follows shortly, using my head in the same manner. They take in their surroundings, and one of them (I've already lost track of which is which) asks, "Where are we?" as he stretches and yawns widely.
"If I told you that, it wouldn't be much of a secret hideout, now would it?" I sneer, not at all pleased with the unconcerned manner with which these two brats are treating the entire situation. Not to mention using my head as a stair railing. They both shrug and I wave them inside the house with my dutiful gun, once again having to unlock and hold open the door for them.
They walk inside and take in the simple one room that comprises the kitchen, living room, and bedroom all in one. They look in distaste at the rusty cot in the corner and the beaten wooden table and chairs in the middle of the room. "This is it?" one asks blandly.
"It's a shack," the other concurs in the same tone.
All right, so I know it's not much, but they don't have to be so condescending about it. "Well, there's a bathroom too," I gesture lamely toward the only other door in the place. And wait, why do I feel the need to defend myself against these two in the first place? It's nothing fancy, sure, but it gets the job done just fine, as far as secret hideouts go. "What's wrong with it, anyway?"
They nonchalantly take a seat at the table, and one of them immediately takes advantage of his chair's one short leg to start rocking back and forth on it.
"Well, usually when we get kidnapped, they have nicer hideouts than this, is all," the rocking one answers blithely.
"Are you sure you're a real kidnapper?" the other one asks.
"Wait, you've been kidnapped before?" I guess that would explain their lack of satisfactory reactions thus far.
They shrug and speak in tandem again. Man that's creepy. "A few times."
"I mean, look at us. We're young—"
"—and fabulously rich."
"It's bound to happen a few times."
"Speaking of which, Kaoru, why haven't our parents upgraded our security yet?"
Kaoru shrugs. "Too busy?"
"Probably." He continues rocking.
I swiftly regather my wits. "Excellent. Since you've been through this before, then I don't need to waste time explaining how this works. So now I'll just call your parents with my demands, and once they're met, you'll be free to go." I can already almost feel the gold running through my fingers, hear the waves crashing on the beach of my fabulous new Caribbean condo—
"Good luck," they tell me, chins propped up on hands, staring around at random points inside the shack. Er, secret hideout.
"Thanks. Well, I suppose there's no point in delaying it, so we'll go ahead and call your parents immediately." I pick up the landline, preparing to dial. "What's the number?"
"It…doesn't really matter. Give me the main number for your house," I tell them.
"What do you mean, you can't? I have an entire magazine of bullets right here that says you can," I reply angrily. "Even if I don't kill you, there are plenty of places I can shoot you that will cause significant pain without death." Oh, that's good. Why didn't I think of that before? Well, at least I finally have their attention, I notice smugly.
"No, we mean we can't," the one on the right in the wobbly chair says.
"We don't know the number," the other explains.
"What!" I exclaim. "You boys are, what—fifteen? Sixteen?"
"Fifteen," they answer together.
"You're fifteen years old, and you still don't know your own house phone number?"
"Well, we've never had to call it, have we?" one of them asks superciliously.
"And it wouldn't do you much good, anyway," the other one informs me succinctly, folding his arms on the table and resting his chin on them. "Neither of our parents is home."
"Well why didn't you say that in the first place?" I growl in annoyance. "Then just give me your father's cell phone number."
"Can't," they answer again, and I'm almost positive they're hiding wicked little grins.
"Let me guess. You don't know it either."
"Well, he was in our contacts list on our phones—"
"—but that doesn't do you very much good, does it?"
"Since you smashed them and left them in the alley."
And thus reemerge the pouty glares. Wonderful. "I'm sure your parents will be happy to buy you new ones once you get home." I grind out between gritted teeth. "Do you at least know your mother's cell phone number?" To my infinite relief, I receive twin nods in the affirmative. "Good. Give it to me then."
"That won't do you much good either."
"I'm afraid she's out of the country right now running a fashion show in Paris."
"Was it Paris? I thought it was in London."
"No, London was last month, Hikaru."
"That's right. But I still don't think it was Paris. Montreal?"
"I'm certain it was somewhere in Denmark."
"Don't be ridiculous. Denmark's not on the schedule for the summer line at all."
"Ah, right as always, Kaoru. Shanghai, then?"
"Could be. Anyway, the point is," Kaoru says as they at last return their attention to me, "no matter where outside of the country she is—"
"—I doubt your little landline there is capable of reaching it, hmm?" Hikaru finishes.
I can almost feel the plastic casing of the phone in my hands cracking. "Then how, EXACTLY, am I supposed to get in contact with your parents?" I struggle not to shout at them.
They seem as unruffled as ever, merely shrugging again. "That's not really our problem, is it?" Hikaru asks, still rocking back and forth in his chair.
"You didn't really think this through very well, did you, Mr. Kidnapper?" Kaoru queries, idly twisting a lock of reddish hair around his fingers.
"Normally you should probably already have a sure way to contact the parents before you start the actual kidnapping."
"Seems like pretty basic kidnapping knowledge, don't you think?"
"Are you sure you're a real kidnapper?" he repeats his question from earlier. Or maybe it had been his brother who asked. It doesn't matter.
"Yes I'm a real kidnapper! Can't you see me now, having kidnapped you, and you, having been kidnapped?!" I close my eyes briefly and take a deep, calming breath. "Whatever. Do you boys have anyone else I can call that would be able to get in touch with your parents?"
They take a moment to think, identical fingers tapping identically on identical chins before identical grins light up their identical faces. Uncanny. "The police."
I want to throw the phone at them. I remember that I have a gun and think maybe that would work better.
"I suppose you could always write a letter," one of them offers in a tone that suggests he's attempting to be thoughtful.
"Yes, it might take a little longer to get delivered, but at this point you don't really have a lot of options, do you, Mr. Kidnapper?"
"And we do know our address," the first one adds helpfully.
"You can just address it to 'Hitachiin Mansion' and one of the butlers will probably open it—"
"That's Hitachiin, with two i's—"
"Well, technically, Kaoru, there are three i's in Hitachiin."
"Yes, but if you say 'Hitachiin with three i's,' then he'll probably think we mean they're all together, and he'll end up addressing it to Hitachiiin." He draws the name out comically. "You must remember that Mr. Kidnapper is of below average intelligence."
"Ah yes. That's true."
I can taste my anger. It tastes like homicide.
The rocking one is speaking again. "But anyway, Mr. Kidnapper, we're bored. Entertain us."
My anger is forgotten in light of my astonishment. "What—Why should I have to entertain you? I'm your kidnapper, not your nanny."
"It's practically the same thing anyway."
"And trust us, we would know."
"And it's your fault we're bored anyway—"
"—seeing as you kidnapped us away from our friends and our fun commoner outing—"
"—so therefore we think it's entirely fair that you be responsible for entertaining us." The other one nods in agreement and both watch me expectantly.
I can only bluster for a moment at their nerve. "That's—You—I'm—That's ridiculous. I am not entertaining you. You two can entertain yourselves while I write the letter." I steadfastly decide to ignore them as I begin my search for some paper and a pen to write my ransom note with.
"Mr. Kidnapper isn't very fun, is he, Kaoru?"
"No, he's not. I really don't think he's very used to this whole kidnapping business at all, Hikaru."
"Should we give him some pointers?"
"Hmm, no, I don't think so. Experience is the best teacher, you know."
"Right. If he doesn't make his own mistakes, how will he ever learn?"
I grit my teeth and continue my search, rummaging through the few kitchen drawers. What will I do if I can't find any paper?
"Hey, Mr. Kidnapper! Play a game with us!"
"I thought I told you to entertain yourselves," I grumble absently, shifting through some junk in a drawer.
"This is how we entertain ourselves! It's called the 'Which One is Hikaru Game'!"
"Hikaru, he barely knows our names as it is. He would never be able to tell us apart."
A dramatic sigh. "You're right. I'd already forgotten that Mr. Kidnapper is of below average intelligence. He would never be able to win our game."
I spin around angrily, pointing first to the one on the right, and then to the one on the left. "You're Hikaru, and you're Kaoru!" They look marginally surprised, and I take a moment to feel smug. "You've been constantly addressing each other with your names. Even an idiot would be able to—"
The surprise is gone, wiped away, and they snicker. "You're very sure of yourself, Mr. Kidnapper. How do you know we didn't trade places when your back was turned?"
"Or how do you know that we haven't been calling each other by the opposite name on purpose?"
"Maybe I'm Hikaru and maybe I'm Kaoru," they chorus together.
"Pink is blue and blue is pink?"
"Hikaru is Kaoru and Kaoru is Hikaru?"
I can feel a twitch developing in my right eye. Wordlessly, I drop my pointing finger and turn back to continue my search for paper.
"Hey, what do you think Milord and the others are up to now?"
"I dunno. Milord is so unpredictable, they could be doing anything by now."
"Do you think they've noticed we're gone?"
"They probably noticed the quiet first."
"I wonder if they'll know we got kidnapped or just think we wandered off somewhere on our own?"
"Well, technically, we did wander off on our own. That's how we got into this, I think."
"Oh yeah. Well, it probably won't be too much longer before they try calling us and realize something's wrong."
"And then Kyouya-senpai will have his police out looking for us."
"They'll find our phones in the alley."
"And then it won't take them very long after that to trace the van out here and find us."
"Nope. Not very long at all. Probably before nightfall."
"Good, because I wasn't really looking forward to spending the night here."
I wonder if this is some juvenile attempt to intimidate me into freeing them. It's not working very well. The thought of one of their little friends having his own private police force is a bit far-fetched.
"Do you think Haruhi misses us yet?"
"Of course! Who else is there to rescue her from the ungainly clutches of Milord?"
"You're right. She was probably the first one to notice our absence. She's probably going crazy right now, searching the streets for us herself."
Ah. I've managed to find an old receipt. Not very official for a ransom note, perhaps, but it seems to be the only bit of paper in the entire shack—er, hideout. Now for a pen.
"We should bring Haruhi back some souvenir from our kidnapping expedition. I bet she'd love that."
"Yeah, but what's there to bring back?" They look around the hideout almost despondently. "There's not really anything here to take."
"True. Hmm…We could always break the window and take back some of the glass for her."
"Broken glass, Hikaru? Are you retarded? What kind of girl wants some dirty broken glass for a souvenir?"
"Well I don't know! It was just an idea! And anyway, she could probably turn it into some really cute jewelry or something. She's thrifty like that."
"Commoner wisdom," his twin agrees sagely.
I pretend they weren't just talking about destroying my hideout. "Excuse me, do either of you have a pen I could borrow?" They're right about one thing, I suppose. There really isn't much in here.
The twins pause in their debate, patting down the various pockets in their cargo shorts, shirts, and jackets. Way too many layers. Finally one of them (I've given up trying to keep track of who is who) lights up in discovery and pulls something from a pocket by his knee, tossing it easily to me. I can only stare at it.
Apparently his brother is thinking along the same lines as I, because he asks, "Kaoru. Why on earth do you have a half-melted crayon in your shorts?"
"I was keeping it to snack on in case I got hungry later, obviously," he answers in dripping sarcasm. "Why do you think?"
"Ah." Hikaru seems to accept this answer. I decide I'm probably better off not knowing. At least it's a nice blue color. Crayon on the back of a crinkled receipt doesn't exactly make for the most dignified ransom note, but I'm working with what I have here. I'll just have to make an extra effort on the wording so they know I'm serious.
"Hey, Kaoru, let's have a contest to see who can moo the loudest."
"What? Again? Hikaru, you know how this ended last time."
"Last time we didn't have an impartial judge. This time Mr. Kidnapper can judge for us."
"Oh, fine. Hey, Mr. Kidnapper, be the judge for us to see who can moo louder."
To my dismay, they actually proceed to begin mooing at each other, taking turns and becoming increasingly louder each time. I quickly find it entirely impossible to write a coherent ransom note under these circumstances. And as I only have one receipt, I have to make the first draft count.
When the mooing reaches a crescendo, I spin around towards them, grabbing my gun from the counter and brandishing it wildly at them. "Shut up! Just shut up! There is to be no more mooing in this shack!" Er, hideout. "You two are going to sit there quietly and leave me in peace so I can write this ransom note and you can go back to your own house!"
There is silence for all of fifteen seconds before—"Well? Which one of us won?"
The crayon snaps in half.
"I don't think he was actually paying that much attention, Hikaru."
"Hah! You're just afraid that you lost!"
"That's not true! You know I won that fair and square!"
"Please. I can outmoo you any day, Kaoru."
"You're clearly delusional."
"You're clearly in denial."
I throw one half of the crayon at them with such force that it ricochets off the back wall and comes rolling nearly all the way back to me. "Do you two not even want to go home?"
They both shrug again. "Like we said, it doesn't make much difference what you do at this point."
"The Ootori police force will be here probably in a couple of hours."
This time I give in to the urge to roll my eyes. Right. The private police force. How could I have forgotten. I look over what I have written so far: 'To whom it may concurn. I have kidnaped the twins Hikkaru and Karu. If you ever want to see them alive agin,— '
There's a snicker from behind me. "Hey, Kaoru. I've thought of something funny."
"What is it?"
"It's your name. Kaoru. 'Cause you were just mooing. You get it? Kaoooru? Cowru?"
"Oh, I see. An English joke. That's very clever, Hikachu."
"Yes, I thought so—Hey, did you just call me a Pokémon?"
"I thought it fits. And it's better than being called a bovine."
"As a matter of fact, it is!"
"Hika Hika!" he squeaks in an annoyingly high-pitched voice.
"NO MORE MOOING!" I yell, making another grab for my gun.
"Hey Mr. Kidnapper, have you ever heard of 'Little Red Chief'?" the one who had just been imitating Pikachu asks suddenly, previous quarrel entirely forgotten.
"Little what?" The English words are entirely unfamiliar to me.
"Isn't it called 'Ransoming Little Red Chief,' Kaoru?"
"Ah, no, that's right. It's 'The Ransom of Red Chief.' It's an old American story by Woody Allen—"
"What? No. Miles Standish didn't write stories. Wasn't he one of those Pilgrims?"
"I think it was actually Herman Melville."
"I think it was Charles Dickens."
"Hikaru, Charles Dickens wasn't even American; he was English."
"Jane Austen, then."
"She was English too!"
"It's all the same language! What does it matter?"
"It doesn't. Anyway, Mr. Kidnapper, I think you'd really enjoy the story. You should read it once we leave."
They both have broad grins on their faces that I've already learned to distrust in the short amount of time I've known them. "I don't read English," I tell them warily.
They look disappointed. "Oh. That's too bad." Thankfully, they return to their respective activities of hair twirling and chair rocking in silence. I'm able to return to my ransom note writing in peace. I've just gotten to the good part of 'diliver 300,000,000 yen' (a price which I don't think is too extravagant at all for the return of two strapping young lads) when I suddenly become aware that the only sound in the entire hideout—er, shack—er, no wait, hideout—is the rhythmic thunking of Hikaru's chair wobbling back and forth on its short leg. Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
I ignore it. '—diliver 300,000,000 yen to—'
Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
'—at 9 pm tommorow and—'
Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
'—will be reterned safeley to—'
Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
Really, it wouldn't be so entirely annoying, or even noticeable, if there were some other noise in the room. ANY other noise. But no, the twins seem to have taken this opportunity to suddenly become the quiet, obedient captives they should have been from the start.
Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
I ignore it, concentrating extra hard. '—If you do not complie—'
The thunking falters. I sigh in relief.
Thunkthunk thunkthunk thunkthunk.
The crayon crumbles in my grip. Kidnapping and homicide are both felonies, right? So theoretically, I shouldn't get very much more prison time for homicide if I'm caught, right?
A long sigh. "Mr. Kidnapper, I'm starting to get hungry."
"Me too, Mr. Kidnapper. When are you going to feed us?"
"I think you can stand to miss one meal," I grind out, absentmindedly noting the blue crayon residue now smushed into my hand.
"Whaaat? But what if we have low blood sugar? You can't let us starve!"
"That's child abuse! And anyway, we're no good to you dead, right?"
Yes, that's right. I'd nearly forgotten the reason I'm doing all this. It's all for the money. With the ransom I'm gonna get for these two little punks, I can retire for good on a nice beach in Fiji, drinking piña coladas with beautiful women by my side…
"Fine," I grumble, quickly rummaging through the sparse cabinets until I find a can of beans. "Here. Enjoy." I toss it at them, but they merely let it sail between them to hit the back wall with a very loud thud. Picking it up from the floor, they examine it in apparent wonder.
"What is this?"
I huff. Are all rich people this stupid? "It's a can of beans, obviously."
"Beans come in cans?"
I really hope that not all rich people are this stupid. Are they the ones running this world?
"But how are we supposed to eat it?"
"Open the can. Nitwits." I add the last part under my breath.
"But with what?"
Now that's actually a legitimate question. I don't think I remembered to stock my sha—hideout with a can opener. Better put it on my shopping list so I'm ready for next time. "That's not my problem," I tell them gruffly, embarrassed at the thought of them finding out I had forgotten a can opener. Although apparently they wouldn't know what one was or how to use it, anyway.
There seems to be a brief debate between them about how best to go about opening the can before they come to the conclusion that whacking it on the edge of the table is a good idea. One of them proceeds with the whacking while the other looks on, still rocking his chair.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
My hideout—shack—sits on a little plot of land big enough to hide a couple of bodies on.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
I'm almost done with the ransom note now. It's gotten harder to write with the little snub of smushed crayon still remaining. Where was I? '—if you do not complie—' Right. '—expect to find 2 ded boys tommorow. Sinserly,—' I catch myself almost signing my name. No, that wouldn't do at all. Then again, my middle school teacher was always telling us not to sign letters "Sincerely" since it implies that only your name and nothing before the closing was written sincerely. Or something like that. So I scribble out 'Sinserly' and write 'your's truely' instead.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk.
There! All finished. A little cramped, and kind of smudged in some places, but it's still mostly legible.
It should get the point across, at least. Now the only problem is how to deliver it.
"Mr. Kidnapper, I have to go to the bathroom."
"Then go. There's a bathroom right there."
He manages to look shocked and scandalized at once, and thankfully stops thunking his chair long enough to reply, though his twin keeps whacking the can of beans on the edge of the table. "I'm not going in there! It's probably even filthier than the rest of this place! When was the last time you cleaned it? Who knows what kind of weird diseases I could pick up in there!"
It's my turn to look affronted. "Excuse me, but I do not have any weird diseases! Certainly none you can pick up just from using the bathroom—"
I'm cut off as the other twin gives a final hard whack of the beans against the table, and the can completely explodes. Both twins give a shout of surprise but are not spared being coated in exploding brown bean mush. I may or may not have also given a manly yell of surprise.
For a moment, all is still, the one twin still holding the twisted remains of the now mostly empty can, bean mush dripping off both of them onto the floor. Then, they both start laughing uproariously.
"Oh man, we should totally get Milord to do this!"
"Tell him it's a popular commoner food and this is the way commoners always open it!"
"Can you imagine the look on his face when it explodes on him?"
"Priceless! 'Haruhiii! Look at what the commoner food did to me! Come help Daddy wash it off in a bath!'"
For some reason, I find myself feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with this Milord person they're mocking. If he and I ever meet, I think we would get along splendidly.
As the twins dissolve into helpless giggles, I return to my completed ransom note only to stare at it in horror. Somehow, some impossible way, a smattering of exploded bean juice has flown all the way across the room to land squarely on my receipt ransom note, completely obliterating the crayon demands beneath it. All my hard work…All for nothing.
What am I to do now? I'm stuck in a shack—shack—with Satan's twin offspring, with no food, and no way to get in contact with the people capable of taking these little devils off my hands. Maybe they were right. Maybe I'm not a real kidnapper after all. Maybe I should have just stuck with petty thieving and robberies. But no, I had to get delusions of grandeur.
No! What am I thinking? This was only my first try. Some things were bound to go wrong. Really, I should have known better than to get a big head and grab two targets at once. Or maybe it was just these two targets in particular, these horrible evil brats Hitachiin Hikaru and Kaoru. I'm beginning to think that every single action they've made and word they've spoken today has been contrived with the sole goal of driving me to madness.
Well, no more. I'll show them. I'm taking them right back to where I found them, covered in gooey bean juice and all, and getting them out of my sight forever. My next target will be much more carefully chosen. Really, they hadn't been the ones I was thinking about going after, anyway. I was watching the little boy that was with them, the one they called Sweetie or Honey or Sugar or whatever it was.
Yes, he looks like he would make a much easier target.
AN: I hope you enjoyed. I'll leave you to imagine what would happen if someone tried to kidnap Honey. Somehow I don't think it would be very pretty.
Review unto others as you would have them review unto you. Yesterday I saw a fic that had more reviews than it had words (400 to 300). A girl can dream, right?