MMORPB // Tati & Tony in Raiders of the Lost Snark (Moderately Multiplayer Online Role Playing Book 18+)

or: The Big Catch Up! (Episodes 2-7)

 

Tati and Tony had decided to meet at the Greater Cachalot Mall, which was more akin to a bustling mini metropolis than an actual mall. Located on an island in international waters, it lay somewhere between Ukraine and Australia, and required no Visa to visit. Tati travelled there via the Trans-Zhmerynka Portalway while Tony took the TUMS Oceania Tube.

Tony arrived first, lugging three huge suitcases behind him. They were filled with god knows what, and the hotel staff were understandably curious. Who could possibly need that much crap? What the hell was it? Was it clothes or something nefarious like money for a drug drop? Tony did have the bedraggled appearance of a dealer after all.

Tati appeared twenty minutes later with her habitual backpack and a mint lollipop. She slapped Tony’s back, causing him to choke on his soda. “Are you drinking that slop again?” Tony winced at her pointed question. “You boob! When will you drop dead from diabetes? I won’t be coming to your funeral! And don’t complain that I didn’t warn you!”

They were looking at each other with a mixture of love and hate, and therefore didn’t notice a mysterious man in black slipping quietly behind them and making a beeline for Tony’s suitcases…

Tati sighed. “Okey dokey. Let’s go to reception. I’m dying to take a shower.” She pulled a map from her pants pocket and unfolded it over a nearby café table.

“Why couldn’t we have met in front of the hotel itself?” asked Tony, scratching the top of his head with a quizzical look.

“Conspiracy!”

“Conspiracy?” Tony blinked in confusion.

After ascertaining the most confusing and circuitous route to the hotel, Tati rummaged through her backpack and withdrew a couple of items. “Now, take this moustache and cap. No one should recognize you!”

Tony took one of the moustaches from her hand and put on the green cap. “But I already have a moustache!”

“It doesn’t matter. Stick that one over it.”

Tony blinked slowly at his reflection in a nearby store window showcase while Tati put on a moustache of her own, and a red cap too. “Seriously, we look like the Mario Bros.” She giggled at Tony’s comment. He had two moustaches on his face, and he did rather look like a famous, portly, videogame plumber’s brother.

“Does this make me Mario?”

Tony blushed. ” A female Mario, yes.”

Tati folded up the map and stowed it away. “Okay, you can stop scratching your mushrooms, brother. Let’s a go!”

Rolling his eyes, Tony turned to retrieve his suitcases…

“What th—?”

Right in front of their very eyes was the mysterious man in black, and he was trying to make off with one of Tony’s suitcases. Tati didn’t even need to think. She immediately dug into her pants pocket and withdrew a mint lollipop. In one smooth over-the-shoulder movement, she lobbed it at the man in black and hit him squarely between the eyes. He crumpled to the ground like a tarpaulin full of bricks.

“You! Hey, you!” Tati lightly kicked him with the tip of her shoe. “Are you alive?”

“What the hell?!” hissed Tony like a goose. “There’s no need to sink the boot in! Isn’t it enough that you knocked him down?! What was that anyway? A candy cannonball? Jesus!”

Tati stood there confused. She thought she had done the right thing. “It was just a lollipop I bought in Zhmerynka’s Duty Free. Do you think it could be expired, and that’s why it’s so hard?”

“Either that or it’s got a tiny anchor in the middle of it.” Tony kneeled beside the man in black. “He’s out cold.”

“No, look, he’s coming around.”

The mysterious man in black opened his eyes, but the sight of two squabbling Mario brothers made him go faint again. And who could blame him? Anyone in his place would have done the same. One brother was strangely effeminate, and the other had two moustaches, one of which was stuck to his brow.

“Nope. He’s out again.”

Tati looked around. “We need a bucket of water.”

“What? Are we gonna drown him now? I think the guy’s had enough!”

Losing patience, Tati shrugged her shoulders then grabbed the man in black by his shirt front. She yanked him into a sitting position. “Who are you?” she growled to his face. ” Why were you stealing Tony’s suitcase?”

“I don’t think he can hear you, Tati.”

Tati pulled a vial of acetone from her other pocket.

Tony regarded her with a not unwarranted degree of suspicion. “Erm, why are you carrying stuff like that with you? And how the hell did you get it through customs?”

Tati gave an annoyed tut. “Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t like the answers to!” And, with that, she shoved the vial right into the man in black’s nose. With an almighty fit of spluttering and coughing, he opened eyes.

“Good sir,” asked Tony politely, “could you please let us know why you need my suitcase?”

Before the man in black could respond, Tati shouted, “I’d just like to know who the fuck died and left you stealing other people’s suitcases!”

The man in black whispered, “Please, don’t kill me, mighty Mario brothers. Let me live and I’ll reveal a big secret to you.”

“Okay!” crowed Tati. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

Tony was concerned at how forcefully she was shaking the man in black. He wondered if he should intervene.

“Um…” he began carefully. “I think maybe…”

Tati looked at Tony, raising her eyebrows in challenge. They began a furious discussion with their eyes. Obviously, Tony wanted to help the man in black to a hotel, offer him bed and breakfast, but Tati wanted to systematically torture and break the man. They managed to convey all of this to one another without any words at all.

But destiny, as always, had other plans. A huge meteorite for example.

When Tati and Tony finally concluded their silent (yet no less heated for it) argument, they looked back to the mysterious man in black. Or, to be more precise, to the place where he’d been some moments ago. There was now a smouldering crater with a humungous orb glowing an angry orange in the centre.

Tati dropped the two seared scraps of fabric that remained of the man in black’s shirt. Tony just fell on his arse. They were both in shock.

“What the ever loving…” Tony didn’t have it in him to complete that statement, so he let it trail off.

Tati shook her head, scratched her moustache, gave a defiant grunt then grabbed Tony by the scruff of his shirt. “Get up.” Her tone indicated that he’d better do what she said, or else. He got up.

“That was my favourite suitcase too.”

Turning away from the crater, Tati counted the rest of Tony’s suitcases. “How many bloody suitcases have you got, Luigi?”

“My name’s not Luigi!” Tony bristled. “And I don’t need to justify what I bring on our trips to you!”

But Tati wasn’t listening. “Three? Okey-dokey. It looks like all of them are here. Let’s go to the hotel!”

Tony gestured helplessly at the crater. “Well, minus one.” He was sure that one of the suitcases had gotten disintegrated along with the mysterious man in black. “But I guess you’re right.” He gestured at the ones that remained. “There are three others here.”

“Hey!”

Tony winced. How had he pissed her off this time? “What now?” he moaned.

Tati pointed. “Does this one have a slightly different hue, or am I dreaming?”

Now Tony wasn’t even sure of his real name. He squinted at the offending suitcase. “I don’t know. Yes? Maybe? Or we’re in a group hallucination.”

“No.” Tati gave her moustache another thoughtful scratch. “I think all of them are similar.”

“Sure,” sighed Tony. “Whatever floats your boat.”

He just wanted to get away from the crater. The police and emergency services were beginning to arrive. Names would be taken and questions would be asked. He didn’t have the mental wherewithal to cope with that.

“Erm, Tati, we should get the hell out of here, don’t you think?”

Tony tugged at Tati’s elbow. She yanked it away, more than a little irritated.

“Hey! What gives you the right to paw at me, you old pervert?”

Tony eyed her in a mixture of apology and wild-eyed fear.

“You can hold my hand, okay?” she said, her frown softening to a look of concern. “Let’s get out of here!”

Tony grabbed her whole arm again. “Let’s!”

Tati poked at Tony’s ribs with a huge, colourful umbrella. Tony winced, reeling in surprise. Where the hell had she suddenly pulled that from? It wasn’t anywhere a moment ago!

“Is that a…” Tony blinked dramatically. “Is that a fucking umbrella? You do realise it’s not about to rain, don’t you?”

Tati hoisted it, pointing the tip at the clear blue sky. “It’s a fucking whatchamacallit!”

“Huh? Could you stop saying words that I can’t comprehend?”

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

“Jesus.”

Tati grimaced at him. “Your Messiah won’t save you, but I will. Grab tight!”

Tony glommed onto Tati like a vice. “Does that make you my ‘Missiah?'” He grinned like an idiot at his own stupid joke.

“Do you want to fall?” Tati asked with a hint of menace in her voice.

“Wha—?!” Tony shook his head in panic. “No. Of course not!”

“Then hold on!” Tati jabbed at the sky for emphasis. “Less words. More action!”

And with that, her umbrella popped open with a puff of air, and they shot off into the sky like a bottle rocket. Tony screamed as he tightened his grip. He hadn’t expected their lift off to be so… well, sudden!

“Shit!” squeaked Tati.

Tony blinked. That’s all he seemed to be doing lately. “What?”

“Suitcases!” Tati looked angry. “Did you bring your fucking baggage?”

Tony refused to look down as he was scared of heights—but he knew the suitcases were still scattered around the lip of the crater. Tati looked down, and her scowl deepened.

“Do you really need your suitcases?” Then before Tony could muster an answer, she added, “Never mind. It’s too late now anyway.”

Tati was right. The ambulance, police and fire service had arrived on the scene. People in various uniforms were already striding about with purposeful resolve, pointing at things, crossing things off lists, and getting shit done. And yet, Tony had to whine, “But I need them!”

“Why?” Tati pretended that her question was dictated by common sense, not curiosity. Tony gave her his best, saintly, longsuffering ‘martyr’ look. She rolled her eyes, but he wouldn’t let up.

“All my good underwear’s in there!”

Tati found it difficult to imagine Tony wearing undergarments. The thought made her giggle. “Nice try, you silly boy.” She lightly kissed the top of his head. “Do you have other options? You’re going to need them.”

Tony realised that the reason was going to have to be more serious than the one he’d offered. Otherwise, this nasty girl with fake face fungus was never going to agree to return and get his suitcases back. Tati could be quite difficult to sway once her mind was made up.

He thought a little bit, and then said, “Well, I suppose I can tell you, but it’s a big secret. The reason I want to go back for my suitcases is because they contain my stash of hamster porn. God, I hope no one manages to get one open. I can already feel the shame!”

Tati snorted. “‘Mr Fleek ‘Puffy Cheek’ & His Lewd BBW Wifey’? ‘Crazy Hawaii Weekend in the Boom Chicka Wheel Wow of Love’, huh?”

“Okay okay!” hissed Tony with embarrassment. “Keep your voice down, would you?”

“‘Hamster Bros Doin’ Doxies Fur Dog Style’?”

“Look, I don’t have that issue, okay? It got lost somewhere a while ago.”

Tati felt Tony shudder involuntarily. The memory of such a loss seemed to trouble him deeply.

“Hey!” he suddenly beamed. “Does that mean you happen to have a copy of your own?”

Tati blushed momentarily, but then quickly regained her usual look of jaded scorn.

“Are you an idiot?” she sneered. “I joke, of course. I had no idea that this existed. You’re a dirty weirdo!”

Tony looked disappointed. “That was a pretty good guess then!”

“I wonder which direction the wind is blowing today…”

Tati fidgeted with the trigger on the umbrella handle, demonstrating her complete indifference towards the hamster porno industry. Tony looked at her with suspicion. It was obvious that she was trying to change the topic, but he figured it’d be better if he didn’t challenge her on this. At least not now while she was gripping him by the shirt collar some one hundred feet above the ground.

“So,” he said carefully, “where are we going to go? We’re fugitives now!”

Tati ignored him, continuing to fiddle with the trigger. Now she looked genuinely concerned, her fake moustache trembling in the wind like a bad omen. Okay, now it was time to worry, and so that’s what Tony did.

“Erm…” he squeaked. “Is everything okay?”

“Just shut up, OK? I’m trying to cock this fucking hamster.”

Tony blinked. “What?”

“Oh, hell!” spat Tati. “Damn you and your sexual preferences! I meant ‘cock the hammer’ of course! Not the hamster! This fucking umbrella doesn’t work!”

Then there was a sudden gust of wind. It slapped into them from the side, nearly wrenching Tony from Tati’s grasp. He shrieked with fear, tightening his hold on her.

“We’re gonna die!”
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Dear Readers, now it’s time for us to explain ourselves. We decided to create this post in the hope of killing two birds with one stone. (Poor birds though!)

Firstly, we wanted to refresh your memory with the story so far, and to present it to our Newer—but no less important—Readers. You see, this is an experiment in interactive storytelling. We tell the story, and you vote for the direction it should go in. We’ve had a lot of fun with it. Hopefully, you have too.

Secondly, we want to ask your opinion. Should we continue this quirky feature? Please do let us know by voting in the following poll. This will very much help us to decide the fate of our story…

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

Dada (Fragment #018)

I marched towards the library and collided with Patrick near the main entrance. I remembered this boor. He was an assistant at my entrance examination. I decided not to waste time greeting him and just passed on by.

The 20th century German literature section wasn’t a very popular place. Well, good riddance! It was much better to work without the silly background chirrup of girls writing endless nonsense about heroic troubadours and sighing over modern guys who’d forgotten the art of courtship.

Anyway, I figured I should get to work, so I thumbed along the high stacks looking for the letter ‘T’. Gotcha! Tristan Tzara, ‘Seven Dada Manifestos and Lampisteries’.

“Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article of the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that makes up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are – an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd.”

So, professor, you didn’t like my poem? I giggled at the thought. I’ll learn how to break something that was already broken. Let’s dada, baby! And suddenly, my attention was drawn to some other voices. They sounded pretty tense. I cocked my ear.

“I need this book!”

“The rules are the same for everyone. You can only read it in the reference room. This book mustn’t leave the library.”

“But…”

“No.”

I peeped out of the stack and looked over to the counter. A disappointed Patrick was talking with the library custodian, a large leather bound book clutched to his chest. Serves you right! I thought with gloating delight.

I’d always considered the ‘Codex Seraphinianus’ to be a bit of a joke. I didn’t think anyone of stable mind could ever truly take it seriously. My eyes flicked across Patrick’s sad features again. What a putty head!

Anyway, I needed to care more about completing the task at hand.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017

CALIXIAN // Nice Girl Without Bad Habits

My budget was tighter than a goldfish’s anal sphincter, and there was no way I could make it stretch any farther. I’d slashed my expenses to the barest minimum. It was ridiculous! And no matter how I looked at it, I still wouldn’t be able to afford the flat. There were two options to make the rent they were asking for, and I hated both. After considering the pros and cons, I made a very difficult decision.

‘Nice girl without bad habits looking for flatmate. Phone 409 828 2690 during social hours only.’

I sighed like I was about to walk the plank. I didn’t want to do this, but needs must as the devil drives. I approached the bulletin board and stabbed the leaflet into place with a hairpin I’d found somewhere. I couldn’t even afford a thumbtack. That’s how skint I was.

“Hi, Calix!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Seriously, you wouldn’t have needed to take an x-ray.

It was the guy from this morning. The café guy. The one who allegedly worked at the magazine with me. He was stood there with a shy smile, and a posture that reeked of unnecessary subservience. Naturally, I still couldn’t recall his name. Had he given me his name? I couldn’t even remember that.

Fuck this. I was going to be rude. “Hey, jack, are you following me?”

He immediately adopted a defensive pose. “Oh my god! No!” he squeaked. “I have to come this way to get back to the office!”

“You’re some kind of weird sex pervert, aren’t you? Admit it!”

“NO no no no no! I’m not! I promise!”

He was waving his arms like a cartoon character. Even sweating bullets like one. It was almost comical, but I was bored.

“I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

I turned away, and left him gawping there at the bulletin board. It was time to get back to the office. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him typing on his phone. It looked for all the world like he was silently mouthing words as he did so. Who was this guy?!

Never mind that, Calix. Just keep walking and don’t look back.

Moments later when I had turned the corner, my phone rang. An unfamiliar number popped up on the screen. I sighed and accepted the call.

“Hullo.”

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

CALIXIAN // Twenty Minute Egg

All Calix wanted was something to eat.

Make no mistake. She wasn’t a foodie. Cookery shows weren’t her thing. She just needed fuel, something to get her through the rest of the afternoon.

Calix’s stomach was grumbling at her like a bastard. All she needed was silence while she filled it. She had an important interview at three. Frigging gargantuan carrot! What the hell was she supposed to ask the farmer about that? It wasn’t exactly the world’s most scintillating topic. And while there was no plan for the conversation, she didn’t want to appear an ignorant fool because she didn’t know if a carrot was a fruit or vegetable. Screw that!

Calix strode into the small, cosy café, took the first bunch of stuff that came to hand, then chucked some money down on the counter. “Keep the change,” she muttered in the waiter’s general direction, and moved on. She made her way to an empty table in the far corner, where it was sure to be quiet. No one could disturb her work there. And if they did, she’d put a fist through their gormless smile. Hey, that was just how she rolled.

She opened her shabby, second-hand laptop, and started to google. It was quite a sight, Calix throwing bits of muffin, pickle and beef jerky into her mouth. She really didn’t care what it was as long as her stomach shut up at some point. This carrot farmer interview thing was playing on her mind, so she had to get on top of it right away.

Calix was washing down a salmon sandwich swilled with lukewarm cappuccino when somebody guffawed loudly. It sounded like it was coming from just behind her. Irritated, she hunched over the keyboard a little more, as though this would block out that unwelcome noise completely.

“Fuck. That’s put me off me lunch.”

More guffawing. And it wasn’t stopping this time. At least not immediately. Calix sat there, her body tense, her hands now slamming down on the keyboard with naked aggression. Fuck these fools! Couldn’t she have some peace?

“Hey, you!” she said as politely as humanly possible. “Shut up, huh? I’m trying to work here.”

“I’m surprised that shitbox of yours works at all, luv.”

“At least it doesn’t have shit for brains,” growled Calix. “Moron.”

She still hadn’t turned around, and she wasn’t going to. These turd heads were beneath her, so why would she so much as look at them? She didn’t need to fill her head with their idiot faces.

There was a noise, a scraping noise. Perhaps a chair being pushed across the vinyl floor. Then someone’s shadow was suddenly hanging over her. “Too cocky by half, aren’cha luv?”

Calix snorted derisively. “Make like a tree, jack.”

A hand fell heavily onto her shoulder—and this was when Calix saw red. Her reflexes were quicker than her mind. There was a satisfying crunch followed by a loud, pitiful howl. It almost sounded like a dog had been kicked, only it wasn’t that.

“You broke my finger, you bitch!”

Calix—still refusing to look in the bully’s direction—flexed her hand. “Aw, don’t cry to me, baby,” she smirked. “It’s only dislocated. Now, if you don’t want to end up another Simpson, then get out.”

“A… another Simpson?”

“Four fingers or five? Your choice.”

She heard more scrapings followed by hurried footsteps. It seemed everyone in the bully’s group was making their exit.

“And we won’t mention the colour,” she called out after them. “You’re already yellow enough!”

The other patrons looked on, as did the wait staff. All seemed a little shell shocked, but Calix didn’t care. She continued to torment the poor laptop with aggressive key jabs and eye rolls.

Something rustled behind her back.

“So, you’ve chosen Simpson. Not a wise move, is it?” Calix spun on her seat, ready to pound the daylights out of whomever was there.

Oh.

It was some weird looking guy with wild hair, spindly limbs and a pot belly, and it appeared he was about to faint. Calix looked him up and down. Frankly, she hadn’t expected this. He didn’t really look like a bully, didn’t fit the profile, so there had to be one of two options here: Either he was the bully and his gang’s crime boss (such dweebs usually cowered in the shadows, commanding a gang of impressionable thugs from a position of relative safety), or he was their stooge. Calix made up her mind. He was their stooge.

“Thank you.”

Oh god. She could sense another conversation heading in her general direction. How exhausting. Did she really have to do this right now? Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? Calix wrinkled her nose in supreme annoyance.

“What did you say?” she bit out. She didn’t even try to hide how annoyed she was.

The guy cleared his throat and repeated, a bit louder this time: “Thank you, Calix.”

Calix narrowed her eyes. “How do you know my name?”

He seemed a little taken aback. “Ezra Darwin? I’m the ‘Hooves, Horns & Rhododendrons Monthly Digest’ illustrator.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Wouldn’t she have remembered this?

“We work together? I’m the dude you usually push near the coffee machine with the words, ‘Ladies ahead!’.”

Calix cocked an eyebrow at him. That didn’t even sound like something she’d say. Sure, she could be a little pushy from time to time, but what of it? And anyway, the comment didn’t make sense.

“You also like to say, ‘Who drew this crappy cover for the last issue?'”

Calix grinned to herself. Oh yes, she remembered saying that. She studied the guy’s face again. Nope. The guy still didn’t ring a bell.

“Sorry, jack. I don’t know you.” She turned back to her laptop. “Unless you’re a world-class carrot academic, then this conversation’s over.”

Calix resumed her work as Darwin looked on. He hovered for a moment, then sighed and walked away. They say not to meet your heroes. He supposed that this must be one of those cases.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

DARWINIAN // The Holes in Your Net

“Darwin, dear! Come to me, you son of a bitch!”

His face had the look of someone who’d taken a bite from a peeled apple only to realise it was raw onion. What the hell did this mad woman want now?

“I sometimes think it’d be better if I didn’t share a flat with you.”

Calix ignored Darwin’s caustic barb and beckoned him over. Yeah, that was typical. He could threaten to attack her with a tyre iron and she wouldn’t flinch. Nothing fazed her.

“Money’s dust, but my self respect isn’t,” Darwin muttered to himself. And he wasn’t even sure what he meant. It just felt like the thing to say in that particular moment.

Calix was pointing at the shelf with the look of Caesar saying the sacral “Et tu, Brute?” moments before being killed. Or doing the killing. Darwin had a funny feeling that the second option was more likely.

“What? It’s a shelf. There are things placed upon it. That’s its function.”

“I’m not retarded, Ezra.” Calix pulled a face. “I ask you, where’s the fucking fish thing?”

“The what? You’re a writer. How is it you cannot use your words all of a sudden?”

“You seem to have forgotten that I take lessons in Krav Maga. I don’t only belong to the school of high versification, you know.”

“Fine. So you can beat me with your fists as well as your tongue. What do you mean by ‘fucking fish thing’?”

“Fish! Fish! The aquatic craniate bearing gills that lacks digit populated limbs!” Exasperation was creeping into Calix’s voice. “It swims underwater? God, Ezra! Surely you’ve heard of fish!”

“You’re asking me where the goldfish has gone,” he said a little blankly.

“Well, you’re not as irredeemable as you make out.” Calix threw her arms up. “Yay! Let’s celebrate this fact, shall we?”

Darwin rolled his eyes. “Okay, I can do without the sarcasm.” He indicated the empty shelf. “I’ve got no idea where the fucking thing’s gone. Perhaps it grew legs and walked away in disgust.”

“Nice guess, Hercule. But in this case it would have left a fucking dust trail, wouldn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. It’s a fish. Fish are wet.” Darwin searched the shelf and the surrounding floor. “It would have left a trail of water…”

Incredulous, Calix watched as he got up on tiptoes to check the near the corner wall. He did realise that fish didn’t have lungs, didn’t he? How would it have gone anywhere if it couldn’t breathe out of water? Idiot!

And suddenly he said, “Oh, there you go!” He picked something up and waved it in front of her. “Looks like a letter. That isn’t your handwriting, is it?”

“No, it’s yours,” sighed Calix, barely hiding her annoyance. What a moron!

Seeing that she was trying so hard to keep her composure, Darwin backed off. He focused his attention on the letter instead. It was slightly soggy and the ink was a bit smudged, but at least it was mostly legible.

“Dear C & D, I have a very important message…”

“What is this?” laughed Calix, her annoyance quickly melting away. “Did you scrape this shit from out of our spam inbox? I can already guess what it’s going to say. We’ve won 1,589,125 euros, right? Oh, go on! Don’t break my heart. Please say we did and that we need to pay them a fee to have our prize money processed!”

“It’s not a scam.” But that’s not what his face was saying. In fact, Darwin was scrunching his nose in what seemed to be disbelief. “It’s for real. And… I think the goldfish wrote it.”

That caught Calix by surprise, so much so that she forgot to insult Darwin with her next comment. Well… it was more of a question really.

“The goldfish?! The goldfish wrote the note?”

She looked for all the world like a little girl that’d been told that clouds weren’t made of fairy floss. And this piece of information just wasn’t able to fit in her tiny cute head, let alone be processed.

Darwin nodded. “The goldfish.”

“Could you please do me a favour and explain?”

The rattled, almost polite, version of Calix was rattling even Darwin. He wasn’t used to seeing her at a loss like this. The sight made him inwardly cringe.

“I can’t.” He looked back at the piece of paper. “Fish don’t write letters. Only… it did.”

Darwin found a chair near the coffee table and sat in it rather heavily. He placed the letter on the tabletop and attempted to smooth it out, only his hands made the ink smear a bit more. “Okay,” he said softly, “I guess I should finish reading this.”

All Calix could do was nod.

Darwin harrumphed, then began to read.

“Dear C & D, I have a very important message…

STOP BICKERING!

Sorry, but I’ve had enough. What’s a goldfish to do when the two humans he loves most are at each others’ throats all the time? Every hour of every day is filled with your constant backbiting. It’s stressful, man! STRESSFUL!

I’m going on a trip to Ibiza with the express purpose of kicking back in a glass of rum and coke balanced on the navel piercing of an impressively norked chav. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in two weeks. In the meantime, I suggest you snippy suctorians work out your shitty problems, and learn to cohabitate in peace.

See ya later, motherflippers. It’s been real. A little TOO real.

Yours disapprovingly,
Augustus Adelaide Harold III”

Darwin leaned back in the chair, letter still in hand. Calix squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t clear for a moment if she was trying to digest what she’d heard or was simply in pain.

“Augustus Adel— What?! What the fuck was its name?”

“Augustus Adelaide Harold III,” repeated Darwin obligingly.

There was a pause. An uncomfortable pause. A light had suddenly switched on behind Calix’s eyes. “Hang about…” she said, as if to herself. Then she reached into Darwin’s pocket and fished out a leaflet. Before he could stop her, she read: “The most popular royal baby names.”

Darwin offered her a sheepish grin.

“Augustus?! Adelaide?! Fucking Harold?!” She looked at him with a mocking smile. “Oh my god, Ezra! You’re the worst! You were unable even to invent a cool name for a fish?! And what’s with the three on the end? Really?!”

Darwin’s grin slipped into a look of embarrassment. “I was trying to think of a name with authority. I guess it didn’t work, huh?”

“Oh, Ezra…” Calix sat in front of him on the coffee table. “You lovable idiot! You’re incorrigible.”

Darwin blushed.

“Why did you invent this bullshit?”

“I guess…” he began, then seemed to think better of it. “Nah. Never mind.”

Now it was Calix’s turn to roll her eyes. “Okay. Whatever. If it makes you happy then… ugh. I don’t know.” She looked around. “So, where did you hide the poor fish?”

It was at this point that Darwin’s eyes grew as big as saucers. He sprang out of his seat like an electrified eel and raced out into the back yard. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit…”

Calix shook her head and smiled. Yup, Darwin was quite mad, the adorable goof. This much would never change. Of that she was certain. She made a cuckoo sign, then walked off to poke her nose into her laptop.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019