Categories > Original > Fantasy > MegaMistake

Be the Parents. Do the Cool thing.

by CarcinoGeneticist 0 reviews

More reuploads, with parents doing stuff.

Category: Fantasy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Romance - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2013-03-13 - 1117 words


Deep in the reaches of space, two more characters were having their own problems.

“Are You Perfectly Alright?”
Flipping dyed blonde hair out of her face, Dot Warner surveyed the small space and the alternate captive. “I think so. Nothing broken, at least.”
“Wonderful,” answered her compatriot, then abruptly fell silent.
Neither said anything for a while, until he broke the silence.
“What...Is Your Favorite Color?” he asked, sounding unsure, like not even he knew what his own favorite color was. Dot laughed. “Oh my God, when’s the last time you’ve talked to an adult?” she asked. “Not For A While. I’ve A Daughter To Look After, And It Is A Full-Time Occupation,” he admits. “Oh, me too! I’ve got a son, he’s sixteen, such a great boy. What’s your daughter’s name?” she asks.
“Her Name Is Youtube.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“I Am Google.”
“I Am Dot Warner.” She imitates his tone, and both fall into giggles.

“Well, Miss Warner, As Fun As It Is Being Quarantined With You, I’m Afraid We Both Must Escape.”
“For sure! I’ve got work tomorrow!”

Fumbling with his bound hands, Google manages to worm his way out of them without too much trouble. Kneeling in the dirt beside Dot, he works on untying her hands in silence. “Thanks!” she giggles, even though she is far to old to be doing such a thing. She also throws Google into a well-rounded hug. That, he doesn’t mind.
“Where On Earth Are We?” Google asks her, trying to cover his own awkwardness.

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, that’s for damn sure. Mind if I smoke?” Dot asks, reaching into a pocket and lighting up a cigarette without waiting for his permission. “I don’t, usually, don’t get that idea about me, but I just can’t with Pottermore around. He’s my son, I’ve gotta be a good mum to him and all. God, I hope he’s okay.”
“He Is Probably Just Fine. My Daughter, On The Other Hand, May Require My Attention. I Must Get To Her As Soon As I Can,” Google intones, shrugging out of his suit coat.
“Man, that tie is hideous,” Dot says, catching a glimpse of the ill-designed article of clothing.
“Surely You Jest! My Tie Is Wonderful! And Artistic!”
“And the ugliest thing under the fucking sun. Oh, my Goodness! I’m so sorry!” Dot claps a hand over her mouth, smearing her lipstick.
“Quite Fucking Alright. I Assure You.”

Before the two of them have any more chance to chat, the door to their small cell starts to rattle, keys being scraped against it.
“When Will I See You Again?” Google asks. He is, truth be told, quite entranced by this dyed-blonde former beauty queen.
She laughs. “I’m Dot.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“I know, right?”

The guard that opens the door is nearly eight feet tall, and manages to capture both of them in one meaty fist. Dot doesn’t seem to mind being dragged along, and is merely admiring the architecture of the dark purple palace floors and vaulted ceiling. Google is merely admiring her.
The throne room is a continuation of violet flagstones and arched windows. They look out into darkness, Skaia being tremendously far away.
Both Dot and Google are thrown to the floor with no ceremony. “Wow! Look! Stars!” Dot says excitedly, pointing out the window at absolutely nothing. Google does not actually care about the non-existent stars. At the moment, he’s more preoccupied with the fact that the Queen of Derse has given them an audience.

She’s lounging sideways on her throne, glaring at the two of them. Both of her two heads are resplendent with golden circlets, and cat ears that twitch at the slightest sound.
“Well, well, well. Two spies caught. I’d expect both of you to be more careful,” she says, mouth opening to show pointed catlike teeth.
“Oh my Goodness! Spies! Where?” asks Dot.
The queen ignores her. Swinging her feet sideways, she saunters with a slow swing of her hips. Most of her body is clad in some sort of natural black crab-like armor, with wicked-looking spikes and matted fur sprouting up from random spots. Retractable claws slide from the tips of her fingers as she catches hold onto Google’s ugly tie.
“Spies for the queen of Prospit? That’s pathetic. Tell her that I’m only playing fair if she does, her heroes are garbage, all that jazz. But all the same,” the Queen says, arrows starting to glow against the carapace armor.
“I’ll think I’ll send you back dead. Just to send a message.”

With a snap of her fingers, the guards grab Dot and Google, dragging them back out of the throne room.
“How rude!” Dot snaps once hauled out of earshot. Stamping hard down on her kidnapper’s foot, she wrangles out of his grasp. “C’mon! I’m in no mood to be slayed by that moody little so-and-so!” she screams, grabbing hold of Google’s wrist.
The two of them sprint down the hallway. “Where Is An Exit?” Google asks, whipping his head back and forth, squinting through his glasses. Spotting one at the end of the corridor, he tugs Dot in that direction, and the two of them kick the door open, only to find it leads out into a balcony.
“Oh no! Dead end!” Dot frets, looking over her shoulder at a group of guards slowly edging towards them.
“Nonsense, My Dear! Just Jump!” Google responds, spotting, at least in his mind, looked like a giant boat.

The jump down to the boat was quick and relatively painless. Google took charge of steering the impossibly huge thing, while Dot sucked down another cigarette to steady her nerves. The purple chain binding the boat to the planet was quickly torn free, and the two of them piloted away.
“Oh my Goodness, I cannot believe I just did that!” Dot gushed.
“I’ll Say. We’re Criminals Now!” Google laughed for the first time in years, delighted.
The boat makes swift progress away from Derse, the two aged vigilantes piloting away.

“Uhhh....your terribleness? Should we pursue them?” asks a footsoldier to the Queen, long after the two have gone.
She shrugs, stretching her arms. The joints of her knuckles and shoulders crack.
“Why bother? I’ve got the deck stacked, and all the power I need.”
She runs a hand over the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Red tendrils spread from it, eager to listen.
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