Somewhere in Neopia, on a cloud floating over the land, is a shimmering, candy-floss castle, where all sorts of winged ladies hold court
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The infant she's holding is still in his magically-induced slumber, though he's beginning to stir. First his arms begin to move slightly, then his nubby little lower torso. Soon, his face scrunches up and he mewls softly.
And finally, his red eyes open up, first blinking owlishly but eventually wide and bright. Then they're trained upward, looking at the woman holding him with a somber and straight-faced silence. One hand is wriggled free from his swaddling and a finger is slowly and deliberately placed into his mouth, not removing his sight from the Space Faerie for a moment.
His gaze doesn't seem to hold any kind of recognition. He seems like he's very sternly sussing her out.
Nope, this little bundle of greenish joy has no clue of anything since he 'woke up' underwater and trapped inside of a heavy, black cloth. All he's known for the past few weeks is sleeping, eating oatmeal and drinking formula, burping, and Hippolyta playing with him and attempting (and sometimes succeeding!) at making him giggle.
There's nothing but little baby thoughts living inside his head; no thoughts of conquest, of genocide, of enslavement, of devices made for torture and death.
When she says his name, there's a small, "Blmmmn," from behind that finger he's sucking on.
She would like to keep him, just like this, for a little longer. She understands totally Hippolyta's desire to 'raise' him and care for him. There's a very strong temptation to go against her word, for just a moment. Lumindra promised that she'd restore Frank to his 'old' self. And the reasons for this remain
( ... )
He's swaying on his feet again. "Fuh...Yeah, get me outta here. Now. I gotta-...GadZOOKS, I'm hungry. An' I just wanna lie down. For a little while." He holds up his forefinger and thumb a tiny ways apart, demonstrating for how little. "Just a little while."
He's rambling and mumbling out of exhaustion, so it's a good idea that he get home quick. And it seems both parties here trust that Lumindra will be able to get him out of Faerieland and into his Space Station unnoticed. Because the last thing Sloth needs is his minions or various other Neopets and faeries seeing him on his sworn enemy's arm wearing nothing by a purple towel.
Indeed. Fortunately, the same magic that allows her to jump vast reaches of space with hardly a blip makes this quick work. She casts one last grateful look back at Fyora, with a silent promise to make up for this help, loops an arm under Sloth's shoulders, and they're gone.
The interesting thing about the magic that sends her whooshing from one point to another is what it feels like when it's going on. It's probably not going to help his headache at all, certainly. It's a little bit like the first drop in a certain indoor roller coaster at a certain theme park that's big on mice. Dark, spotted with light, fast, disorienting...and weirdly fun.
They're now in his inner sanctum, the holiest of holies, where no minion dare tread. His bedroom.
Ugh, yes, the lurching sense of movement with the disorienting slashes of light around them doesn't help matters. Sloth simply lets his head hang and shuts his eyes for the duration of this particular jaunt.
When the sense of motion stops and he can feel cold steel under his bare feet, the doctor finally lifts his head and looks around blearily. Oh thank God. Or whatever passes for a deity around this horrible place.
He's already stumbling in the direction of his bed and simply flops facefirst onto the mattress without a word. He doesn't move or bother to get under the sheets; he just lies there, completely drained from his little adventure in paint brush mishaps.
Though there is eventually a long, weary groan made into the covers his face is buried in.
And while he's doing that, she quietly tiptoes over to his personal refrigerator. When she opens the door, she realizes that all the food has gone off. But she's not a faerie for nothing. When the door closes, she's carrying a plate with a sandwich, a pre-peeled banana, and her other hand is holding a Neocola.
Yeah, somebody doesn't know the wonders of alcohol. Otherwise she'd probably be getting him some of that booze he's got squirreled away.
She perches herself on the bed next to him, holding out the food near his head.
Comments 37
And finally, his red eyes open up, first blinking owlishly but eventually wide and bright. Then they're trained upward, looking at the woman holding him with a somber and straight-faced silence. One hand is wriggled free from his swaddling and a finger is slowly and deliberately placed into his mouth, not removing his sight from the Space Faerie for a moment.
His gaze doesn't seem to hold any kind of recognition. He seems like he's very sternly sussing her out.
Reply
Reply
There's nothing but little baby thoughts living inside his head; no thoughts of conquest, of genocide, of enslavement, of devices made for torture and death.
When she says his name, there's a small, "Blmmmn," from behind that finger he's sucking on.
Reply
Reply
He's rambling and mumbling out of exhaustion, so it's a good idea that he get home quick. And it seems both parties here trust that Lumindra will be able to get him out of Faerieland and into his Space Station unnoticed. Because the last thing Sloth needs is his minions or various other Neopets and faeries seeing him on his sworn enemy's arm wearing nothing by a purple towel.
Reply
The interesting thing about the magic that sends her whooshing from one point to another is what it feels like when it's going on. It's probably not going to help his headache at all, certainly. It's a little bit like the first drop in a certain indoor roller coaster at a certain theme park that's big on mice. Dark, spotted with light, fast, disorienting...and weirdly fun.
They're now in his inner sanctum, the holiest of holies, where no minion dare tread. His bedroom.
"Here we are."
Reply
When the sense of motion stops and he can feel cold steel under his bare feet, the doctor finally lifts his head and looks around blearily. Oh thank God. Or whatever passes for a deity around this horrible place.
He's already stumbling in the direction of his bed and simply flops facefirst onto the mattress without a word. He doesn't move or bother to get under the sheets; he just lies there, completely drained from his little adventure in paint brush mishaps.
Though there is eventually a long, weary groan made into the covers his face is buried in.
Reply
Yeah, somebody doesn't know the wonders of alcohol. Otherwise she'd probably be getting him some of that booze he's got squirreled away.
She perches herself on the bed next to him, holding out the food near his head.
"You said you were hungry?"
Reply
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