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BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - HUMOR
Yes, the last of them; in which we learn yet again why giving these things titles are redundant.
CATEGORY: FICTION TIMES READ: 1024 RATING: 0 SERIES: FIREFLY
Persephone. Good God, I forgot how much of a prick the collective populace is.
Should we be helping her tell the Story?
No, I think that's supposed to be her job.
And we're not even supposed to be in the present tense, I think. How'd that happen again?
When we broke the Fourth Wall, remember?
But she really isn't the best of Storytellers, is she?
Luna, we can't help her tell her own story! Otherwise, it might as well be in the Third-Person!
Oh, come off it! I'm sure that Harry could tell it better!
Hey! I had a bloody series written about me, it doesn't mean I could tell the story any better then whoever it is we're posessing could!
There were very likely hundreds of ships in this heap. Maybe, we'll find someone who's enough of a muffin to let us onboard. And, hopefully, someone who isn't enough of a pervert that'll NOT molest Britt. But, then again, that's what Rusty is for.
I think we must have made quite the pair, walking through the docks; The (To date) Most beautiful girl on the Planet (Or, arguably, the entire System), and some random Biddey weilding a rusty shovel and a bag full of credits.
Yep, that'd send me for a loop, too.
Aren't you dead yet?
Hundreds of years ago, remember? Why else are we all crowded in here?
It is rather spacious in here...
Oh, of course Loony has to add her two cents in!
She's not bloody Loony, she's just Luna!
Why, thank you Harry! I say, is that a Sentinel-class Ship?
Add to that, that the voices in my head don't know whether it's now or then, and you have one rather confused duo. Either or, we passed by a bunch of ships which you probably grow a garden in the cracks of. One or two looked promising- but not as 'Piratey' as Britt would like. God, she has perfected the Puppy-Dog Eyes look.
Isn't it weird? That we switch in between Past and Present Tense?
I really don't let it get to me. I just focus on the conversation at hand.
That's Loony for you-
Shutup, you Prat.
What did I do?
Finding a ship, in retrospect-
Oooooh, big word!
-Was rather much more easy then leaving it. The ship was called "The Rosebud"- Very macho
I still say that you should go to sleep... I've warmed up the Cheese Wire...
What's that all about?
Just something between me and Tabi...
And it's Captain was some bloke named Gerard. Once again, Britt just needed to lean forward to gain entry- I however need to shove a handful of bills into his hands to get past the entryway- That, and shoving Rusty inder his nose to prove the point. God, I love that shovel.
The ship was just as clean as I expectedd it to be- as in, Not at all.
Probably from being a Maid all her life.
Quite, conceded George.
The crew was pretty nice, all in all. The mechanic, a kid named Billy. Some Poisonberry-Cherry-French Twist of a muffin named Hans as pilot, his sister Muriel, and some random lurker named Rasputin.
Apparently, his job is to stink up the ship, said Hermione.
At which he is doing a spectacular job, said Luna in her usual dreamy voice.
But, that wasn't what atttracted Britt to this ship- and hence me having to follow or else be nagged by a guilty conciese and a dozen spirits in my head.
I do NOT nag.
Yes, you do.
They're right, Hermione, you really do.
The Wackspurtles are probably clogging your thought processess. Want me to draw up an antidote?
No, it was the cargohold- for, within this majestic crap hole was the Holy Grail of Piratedom- A room full of sheep.
Baa...Baa...Baa... Fricken BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
She sounds angry.
And there was Britt- in and among the fluffy menaces, singing the song of Avian Zenocide. And the sheep seemed to have found a new Shepard. Ah, nuts! Muffins, the lot of 'em. Baa baa whitesheep. I'll make a sweater out of one of 'em before this is over if they don't SHUT UP!
The Captain came in- Oh, Joy! Yet another person who I want to introduce to Rusty jaw first. "We're taking off soon- bound for Whitefall, as it were. Planet's Governor type perosn, Patience-"
-Yet another person whom I care for not a whit-
"-Needs a new herd after a raid by some Reavers. She deems it cheaper to have me haul it for her then send out one of her own ships or buy it from someone on the planet."
"She sure sounds like a muffin to me. There a fair to large Docks on Whitefall?"
He smiled oh so cockily. "You lookin' to leave this here boat?
He stopped smiling. "Oh."
Sucks to be him.
He really did seem rather put out by it.
You should have apologized; that was rather rude, you know!
But I really didn't care. I went to go find Britt again. With any luck, she wasn't being forced upon by anyone.
Baa baa, Black Sheep, Baa baa baa. Baa baa Black Sheep, Step in front of this car. Baa Baa Black Sheep, Baa baa baa. Baa baa black sheep, Ram your fricken head into a wall.
I really hate those sheep. They never SHUT UP!!!
You could ask them to stop.
Nobody asked you.
Do they ever need to?
But they just love Britt.
You could ask her to ask them to stop.
That would be too easy.
Would you prefer to take a chainsaw to them?
It would certaintly relieve stress...
I'm going to just stop talking to you right now...
Whitefall. That is Patcience's planet. God what a heap. It's just... desert and sky. At least we'll leave the sheep here.
Twelve hours later, we find out that this wasn't going to be so easy. And, it wasn't from Patcience's end.
As if they couldn't bloody divine it by the bloody title.
But where's he suspense in that?
Why do we need suspense?
To make a good story.
Why not just a better story? Isn't this one good enough as is?
Well, since I'm here, then yes.
Thank you, Granger.
It was, if you can believe, from the stupid sheep!
They refused to let Britt go, or to be seperated from her in any way at all. You know the world has gone to muffins when you are defending yourself against a horde of fricken sheep!!!
Say, can sheep look up?
Of course they can, Ron.
I'm not sure, 'Mione. They sure don't look like they can...
Honostly, you two. You're thinking of dogs, which, coincedentially, actually can look up. Really, you two.
See, we made concact with Patcience- This old braud that looked like a prune- via wave, so she came down with a cursory posse of a good dozen men. All armed, I might add.
Seriously; I died already, and I was scared of those guys.
And that's saying something.
You know things have gone to Hell when a six foot tall guy in a Top-Hat gets drop-kicked off of a horse by a sheep.
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