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The Crusade Realms: Carnival (CH4)
*Mimi's Point of View*
"Damn kid...killing people.." I mumbled to Dalton, as we were digging a hole to bury Tavo in. "Well, if she did it once, she'll do it again..." He replied. I sighed. "I..I know but..who's going to be my new assistant? She's been my assistant ever since she showed up on my doorstep!"
~Flashback to December 4th, 1998~ (3rd person P.O.V.)
Mimi yawned, and stretched. She sat up in her bed, and a chilling noise rang throughout the house. She twitched, and blinked her eyes.
She put her purple slippers on, and stood up. She walked slowly over to the door, and saw a bouncing baby girl. She had blue horns, and a blue shirt on -- along with her diaper. She was hovering slightly above Mimi's stairs, since she had small wings. Mimi picked up the note in the kid's mouth. It read,
I know this child isn't yours
But she's the last of her kind
And if you don't take her in and hide her well
We'll all be extinct
The Crusade Realms: Carnival (CH3P2)
Here's chapter three, part two. Hope you enjoy. XD
"Wonderful, wonderful. Thank you Dalton, for that ...wonderful performance." Dalton took a bow and returned to the audience. "Kali Robertson! You're UP!" Kali looked at me, and shook her head. "I'm your assistant! I ain't gotta do NOTHIN'!" She screamed. I looked down at her, and my red eye twitched. "What did you just say? I will go all out finkledink on you. Don't play with me, child. Remember, your species is basically extinct." And with that, she ran up to the stage. I smirked. Hehehehe..
"Ladies and Gentlemen and everything in between - I present to you, ME! I mean, that should be good enough, and entertaining enough. I mean come on, look at me. I'm just fabulous." she really did...show off. A peculiar voice yelled from the audience, "This isn't a comedy act, girlfriendddd!" Kali looked down. "And who the hell are YOU?" The tall, white figure slid up the stairs onto the stage. "I'm Mitch.
1420 MHzHe keeps a list wadded in the depths of his front, left pocket: where he holds his keys, and the forgotten/abandoned shell of a lone pistachio. The list is his biography, written in the shape of Argentine Spanish:
Me gustan los tomates en verano.
Yo amo a mi novio.
Nos besamos. (Mi novio chupa mis dedos de los pies.)
Las estrellas cantan sus canciones.
Mi nombre no es Eduardo.
Vivo con Jacobi ahora.
His pants are wadded, now, on summer-warmed hardwood; his shirt is draped over the back of a cane-back chair, the most incongruous of antiques in Jacobi’s tech-nerd lair. Headphones clamp his ears, and fill his head with the lisping whisper of interstellar hydrogen, broadcasting itself at a neat 1420 MHz. Bedroom is the wrong word for a place like this, despite the sorts of furnishings one might expect. There is a bed, a dresser, a bookshelf and two nightstands cramped with magazines, graphic novels. An alarm clock
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