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Chez Weewoo 3: At The KelpAnother Saturday Night at Chez Weewoo had come and gone. Jhudora and I had left early for dinner at the Kelp, and for some reason neither of us understood Mango tagged come along. The moment we arrived, the Maitre d looked down his long Scorchio nose at us. I thought that this was Mangos fault, since she was wearing a sailor blouse with a pleated skirt and looked like a Meepit pretending to be an Anime Schoolgirl.
Jhudora glared at her. Since when have you been a girl?
May I please direct your attention to the Kelps new policy, the snooty Scorchio announced, indicating a sign that said NO SHOES NO SHIRT NO SERVICE. Since I was a Lupe and Jhudora a Faerie, Mango was the only one in our group wearing shoes, a pair of stylish saddle oxfords to match her outfit. This policy clearly favored Maraquans, most of whom have no legs in the first place.
Allow me to handle this, Jhudora said as she stepped aside with the Maitre d.
Chez Weewoo 2: Jhudora's TushAnother Saturday Night at Chez Weewoo, and Jhudora and I had been groovin on the Dance Floor half the night. At such a time disaster strikes without warning, just to prove it can. The music could not prevent my sensitive Lupe ears from catching a faint ripping noise. Jhudora straightened, her large Faerie eyes looking twice as big as usual.
This bodes ill, she remarked quietly.
I glanced at Jhudoras backside without pausing to question whether or not I should, and what I saw alarmed me. Ive only been a Lupe for three months, and I already expect to always find a tail back there.
Trouble. I warned her. That painted-on gown of yours just split a strategically-important seam, and the back has parted like the curtains of the stage of the Metropolitan Opera.
A full moon tonight, Oh Wise Gnorbu? she asked sardonically.
That is the correct answer, and you win yet another Petpet Bed. Move slowly and tuck in your wings. Tim
Chez Weewoo 1: Male FaeriesIt was another Saturday night at Chez Weewoo, and Jhudora and I had been on the dance floor for the past hour. Now we were taking a break in a relatively quiet corner, sitting together at a small table and chatting over Diet Achyfi. Being a Lupe, I was trying not to pant. I hate getting drool on my leisure suit.
We sat for a time listening to the music and watching various members of NTAG on the dance floor. Reve was trying to explain to Mangodan that the light-up squares of the dance floor was not a Nintendo dance pad.
You dance very well, even for a Lupe, Jhudora remarked. I havent danced much since the Male Faeries were banished from Neopia.
Male Faeries? I asked, quite literally picking up my ears. Another Lupe thing I was still getting used to. Everyone says that there is not such thing, which seemed to explain why I once spent two hours wandering around the Faerie Palace looking for the Little Boys Room.
Well, no one. .
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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