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16 September 2004 @ 09:16 pm
What: RHQ Chapter 12
Author: birdy
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. Slavery's illeagal now, y'hear! Which mean's that I'm just fabricating this stuff, and none of it happened, so please don't sue me!

It's HERE, it's DONE, and everything from now on is Liz's problem, so you can go jump HER in dark alleyways <.< >.>

If anyone sees any inconsistencies or suchlike, tell me, please

Uhm, Talley, id you're reading this, sorry about making you a wee bit insane, but, well, it just kinda came out that way ^^;

And here it is, without further blithering

Pink clouds swirled about her, above her, below her, through her...through her? She could feel nothing under her, see nothing but pink smoke. Her memory of where she was and what she was doing there had deserted her.

Startled into wakefulness, by what she did not know, she sat up and searched frenetically for...something, managing only to get herself even more thoroughly disoriented. She rolled her eyes, freezing with the motion at its apogee.

Why am I looking up at the floor? She wondered crossly. She recognized the room, now that she could see part of it; it was one of the PotC cluster in the fandom wing. The smithy.

That a room in the RHQ was upside-down wasn't unusual; some actually rotated from day to day. This wasn't one of them.


She crossed her arms and legs, radiating an aura of incredibly concentrated irritation. The floor receded slightly and strands of her long hair tickled her nose. When she brought up a hand to brush it away, a look of shock sat down and camped on her face. That, some operational corner of her mind observed dryly, is not normal. She stared cross-eyed at the translucent appendage for a long, long time. Its colour was hard to discern; something between charcoal and pearly grey and softly glowing white.

Memory came flooding back, and she watched events play themselves out before her mind's eye with morbid fascination, a pall of foreboding cast over the scenes. The message on the computers. Leaving Dette and Caitie to find Crack. The pink smoke—she recoiled from its touch now. Pain, a searing pain in her left shoulder, and fear. Crackie, Pipsi, Alia, Spammy, Mel with blood on their hands and tears on their faces. Then... She winced at a muzzy pain in her head. Voices. Images. Darkness. Colour, sight, sound. The tickling imprint of incandescent comprehension she'd reached but couldn't recall, like a dream or brilliant idea lost late at night. Words...

A little birdy told me where to find you in your castle, and I listened... The poem. She felt a thrill of certainty that she knew what it meant. Only she couldn't remember. She was ready to tear her hair out in impotent frustration and collapse in tears. Things kept flashing in front of her eyes. Gasping a silent scream, tears poured down her face, mourning she didn't quite realize what for. Blood. Pain. Darkness. An upside-down room and a ghostly grey hand.

And there it was.

"Shit. Ow, oh shit," she sobbed. "Bloody damned fucking purple emus, </i>shit." It made sense. It made sense. She held her sides and wept for her lost life for a long time.

"I'm...dead." She tried the taste of the words in her mouth. It didn't seem so bad... Their sound was soft and intrinsically musical, like they were accented by the tinkling of tiny bells. Shimmering hair billowed around her face as she fell up, towards the ceiling and the pink smoke.

This day just keeps getting better, doesn't it? she thought bitterly. But her emotion was draining away and leaving her mind as clear as ever. Somehow, though, she had a feeling that she didn't want to get mired in that smoke. Feeling somewhat ridiculous, she flapped her arms in an approximation of the breast stroke for lack of a better idea.

To her surprise, it worked. The floor got closer. Too close, actually. After more awkward experimentation, she managed to stop just above the straw-covered floor.

Next step: get right side up. The forge was conveniently near at hand. She reached out and rested her hand on it tentatively. When it didn't pass through, she put more pressure on it.

It felt like she'd stuck her arm into a warm, smooth sheet of falling water. Somehow, she managed to get herself into a position from which she could see what she was doing. Which was floating around with her arm stuck halfway through the forge.

"Er," she said blankly. She thought a minute, an idea slowly . "It's like water. Surface tension. Only without gravity. Thank you, Mr. Hock." Exhale. With this newfound revelation, she managed to solve the problem of standing upright with her feet on the ground. Though her foot kept going through the floor when she tried to walk. She wished the other robbits were there. Heaving a heavy sigh, something occurred to her. You think that's air you're breathing now? A devilish smile planted itself on her face. This could be fun. She set herself to exploring her new ghostliness.

A good while later, she was smirking in a most satisfied manner. She squinted suspiciously at a growing concentration of smoke spewing out of the forge. It was gathering the rest of the stuff floating around the room; the pink smoke roiled and grew thinner, and as it did, the colour solidified in to a bloody crimson. The stuff nearest the forge was condensing into a sanguinary figure.

What the—? Never mind, I'm not sticking around long enough to find out. Exerting exuberant amounts of will, she slammed herself feet first through the floor. She was in one of Cali's Sandman rooms now.

A mote of crimson smoke curled softly into the room, as if hoping not to be noticed. The door around which it seeped, she recalled, concealed an up-going staircase.

She forced herself to think rationally. First thing to do was find at least one of the others. Liz. Where would Liz go? She was with Jade...Uhm, um, not the north.

Oh, c'mon. Really. Stupid.
She could've hit herself on the head, but she really didn't want to find out if she could pass through herself. Instead, she plunged through the door to the hallway and raced towards the Matrix Room.

Red smoke billowed behind her from the direction of the Rose Kitchen. Liz's favourite, she remembered with a pang. More poured from doors, closed and open, and from the pupilless, dumb eyes of anime characters on the wall, from halls of trees, sunken ships, and courtyards of stone.

Always behind her, always looming larger, was the coalescing red figure. its form was discernibly masculine now, its features growing sharper each time she looked back.

Oooh, buggerbullocksshitshitshit! Where was the bloody room? The thing was gaining. She could see its face now. It was...no. Not possible. Somewhere between groaning and laughter, she spotted room sixty-eight, its door firmly shut. Not that it mattered anymore. She rocketed through it, still not entirely used to the unsettling sensation.

Inside, she was confronted by another door, but this one was open. A cold chill made her spin around, face to face with the smoke figure.

"You cannot defeat me," he stated, dispassionate voice holding nothing but absolute certainty and, perhaps, disgust. It was a low voice, familiar, with precise diction, though it tended to lower and lengthen words at the end of a phrase.

She drew herself up and looked at him coldly, irritably, confidently in the sunglasses, ire replacing panic and fear. She found herself speaking in a voice made precise by anger even as they floated through the open door.

" 'It is
missaid indeed
to say these things,'
said I. 'But seen nonetheless,'
replied the man.
'Say wrong, say you; then
Fie, say I:
Take your blood and let me bide;
back into your veins do flee
like the tide flows
back to sea.' "

The figure's face contorted into a fierce, glowering grimace.

"This. Is. Not. Over." He growled the words, and they lingered even after the figure had dispersed and his smoke retreated.

"K-Krista?" stammered a voice behind her. The greyscale figure of a woman in flowing robes tucked her floor-length hair behind a pointed ear and turned around.

"Krista, why was Agent Smith trying to kill you?"

— — —

Talley moaned something about panda bears eating eucalyptus from the wall paper and blinked the world into focus. And again to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

No, either that smoke had been spiked by a lemon with a nasty sense of humour, or Mel was talking to someone who looked suspiciously like Agent Smith, only made out of grey smoke.

"You summoned me, ma'am? Do you need help subduing there?" he was saying with Smith-like contempt, indicating Mel and Talley with a quick, dismissive wave of his arm.

"No, I'll be fine for as long as this will take." By her tone and the look on her face, she didn't think that would be very long. "No, I have a job for you. Watch what you do with that eyebrow. Charles is busy with that Emily girl." The voice was Mel's, but neither accent nor tonation was.

Talley opened her mouth for another muzzy groan, drawing a quick glance from Mel—or Not-Mel, her eyes were rolled up. A shive shimmied its way down Talley's spine. The Not-Mel rose up onto her toes and whispered something in Smokey Smith's ear. He nodded, smiling unpleasantly. Talley felt nauseated. Then he...dissipated?!

Then the not-Mel turned to Talley.

"Awake, are we? Can't have that, now. Don't worry, it'll only last a second." She advanced. And just as suddenly stopped, a flash of pain there and gone almost more quickly than Talley could register it. Growling, the Not-Mel started forward again. This time the pain doubled her over, and Talley glimpsed Melanie's green eyes. Once more she straightened, and immediately fell to her hands and knees.

"Go!" Mel's voice was her own again, though gasping and faint. "Sss," she hissed, as if trying to sound out a word. "No colour. Go, go, get out, before she comes back. Can't hold her off. Go!"

Talley clambered to her feet, using the wall for support. Her hand came away covered in paint. Ridiculously, it drew her gaze with a morbid fascination of a macabre cynosure.

"RUN!" Mel screamed in the octaves usually reserved for opera singers and whale song.

At least her feet were shocked out of their stupor, for Talley found herself running. How long she couldn't tell, but her steps were slowed from frantic to merely rushed as a thick pink smoke gradually insinuated itself into the atmosphere. At first it only clouded the images she rushed past with a creamy pink haze. It built up to a choking miasma of pink, deepening in colour and cloying fragrance to crimson and honey. Muffled shrieks and garbled shouts seemed to echo in the air, pounding on her from all directions. Rushed faded quickly to staggered, then to a single thump as she collapsed.

— — —

...And two more, as those she'd collided with fell on top of her.

"Oh, shit..." Laura shook what she assumed to be the shoulder of the person...robbit? she's bumped into. Damn smoke... Really, this was ridiculous. She could barely see the inert form in front of her. In this maddeningly vague sensory deprivation, fighting the insidious perfume that came billowing into her lungs, carried by thick, red smoke, with every breath, she grabbed hold of someone's appendage and shook it, desperate for reassurance that the world was real. For a moment, she was too breathless to speak; when she did, even to herself, her voice sounded thin and timorous.

"Wake up. Please..."

A groan sounded somewhere behind or to the side of her. Laura wheeled, immediately regretting loosing the contact that was her only anchor to the physical world; even the floor seemed to be covered in a materialization of smoke, like water melded with cotton and still flowing. Not to mention that the abrupt movement made her head spin, made her breathing come in short gasps.

"Laura? Cali-chan?" Tara's voice seemed far away, coming from another direction entirely than the groan.


"Where are you?"

"Uunngh..." The figure Laura had lost, seemingly drifted away from, moved, still directly in front of the robbit. Squealing in alarm, she incongruously jumped into the other's arms, indisputably attaching herself with a fierce embrace.

Someone fell on to of her, and all three yelped and clutched each other.







"Laura! Tara! There's...someone! Mel, she... Gondor burned! Elrond was there. Mel...it wasn't Mel. She
told the smoke...Charles...has Pipsi?"

"Talley! Talley," Tara grabbed Laura's shoulders. Laura transferred her grip to what must have been, by process of elimination, Talley's. "Calm down, okay? You're not making any sense."

"All this smoke, it's alive! Going to smother us, smother us all. Thick and cloying it is. Smith will efface us, erase us, only smoke left, and when it rolls away, we'll all be gone!" She giggled, a sound that was perhaps a bit to high to be sane. It wasn't panicked enough, for one thing; there was nothing of hysteria in it, or her voice; singsong and with a rhythmic urgency, but no panic. "Dust, dust, only dust remains," Talley continued with an abbreviated giggle. She coughed once, then went limp in Tara's arms.

Somehow, through all the smoke, Laura's wide eyes found Tara's stunned gaze. Laura shook her head, breaking the spell.

"C'mon. We gotta get out of here. This is just getting creepy. Help me lift her."

By way of answer, Tara grabbed one of Talley's arms and pulled it over her shoulder. So did Laura. They picked a direction and started walking, the feeling of swirling water-cotton lending the unsettling illusion that they were walking on clouds.

After hitting a few walls, they seemed to have found an acceptable direction. The smoke was fading to pink...or was it dissipating on its own, or could it be that they were actually escaping? Whichever it was, Leggy and Laura breathed easier as their vision cleared. A little.

Suddenly, they were out, standing in a perfectly normal RHQ corridor. Eyes dark and fearful locked on each other over Talley's drooping head. Wordlessy, they started walking again.

Soon, the clean air revived Laura's brain function enough that she was capable of recognizing her surroundings. This nook of the RHQ was known informally as birdy's fortress. The rooms and artwork, as in the others' adopted sections, were primarily Krista's. Most of it was also sound-proofed. Looking around at the flowing lines composing usually comforting murals, a cold breath of foreboding made the hairs on the back of the robbits' necks stand on end. Talley stirred.

Groggily, Talley twisted around so that her hands were resting on Tara's shoulders. She stared, transfixed, at the air behind the robbit.

Laura, too, turned to look, as the doll's head—forgotten but not forsaken this entire time—dropped to roll a short distance and stare vacantly at a wall.

"Guys? Guys, what is it? Did Liz sneak in and paint 'lijah nekkid on the wall again?" she asked nervously.

"Behind you." Talley hugged herself closer to Tara and whispered in her ear. "</i>He's coming.</i>"

Leggy spun and gasped. A wall of green smoke was advancing on them, and, slightly in front, walked a figure, a man-height bump connected to the wall. Even as it walked it drew in more substance and definition, so that it could now be said to be truly walking.

As it neared the doll's head, Laura's transfixion shifted to the object's empty blue eyes. The disembodied head emitted a high, musical chink, and, ever so slowly, its eyes closed and opened. Laura followed its gaze to a relatively unremarkable spot on a colourful wall.

"Look!" She raised a trembling finger and pointed.

On the wall were appearing glowing words scribed in mottled green and gold.

'Look around about you
You cannot sate your
task. Prithee, skulk back to your
Huddled hole, peer
'round corners, now you fear
thy master's wrath, whom you ensnared.
Now be gone, go 'way
from here.'

Oblivious, the green smoke-figure approached, features gaining definition. It reached the doll's head and stopped, one foot coming down on top of it. The front of its—his—head congealed from an amorphous mass to a sinister face. Suddenly, Talley's words made all to much sense.

And then, two proturbances of green smoke burgeoned from him like wings. Tara's vision doubled...trebled? Three identical men, bedecked in suits, sunglasses, and earbugs, stood—
—as on the edge of a chasm, ready to fall on the frozen robbits.

— — —

Alia stared at the camera for a moment longer, then broke into a dead run, her feet automatically tracing the route back to the conference room. Surely the other robbits would have noticed something amiss by now, and where else would they go?

Anxiety and fear clutched their spider-limbs about her. Run, run! her mind screamed at Pipsi, Spam, Mel and Crackie, not precisely knowing why.

The hall around her was growing less defined. At first she thought it was just her eyes playing tricks on her, blurring edges and smudging colours. But soon something undeniably fog-like obscured the brightly painted walls, muting their riotous hues. It was not long until she had to slow, then stop, lest she run into a wall.

Alia found herself mired in a thick, grey smoke, completely lost just over an arm's reach from the wall.
Glowing argent letters traced themselves in the air before her, evanescing almost before the robbit's eyes touched them.

'For sloth is sin, and sin
we do
So list my words and off
with you! Flee in haste
To thy abode, where
burns the wet

As the last letters faded, Alia saw a figure outlined in grey smoke advancing slowly on her. An ethereal aura settled hauntingly over the scene whilst Alia waited, tense, frightened, and determined, for the figure in the smoke.

— — —

Alia had gone. Pipsi had gone. Niether had, as of yet, returned. Crackie was starting to get spooked. Er. More spooked, she thought, birdy would have said. Great sobs choked back until now were set loose. Spammy was crying too, and they clung desperately to each other.

Slowly, the sounds of their grief ebbed, their tears exhausted, and sleep carried them off.

When Crack opened her eyes, she was no longer on Anduin's banks. She was lying flat on her back, surrounded by formless grey fog.

There was no confusion in her waking. She had come here of her own volition. Why, she had no idea, but there it was. Something had impelled her to leave the shelter of the glowing water. The obvious question was, what was it? What could have possibly brought her here, lost, somewhere in the rhq. Something had. Something that made entirely too much sense; this she knew with the surety of dream-knowlegde.

Except this wasn't a dream.

And she was in terrible danger. This, she knew, too.

The smoke around her roiled and swirled in small, unpredictable eddies. Tiny breaths of humid chill and clammy warmth swarmed her skin in feather-light puffs, causing her to shiver and shrink away. The air ranged from acrid to balmy with each inhalation. Her head felt oddly light and disconnected, while her consciousness seemed to be being pulled through a strainer.

She felt as though she was floating on a funeral pall crafted of clouds, like some fallen hero of legend processing through the underworld. Slowly, she sat, then stood. It ought to, by all laws of reason, have been difficult for her to keep her balance on the moving surface, but it wasn't. Then again, what did logic and reason have to do with anything? One tenuous step forward, then another, expecting to be hurled to the ground with every breath. Some ominous premonition tip-toeing up her spine. Too bad it couldn't reach her brain through the fog...

It occurred to Crack then that following the smoke might not be the brightest idea in the world. The more she considered the notion, the more it made sense. There was danger in the smoke. Ergo, it couldn't lead anywhere good.

Except, when she tried walking off in any other direction, she fell flat on her face.

So I'm being herded. Swell, she thought, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, staring at it in surprise when it came away splotched with blood. Then she scowled. Crack pursed her lips in grim determination and swallowed a surge of panic. Nothing for it, then, she decided, and submitted herself to be hustled.

Crack resolutely fought a losing battle against the dizzy disorientation brought on by the juxtaposed curds of smoke. Jaw set and a stubborn glint in her eye, the robbit staggered on.

An eternity into this hellish limbo, Crack jerked her sagging head up. Was that a whisper? A sound other than her own ragged breathing and oscillating footsteps? No, she must be going mad. Mad ,mad it's such great fun, come, listen, see, won't you join us? beckoned a silly voice in the cotton-stuffed wad that was her head. She stopped, pressing the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose. Out, out, out, leave me be, I need to think. Need to listen...no, not to you. The throbbing in her temples was a distant pain, experienced by someone else, unhelpfully nagging as she tried to make her muddled brain function.

There it was again! Yes, definitely something—someone? The thought sent shivers down her spine and set malicious whispers in her ears. A breath, a voice. It murmured, almost inside her head. She could practically feel the sickly-sweet breath on the back of her neck. Superior, condescending, mocking. Tantalizing. It knew things, spoke them into her brain so she couldn't hear the words, spoke of secrets. Answers, questions, it tickled her skin with them, if only she could hear the words. The mere sound of its voice enticed, even as it brought up goosebumps on her arms, as if it spoke across some veil, and looked at mystery from the other side.

If only she crossed through the veil, she thought, she would hear all its whisperings as clearly as a crystal bell.

But it was not wonder Crack felt, but atavistic fear. The voice embodied déja-vu, like an echo of an echo, like smoke in a hall of mirrors on a sunny day. She was certain it was taunting her, misting doubt into her ear and ominous shapes into the swirling fog. She jumped at the sound of her own footsteps, inexplicably resumed.

And nearer, ever nearer, was a solid grey shape in the smoke, glowing lines appearing and fading before it.

— — —

A long, undulating ochre ribbon wended its way across the room, towards the slide at the opposite end. The slide was of the round, covered variety. At this end it was opaque and bright red, but in other sections, it varied in style and translucency. It spanned three floors and a fluctuating number of rooms, and it changed coloours at least once in each of them. Spam sat frozen at the tail end of it. She really had no idea how she'd gotten there. It was about as far from Anduin as it was possible to be, in the RHQ. So puzzled was she that she didn't notice the self-locomoting ribbon until it fell in her lap. Brow furrowed, she picked it up and looked around at the rest of the room.

Before she could even muster an exclamation of surprise, in stumbled Ash, clutching the other end of the ribbon coiling itself neatly in Spammy's lap.

"Uh...hi," Ash said, blinking at the room. Spam was blinking too. It was very bright and...neon. The word psychedelic sprang to mind. The noon sun beaming cheerily down through the prisimed glass cieling didn't help much either.

"Hi, Viv," Spam replied distantly.

Ash looked at the ribbon in her hand, then back to Random. "Um, what's going on?"

Spam shrugged. "Beats the hell outta me."

"Huh." Ash flopped down on the bespangled floor in front of the other robbit. "All right, then," she said vaguely, toying with her end of the ribbon, "where did this come from?"

"Flying purple monkeys wouldn't surprise me at this point. You still have your shoes? Notice any unusually yellow floors?"

Ash gave that the sour look it deserved, but glanced down at her feet anyway.

They both sighed. The silence stretched. Nothing happened.
Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished
Current Music: I caught a MOUSE!
laughing on purpose at the darkness: ::go-totheeditor::htebazytook on September 16th, 2004 07:37 pm (UTC)
First comment! MUAHAHAAAA!!

You already know my review. So :P
song birdysbluerazchoccie on September 18th, 2004 01:24 pm (UTC)
=p indeed. Oh, if you haven't heard the football game's postponed til monday.
six FREAKING days
Laura the Borg: Agent Smith (crackshot)blackbutterfli on September 16th, 2004 09:00 pm (UTC)
So...you're DEAD NOW?!?! Omg, thats so sad. *tear*

Best line: "Guys? Guys, what is it? Did Liz sneak in and paint 'lijah nekkid on the wall again?" she asked nervously.

AHAHAHA. I don't know whether to scream and run or laugh myself into oblivion.

Mel's new evilness: ohmygodsoscary And the Agent Smith thing is PERFECT: That will teach Jade to have a Matrix fandom in the castle/huge..building thing...where we make our home. =p just kidding jade...I'd spend as much time there as you.

Anyway. I really really like this. You did fantastic job. And I'll never yell at you for taking a long time again: this is awesome. I need to reread the whole thing now, just to know where everyone is. Isn't my turn coming up again soon?

WHEE! This is fun. *hug* Love you!
elvenpaw on September 17th, 2004 12:41 pm (UTC)

*cough* Exqueeze moi... BUT. I did spy a Sandman room there too... *grins* KIDDING, I love you.
Laura the Borg: Ahahahaha!blackbutterfli on September 17th, 2004 02:58 pm (UTC)
Well it is home to our favoritist thingies! XD So. See, I said I was kidding too, up there. See? See?
elvenpaw on September 18th, 2004 02:08 pm (UTC)
I know, I know. *pokes fun* ;)
laughing on purpose at the darkness: ::go-totheeditor::htebazytook on September 19th, 2004 08:10 pm (UTC)
And that in mind, you must know what other rooms I'm going to introduce in my chapter XD
song birdysbluerazchoccie on September 18th, 2004 01:21 pm (UTC)
As a doornail. A rather sardonoic, vocal doornail, but stiil.

XD I'm rather proud of that myself *tiggle* I'd say you might be able to laugh yourself into oblivion while running away screaming the gorey murder of ten baby pstriches. You're a rather talented person.

And it'd be just as much your fault! But the rest of us would be climbing over you two ~^

You'd be surprised how much I'm hearing that. Am showing remarkable restraint in not sticking my tongue out at you so far that it has its own postal code.

*huggles back* ^^ Much luv!
ex_leggy on September 16th, 2004 09:36 pm (UTC)
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE IT. Heehee, it's been so long since I've read the other chappies that I think I'm going to have to go back to the beginning of the story and read it all in order. Wheeeeeee. ^^ Fabulous job, though, darling. *snuggles*

I love it.

And you. :D
song birdysbluerazchoccie on September 18th, 2004 01:12 pm (UTC)
^_______________________^ Glad you liked it. I was thinking of a rampaging tortise motif, but I think this turned out rather well. ~^
elvenpaw on September 17th, 2004 12:42 pm (UTC)
SMREAL. Krista, I shall never poke or bother you about it again because that was greatgreatgreatohmyeru wonderful. You officially have no more time limit. EVER. Again. Keep it under a year, and we'll be square, mmkay? ;)

But, in all seriousness, it was verrrrrry good. I loved how you got to tie everyone into it so we actually have a grasp (somewhat) on where everyone is and all. So, WOOT. *grins* Great job, Kristadoodle! *pounce*
laughing on purpose at the darkness: ::onanotherssorrow::htebazytook on September 19th, 2004 08:11 pm (UTC)
*dawning look of horror* WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?! I have to LIVE with her. Well, sort of. *facepalm* ;P
Pipsi: Natalie Headphones - plasticpantiespipsi_stick on September 17th, 2004 09:42 pm (UTC)

okay. sorry. heheh. heh. hm.

"Talley! Talley," Tara grabbed Laura's shoulders. Laura transferred her grip to what must have been, by process of elimination, Talley's. "Calm down, okay? You're not making any sense."

that made me laugh. XDXD I just pictured it really well and could so see it. v. v. funny. XD

Krista, you did a GREAT job!! obviously this took a LOT of time and reviewing and plotting and different people-ing (I don't know what to call that) and it's GREAT!! thank you Krista for caring about us <3

in other words, this is a fantabulous, splendiferous, magnificoso, si senorita ayeyaiyaiyai! piece of RHQ. ahhh, I enjoy reding these so much. XD it's nice to know what's going on finally!

LOVE YOU AND THE CHAPPIE!!!!! <33333333!