Geezer's Property #15

It was Sherman who brought up the question of life.

“What about school?” He asked, seated at the kitchen table. The Geezer had ambled off to phone F.B.I. and the porridge, to the three musketeers’ continual amazement, was still quite warm.

“There are only a few more weeks until the end of August, you know,” sighed Leah, still looking slightly faint from the Reflection incident.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to deal with history and the souped-up version we’re supposed to be learning,” said Rowan. “What d’you suppose these books are about?” he prodded the stack of books cautiously, as if they would rear up and bite him.

“I’m wondering,” said Saya, who was floating glumly around her tank.

“What’s got you blue?” asked Leah. Saya spread her arms and jumped half-heartedly from the water, a weak imitation of flight.

“I love flying,” she muttered sulkily. “I hate being bound to water.”

The Geezer entered the room in time to hear this.

“It’s your own fault,” he said, sitting down at the table and groaning. “Gah. Days like this make you feel as senile as Seneca and twice as old.”

He shoved the stack of books towards Rowan, who recoiled, causing Sherman to chuckle.

“Read these before tomorrow,” he grunted. “They’re books on debate and ethics.”

“Debate?” asked Leah, one eyebrow raised. She didn’t need pointers on debate. She had siblings.

“Yeah, yeah.” the Geezer poured a cup of coffee and added some cream. “The naga like debates, and they’ll keep you on your toes. When that stupid example of a Locke isn’t harping on about how dumb humans are, he’s ranting on about pollution and oil and all sorts of junk. They’re born politicians.” he grinned. “If you can’t put up a good enough argument, they spear you. That’s how you know humans and naga are sister races.”

“Lovely,” sighed Rowan, one fist under his chin. “Elby portrayed a somewhat civilized species…apparently, she didn’t meet them face-to-face.”

“Elby was a man, Rowan.” said Saya. “I forget the exact root of the name, but Irena” a shadow passed briefly over the Geezer’s face, unnoticed by the three musketeers “told me once that it came from the word ‘belladonna’, the deadly nightshade plant. Belladonna, when you eat it, gives you hallucinations. I guess it was a sort of ancient pun with ‘lullaby’…you know, lulling the human race into belief of the Others.” Saya shrugged, diving down to the bottom of the aquarium and retreating with her sulk into a large castle.

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” said Rowan, “but it clears up the weird name thing.”

“I remember when we had a discussion on what drug the guy was taking when he came up with the penname,” grinned Sherman. “Ah, good times.”

“You’re sick, twisted little children,” noted the Geezer, sipping the coffee. “Get reading.”

**

The doorbell rang around nine thirty, corkscrewing through Rowan’s fact-induced headache. Saya shot to the surface of the tank and almost jumped out.

“They’re HERE!” she proclaimed dramatically to Sherman, who was snoozing behind his book.

“Urg…” Sherman emitted some gargling noises and sat up, eyes bleary. “Guests?”

“F.B.I.!” said Saya, looping through the water.

The Geezer had already answered the door and the three musketeers listened to the muffled sounds of low conversation. Footsteps approached the closed kitchen door and it creaked open.

Three creatures stood next to the Geezer.

The first, almost two feet all, wore a dark green robe with a hood that covered its face, red eyes glaring out at the three musketeers.

The next was what appeared to be a mop head, long, straggly dark-green hair that reached the floor. Large, hair-covered bulbous toes emerged from the hair and wiggled.

The last was floating off in all directions.

“Brownie!” shouted Saya, leaning out of the tank and waving her arms furiously at the motley group.

“Hi, Saya,” said the creature. It had a torso, and hands, and feet, and a head, but they all floated in conjunction to the torso. It waved its right hand at her.

“This is F.B.I.,” said the Geezer, nudging the hooded creature forward with his cane. “Fungal, Brownie and Imp.”

Sherman snickered.

“Your parents actually named you Fungal?” he laughed.

“They’re our last names, you fool!” snapped the hooded creature.

“Ah, shut up, Imp.” said Brownie, eyes rolling off her head and onto the floor until, finally, they rolled back up her and into her skull.

“Not too be rude, Brownie,” said Rowan, fascinated, “but what are you?”

Brownie mock-curtseyed.

“A changeling, not unlike Saya here.” She waved an airy hand at the aquarium, which overshot and knocked into the kitchen table, causing the sugar to spill off it and onto the floor. “Whoops! Still getting used to this body, sorry!”

The creature called Fungal moved with surprising agility, big toes squirming energetically, to the heap of sugar. The long hair seemed to absorb the sugar, and before long the floor was sparkling. A small burp emerged from within the tresses of hair, and Fungal sat down, toes wiggling in happy content.

“To business,” said Imp, producing a wrapped package from within his robes and handed it to the Geezer. “The Sleazer wasn’t keen on giving this up so early.”

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EDIT: I posted this in a hurry, so now I'll bore you with my usual chatter.

F.B.I.. Pretty random, na? Fungal's my favorite, though.

When I was struggling through WB I was thinking about the FBI. Don't ask. Anyway, it came to me: Fungal Brownie Imp. A brownie is a creature that sneaks into human dwellings and cleans up in old English legends, I believe. And we all know what an imp is

I know that the Seneca are a tribe of Indians somewhere, but I got the name from the random name generator, meaning "old"....bwahhahaha.

What is under Imp's hood, you ask?

That's for me to know and you to find out. BWHAHAHAHAHAH!

Enjoy.

~Sumi