"Nothing Weird About Me"

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir

...

The Devil in Paris, Part VI: "Nothing Weird About Me"

...

“Ayla! Quit dragging me!” Ayla had her friend’s hand firmly in her grasp and was pulling her along.

“Then pick ‘em up, Marinette! Come on!”

“I can’t help but feel like this is a bad idea.” But Ayla slowed down some. And let go of her hand.

“Look, all we’re gonna do is go invite him to the party. You’ve seen how he is: poor guy just stays in his apartment all day, never goes anywhere. He needs to get out more…”

“That’s not why you’re breaking the sound barrier to get to ‘im. It’s that, “‘satiable curiosity,’ to use Rudyard Kipling’s words.” She was panting. Ayla could move when she wanted to, even in her baseline human form. “And remember what happened to the elephant’s child.”

“Yeah, he got a free nose job. In reverse. C’mon, Marinette, his apartment’s just over there.  We’re just gonna ask him to come. What could possibly go wrong?”

Marinette face-palmed. “You do realize you just jinxed the whole thing, right?” she groaned. 

Down the hall, third door on the left. “There,” said Marinette, pointing. She had a bad feeling about this whole operation. It had been Ayla’s suggestion that the two of them go give a personal invitation to their reclusive classmate. Ayla had somehow convinced her to come along with her, just for "moral support."

“Marinette? Look.” She pointed at Damien’s door. Which…

…was ajar. “He didn’t lock his door.” She was staring fixedly at the door, with an expression on her face that Marinette had only seen…

…since…

…back when…

“Oh, no, you don’t, Ayla. I know that look! What is this, this fixation you have on the poor guy, anyway?”  Ayla was still staring at the door, entranced. She didn’t seem to hear Marinette. She put out a finger, touched the door, which, with a slight creak, swung open a crack. “Ayla! No! That’s unlawful entry, trespassing!”

“Oh, come on, Marinette! I mean, I mean,” she stumbled over her words, obviously still entranced by the possibilities inherent in Damien’s open apartment.

Maybe now I can get some answers! Heh heh heh! My Evil Plan is unfolding before my very eyes! “ In her mind, her mental image of her Evil Self, standing atop her Evil War Machines, deep within her Evil Fortress, was wringing her Evil Hands with Evil Glee.  “I mean, suppose the guy’s hurt or something?”

“You’re thinking burglars? We should call the police!” But Ayla wasn’t listening. Instead, she pushed the door open a bit farther and, after a moment’s hesitation, slipped inside.

“Ayla!”

“C’mon, Marinette. If he is hurt, I may need your help.” But Marinette could tell she no more believed that than she believed the moon was made of green cheese. Ever the loyal friend, however, Marinette cautiously entered, looking in all directions, fearful that Damien would pop out from behind a couch or chair and demand to know what they were doing in his apartment?

But nothing of the sort happened. “Hey, Green Chee---*, I mean, Damien! You in here?” Then she stopped, looking around. “Marinette, look.” Ayla was standing in the middle of the apartment’s living room, by a small loveseat, next to a recliner. “Notice anything unusual?”

“No. Should I?”

“Where’s his TV?” Marinette had been far more concerned about the possibility of exposure to take much notice of her surroundings. But now that her attention was drawn to it…

“So he watches TV on his laptop. Lots of people do that.”

“So where’s his laptop?”

But Marinette pointed triumphantly. “Right there. On the table in the dining room.”

“Huh,” said Ayla, turning towards it, “That’s odd. I was looking for it, and it was practically under my nose the entire time. Good going, Marinette! We’ll make an Evil Lord out of you yet.” She closed in on the laptop, and Marinette began to fret all the more. “Marinette, come see.”

“Ayla, we really shouldn’t---*”

“Ever see a laptop like this before? I mean, like, seriously?” The laptop in question was of fairly traditional design, albeit much thinner, incorporating the better aspects of desktops and tablets, while remaining thin and light enough to make carrying it more blessing than bane. However, the outer covering was the deepest black Marinette had ever seen, with what seemed like a complete, perfect covering depicting a snapshot of the Milky Way galaxy. But what was strange about it was the image seemed to move as she watched it, like a telescope’s time-lapsed image, as a telescope would track the position of the stars and galaxies. And on the top…right where the “Apple” or other logo would normally go, instead there was a stylized tongue of yellow-red flame within a blue circle. “I’m callin’ ‘odd’ on this one. Not conclusively,” she prevaricated, preventing her friend’s outburst, “Just odd.”

“So he’s decorated his laptop. Again, lots of people do that.”

“But why pimp it out like this ? I mean, I can see the fire logo, but whoever did the rest of it…wow! That is a really marvelous job. I want mine done up this way.” She moved around to the front of the laptop, her questing fingers flipping open the cover. “Marinette. Look.”

Marinette had been in the act of grabbing Ayla’s hands to keep her from doing exactly what she'd just done, when something in Ayla’s voice caused her to direct her attention to the laptop. “Look at the keys, Marinette. Look!”

The keys on the keyboard were not in any language they could identify. They looked to be some sort of hieroglyphics neither of them had ever seen before. “Oh, I’ve gotta get a picture!” She whipped out her cell at the speed Marinette was sure approached that of light, thumb already scrolling down to the app. Such was Marinette’s astonishment at the alien keyboard that she didn’t even notice that Ayla’s forefinger had brushed against what had to be the “Power on” button.

 “Oh, no, you don’t!” Marinette had to drag Ayla off by main force, picking her up by the waist. “You are so not snooping into his laptop! En Oh. That spells ‘no.’ No way. That--- oof! ” She put her down more than an arms’ length away from the laptop, for which Ayla was still reaching, like a child in a supermarket checkout, who just can’t get over that she can’t have a candy, ”* --- spells ‘no way.’” She wiped her brow. “Say, you been putting on some weight there, lately?”

“Okay, okay! You win! I guess it wouldn’t be, y’know, right. I’ll just turn it off…” And Marinette, for the first time this evening, totally agreed with her friend’s stated goal. Now , though Ayla to herself, Just how to do that ?

She clicked on the alien icons on the screen. Nothing happened. She squinted. One of them had to be the “Power off” icon, didn’t it? And all computers, at least those made these days, shared a similar function in that they were represented by intuitive icons…she clicked on the rest…aside from little highlights appearing around them, there was no response.

Okay, there! Lower left corner. There was an icon that sort of resembled a can. That had to be it. It was on the more traditional types, at least. She highlighted it and triumphantly clicked on it.

And the screen lit up: ferreus coegi delevit. And the icons disappeared from the screen.

Wait. Her Latin was a little rusty, but… “Uh, Marinette? I, uh, think I just erased his hard drive.”

….

At that exact moment, Damien was just arriving at his apartment complex. Wait. Something was wrong. He couldn’t quite tell exactly what, but it was enough to set him on edge. Had one of them found or followed him here?

If so, Paris, not to mention the world, could be in serious trouble. 

He crept down the hallway, as soundless as he could, until he could spy his doorway, still ajar from its recent usage. He crept up to the window that bordered the doorway, to where he could see inside without being seen. “Oh, no. Not her!” But not nearly as bad as what I was afraid of. “What is her problem with me, anyway? I haven’t done anything!” He squared his shoulders, absently scratching his head, this last more nervous gesture than necessity. 

Any observers, of which there were none, might have found it odd and perhaps a bit unsettling that, when he reached up with his right hand, the sack of groceries he was holding with that arm remained stationary, there in mid-air, a helium-filled puppy dog on an invisible leash.

…

“Oh, come on, Marinette! It was an accident! I’m sure he’s got rescue apparatus, and backups. Well, reasonably sure. Well, y'know, kinda sure.” Marinette was lying supine on the little loveseat, recovering slowly from Ayla’s debacle with Damien’s computer; Ayla was fanning her with a manila folder she’d found. “Don’t worry so! I’ll fix it myself from his backups! You know he’s got some sort of cloud storage, I mean, everybody does…I’ll just use that. Everything’ll work out. You’ll see.”

“You…erased…his hard drive…

“I…can’t believe…you…erased…his hard drive…”

Alya left the folder with Marinette to go pursue her newest fascination: the kitchenette. Denied the no-doubt infinite delights of Damien’s most personal life sure to be found by ransacking his computer, she settled for the non-digital. By the time Marinette had come up behind her, she had already opened a couple of cabinets. “Marinette. Look. See?” She’d dramatically lifted what appeared to be a porcelain dinner plate out from a golden graduated stand holding more of them. “Know what this is?” The plate had some exquisite designs, done up in what appeared to be gold filigree, and professionally rendered: a pastoral scene mostly centered around some trees and birds, which were clearly the product of a master artisan. Marinette momentarily forgot about her Life’s Mission, which, right then, was to remove her nosy friend from a place where they very much did not belong.

And now this? “It’s a plate, isn’t it?” said Alya, trying to coax a useful response out of her reluctant friend, “Looks breakable, too. Aaaanndd…she paused dramatically, “unless I’m very wrong, which I never am, extremely valuable.”

Just outside: Damien had made up his mind. There was no getting out of it, not this time. He straightened up, shifted his grip on his bags of groceries, opened the door with his foot, and shouted, “Lucy, I’m home!” There was a barely heard round of applause and a smattering of canned laughter.

In the kitchen: “Come on , Ayla! I mean, he could come home any second now, and what would you say?"

Ayla, still examining the plate in her hand, responded slowly, almost like she was dreaming. “Then I’d tell him we’d found his door open and just wanted to make sure he was alright and nobody had broken in. Piece of cake, Marinette.”

“Yeah? And how would you explain his computer?”

“OIE. Operator Induced Error. Just…well, you know. Wrong operator.”

Marinette put her fists on her hips. “That would be a lie, Ayla, and you know it! Now, come on, before he---*” 

At that exact moment, Damien pushed open the swinging door and entered the kitchenette, still carrying his groceries. “Hello, Ayla, Marinette.”

“Hey, Damien,” said Marinette, before turning her attention back to her friend, who had produced her phone. “Alya. What. Are. You. Doing. ?”  

“Wha---* You’re examining my plates? ” Damien's voice indicated shock. What did they think they were doing? “Hey, be careful with those. Dee wants ‘em.”

Both girls continued on. “Marinette, do you see this plate?”

“I see what looks like a very breakable object in your hands! Ayla, put it back and let’s go! He could walk in that door,” she gestured towards the swinging door that Damien had just entered, carrying his two sackfuls of groceries, “...and there you’d be, standing right there in plain sight, holding these, these, whatever they are---what would you say?”

Damien, meanwhile, was busy putting up his groceries. “Marinette? You mind putting this in the fridge?” She was closer to his refrigerator.

“Sure, Damien, no problem.” She put the pickle jar into the fridge.

Marinette turned back to Ayla. “Look, just on the off chance he is a supervillian, which I have to admit, would explain a lot, he comes in, and here we are, snooping. He could stuff us both into the fridge faster than you can say, ‘Jeffrey Dahmer.’ though there's a heckava comparison for ya.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got Ladybug right here to protect me, isn’t it? Oh, come on, Marinette. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Then she straightened up suddenly, an odd look in her eyes. Still holding the plate, she reached over and opened the fridge door. For some reason. Or maybe for none. Somehow, it just seemed like a thing to do.

Nothing. There was nothing unusual in the fridge. Just the usual items most bachelors would be familiar with: lunchmeat, sliced cheese, lettuce, onions, condiments for sandwich-building. Sheeesh , thought Ayla. If this is all he eats, poor guy’ll get malnourished in a week. Disappointed that she hadn’t uncovered the Crime of the Century, she turned her attention back to the plate in her hand. “But like I was saying, these aren’t regular dinner plates. In fact, they’re not really dinner plates at all. They’re not designed to be actually used, as such. Marinette! These are vintage, antique Gold Dust plates!” This last said in such a tone that it was obvious she expected Marinette to instantly understand, and, moreover, to come over to the Dark Side of the Forced Entry.

“Uh…so?”

“Just don’t harm my plates,” pleaded Damien, off to the side. “Dee will kill me.”

Ayla rolled her eyes. Her bestie could be such a plebe sometimes.  “Gold Dust plates, Marinette. Very rare. In mint condition, and especially with any documentation, these could be worth…a lot of money…I mean, like…a lot lot … the kind of money some people would kill for…I remember reading about these! They were fired during the days of the California gold rush, and fired with actual gold dust filament! Look! See?” She pointed to the depictions on the plates. “There’s only about three full sets left in the world. Something tells me this is one of them. Extremely valuable.” This last was said in a reverant whisper. “Why,” she touched her finger to her chin, “three of these plates could buy Hotel Bourgeois…”

Meanwhile, Damien had finished putting his groceries up, and now turned his attention to his unwanted guests. “Either of you want a sandwich? All I have is ham.”

“Sure, Damien. Ham’s fine,” said Marinette distractedly, still trying to work up a convincing argument to Ayla; after all, the longer they stayed, the more chance for Damien to return or some other catastrophe take place.

“I’m good, but thanks, Damien.” Ayla turned her full attention back to the plate in her hands.

“Dill pickles or bread and butter? I’ve got both.”

“Bread and butter,” replied Marinette, before turning her entire attention back to Ayla. “Look,” she whispered fiercely, “If you don’t come on, he’ll come back, and there we’ll be, sandwiched between him and, and the wall here! No escape and no excuse! Whatever you’re looking for, it can’t be worth getting us in that kind of pickle! You---” she poked Ayla in the chest, “are acting like this, this, whateverthisis, like it's the sole source of your income! Like it’s your, your bread and butter, or something!”  

Damien expertly sliced and diced the sandwiches, handing Marinette hers wrapped in a paper towel. “Thanks, Damien. Wow, you can really make a sandwich.” Back to Alya. “Look, what are you obsessing over now?”

“Still.”

“Huh?”

“I’m obsessing over it still.That’s why I didn’t want Damien making me a sandwich; I needed both hands to do…” She moved the plate up and down, oblivious to Marinette's increasing worry, “...this…” She paused to explain her actions.  “Vintage plates, Marinette. Very expensive vintage plates.” Still examining the plate. “How many bachelors do you know have vintage antique plates just lying around in their cupboards like this?”

“That’s a good question,” remarked Damien, sitting on the countertop, eating his sandwich. “Think I’ll put ‘em all in storage. Or better still, just give ‘em to Dee. I know she’s been eyeing them.”

“I may not know much about vintage plates, Ayla, or even enough to ask a good question, but I do know one thing about them.” When Ayla raised her head to give her a quizzical look, she continued, “They’re a lot more valuable in an unbroken state? ” Catching Ayla off guard, she waded in and forcibly rescued the innocent plate from the fiendish clutches of her friend, who seemed to have gone slightly insane, pushed over the edge, no doubt, by her reporter’s curiosity going unfulfilled.  

But Ayla just grabbed another plate from the stack in the cupboard and had turned it over, evidently looking for some sort of identifying marks. Marinette fully expected her to whip out, not only her trusty magnifying lens app, but also, in true Sherlockian tradition, a pipe and deerstalker hat. Instead, Ayla made do with just her iPhone. “Magnifying app, magnifying app, magnifying---okay, here we go…,” she muttered, thumbing the screen, and holding the plate in what looked like a precarious position. 

“Ayla, no! Enough is enough, already!” Marinette half-lunged, half-reached for the valuable plate in Alya’s hands. But she hadn’t reckoned with the World-Famous Marinette Extra Supreme Super Clumsiness, and somehow ended up tripping over apparently empty space, the plate she was carrying colliding with the plate in Ayla’s hands, with the resulting collision shattering both plates and showering the remains to the tile floor.

“Aaaaaagh!” went Marinette and Alya, in unison.

“Aaaaaagh!” went Damien, off to the side, his gaze fixed on the horror, hands pressed to the side of his head. “Dee’s plates!”

For a brief moment, they were all three stunned, transfixed by the scene of destruction on the floor. This…was bad. “Oh, Marineeeeeeete,” began Alya, “…look what you diiiiiiid…”

“Me?!!” Marinette controlled herself with an obvious effort. “I seem to recall having a partner in crime, here. And that’s exactly what this is , you know: a crime . Unlawful entry, destruction of private property. Vandalism, maybe, even! You know, the sort of thing Ladybug and Rena Rouge fight to keep from happening?   Okay, Ayla, enough is enough!” She spoke with some heat.  “As it is, I’m gonna have to come clean with him about my involvement in this escapade. I don’t know how I’ll put it---*” she sighed a deep breath, what she was not saying all the more visible by her distress: without implicating you, “*---but I guess I’ll think of something.”

Ayla put her arm around her. “Hey, you’re not in this alone, girl. Don’t forget. I suppose,” and here she breathed out a sigh of her own, one of resignation. “I suppose I should’ve listened to you. I’ll take my share of the blame, which is most of it, I guess.

“Let’s go. Nothing says we have to wait here at the scene of the crime, I guess.”

There is a God, after all, thought Marinette .   

“Right after I check out his bedroom.”

“Don’t go into my bedroom!” Damien begged. But Alya had already slipped inside.

“Ayla!Don’t go into his bedroom!” But Alya had already slipped through the door into the only other room, clearly the bedroom.

“Marinette. Come see.” There was an undercurrent to Ayla’s voice that made Marinette’s skin prickle ever so slightly.

On top of the chest of drawers in the room was a small soft pillow, surrounded by several whitish-yellow candles, which showed signs of having been lit recently. Behind them, in a semicircle, was an array of small mirrors of various shapes and sizes, set up on stands, set so they reflected the light from the candles, once they were lit. However, all that was as a pointing finger at the object in the center of what could only be called a “shrine.”

On the pillow itself was a small bluish-white crystal. It didn’t look like any kind of crystal either of the girls had ever seen. Entranced, Ayla automatically reached out to it…

Damien followed her. “Don’t touch my crystal! Don’t touch my crystal! Don’t touch my crystal!”

“Don’t touch his---say, what is that?” The bedroom itself was sparsely albeit normally, decorated, but the arrangement on top of the chest of drawers by the window…

…was…peculiar, somehow. Looking at it gave Marinette a strange feeling. 

We shouldn’t be here.

We don’t belong here.

Gee. Ya think?

“NO! Alya, just no. We’re already in enough trouble! Don’t touch his crystal! ”

“Right! Don’t touch my crystal!”

“Oh, come on, Marinette! What harm could there be? It’s just a crystal.” Before Marinette could stop her, Ayla had reached over her arm and plucked the crystal from its comfy pillow, bringing it up to eye level, and bringing her magnifying app into play. The app had automatically activated the flashlight feature, so she was treated to an excellent view of the crystal’s interior, which contained numerous soft veils.

“Ayla, you’re being very irresponsible here. What could you possibly be looking for?” Marinette kept trying to grab the crystal, but Ayla skillfully deflected her friend’s grabby hands.

“Look, see this striation, here? This isn’t quartz. In fact, it isn’t any kind of crystal I know. And I know a few, and so do you…remember that crystallography course we took out at the university last summer? This isn’t like any crystal on record. I think it’s an unknown type.”

In spite of herself, Marinette was intrigued. An unknown type of crystal? What was Damien doing with it? It was apparently---*

“---very important to me!” Damien pleaded, kneeling on the floor. “Puh-- leeze put it back! All will be forgiven if you do!”

Marinette firmed up. “Look, Ayla, we’ve already caused enough damage, and he may not ever forgive us for trashing his plates. So put the crystal back like you found it. ”

“Yes, please!” He was frantic.

“O-- kay , Miss Spoilsport. Just let me get a good look at it in the light…” She moved over to the window, just aside from the bathroom door. Damien held his breath.

“ Now, Ayla! There’s no time like the present to Do the Right Thing!” She pounced on her friend, and, with All the Power of Everything That Was Good and Decent in the World on her side, began wrestling with her for possession of the mysterious crystal…

“I just wanna--- oof! ---get a couple of good ---ow! ---pics for future ref--- ow! Hey, that hurt---*”

During their impromptu wrestling contest, the crystal, which was apparently more slippery than it looked, slipped out of their mutual grip, and, like a bar of soap, shot across the room like a bullet, into the small bathroom, ricocheting off the ceiling. Both girls were stunned to hear a liquid plop! --as the crystal dead-centered the toilet. “Quick!” yelled Marinette, “Get it! Get it before---*”

And the autoflush toilet, sensing an object, flushed.

Both girls were stunned. “I, I can’t believe that happened,” murmured Marinette.

“Neither can I!” Damien was on his knees, hands over his face. “You flushed my crystal!”

“We flushed his crystal.” Automatically, Marinette’s gaze went to the shrine, now absent its star attraction. “We flushed his crystal.” She turned to Ayla. “Ayla, maybe you can help me out here. Is there some way this could possibly be worse than it already is? I mean, I’m just curious.”

“Well, we, we haven’t set fire to anything. I mean---*” At that very instant, both of them smelled smoke, coming from the other room. They looked at each other, then dashed into the dining area, just in time to see a thin wisp of smoke emerging from Damien’s now-useless computer. “Quick, Marinette! Get the fire extinguisher! Do it before the---*” And the apartment’s fire suppression system kicked in, spraying them both. Fortunately, it was only water.

Standing there, soaked through and through, Marinette turned to Ayla. “Well? Are you happy? Are you happy? Ayla, I’ve seen battles with supervillains produce less damage.”

Ayla slumped. She couldn’t deny the evidence of her eyes any longer. “Okay. I get it. You were right and I was wrong, all along. But don’t think for an instant that I’m gonna leave you to take the rap all by yourself. It was all my fault, and that’s what I’ll tell him.” She straightened up. “Maybe, if there’s anything to the Postphysicality technology, maybe I’ll live long enough to pay him back.”

“No, you won’t! My crystal can’t be replaced!” He practically sobbed. “Just go , you two! Just…leave!

“There’s nothing weird about me!”

"We should just go , Ayla! We should just leave! 

“There’s nothing weird about him.” She nibbled on her sandwich before stuffing what was left of it back into her blouse pocket.  

In the back of her mind, she wondered where the sandwich had come from. It really was a splendid sandwich. 

At that very instant, Damien’s phone rang. His special phone. The red one with the rotary dial.

Reflexively, Ayla moved towards the bell-like ringing, only to have Marinette scoot in front of her, arms outstretched. “Oh, no you don’t! Enough is enough! I know I keep saying that, but this time I mean it! You are not answering his phone!”

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Damien, off to one side. He knew who was calling, and was not looking forward to this conversation. “You’re a good person.”

“ I’ll answer it.” Marinette picked up the phone’s handset… 

“Oh, grief,” Damien face-palmed.

“Hello?” Marinette deepened her voice to as low as she could…

There was what could only be described as a shocked silence emanating from the phone. Then, a girl’s voice rang out loud enough that they both heard it: “ Who is this? Where’s my brother? What have you done with him?”

“ Yiiiii! ” Marinette fumbled with and dropped the receiver as though it had turned red hot. The animosity, the sheer explosive venom that had come through over the phone was like a tidal wave made of lava. She backed away from the phone, backing into Ayla, who, for the first time during this debacle, actually looked scared , and both made for the door, in spite of their mutual conviction that they really should wait and explain the wreckage to Damien when he got home.

Both girls had backed towards the door. Ayla reached behind her, opening it. They’d both momentarily turned their attention away from the phone…

“ I know who you are,” said a girl’s voice. They both looked back to see…

…the handset levitating in mid-air, turned their way, like a snake charmer’s cobra out of its basket. “Marin---Marinette. And, Ayla.

“I swear to you, if you’ve harmed my brother, the multiverse won’t be big enough for you to hide in!”

“Yiii!” They both exclaimed, with Ayla yanking open the door, and both of them so frantic to get away that they bottlenecked in the doorway, both of them heaving to get outside. They finally managed to uncork themselves, and, with an audible pop! ---ing sound, fell out into the hallway, and took off, running down the hall towards the exit.  

At the bottom of the stairs, they paused a moment to catch their breath. “Did…did you see that?” gasped Marinette.

“You, you mean that phone?”

“Yeah.”

“The one that was floating in mid-air?”

“The very same.” More gasping. “I tell you, Ayla, I have fought supervillains, sentimonsters, aliens, and worse, but I have never been so scared in my life! What was that thing, anyway?”

“Dunno. But I do know I am not going back up there to ‘fess up. Not and face that…that…that thing. We’ll have to catch him somewhere else. The cafeteria, maybe. Say, speaking of. Where’d you get that sandwich, there in your shirt pocket?”

“What sandwich?”

“That one. Right there. The one that’s getting salad dressing all over your blouse.”

Marinette looked. “I…have no idea." She took a nibble. "But it's a reallygood sandwich.”

Back in Damien’s apartment: The fury on the other side of the phone’s handset had subsided somewhat. Now she had to make sure Damien was alright. After all, who knew what those, those, those people had done?

The handset, still levitating in mid-air, turned first one way, then another. “ Damien! Where are you? ” There was worry in her voice. She could sense him here somewhere.

“I’m right here, Dee.” 

The phone’s handset flipped around to look at him. He was sitting in the easy chair at one end of the love seat. There was a haze of smoke in the air, and everything in the apartment was soaked with water from the fire suppression system. On a nearby table was the base for the phone itself. The floating handset zipped down to him, stretching its spiral cord between it and the base. “ Are you alright? Those, those persons didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No, no, they, uh…they didn’t.” But she heard the hesitation in his voice.

The handset floated down to where it was level with his head. “ Okay. Spill. What did they do?” 

“Nothing! Nothing, really…”

“ You don’t lie worth a damn, you know that? ”

“I know,” he sighed, resignedly. “Guess I need practice.”

“Practice on somebody else. Now, what did they do?” A brief pause, then, before he could say anything, “They didn’t steal your book, did they?”

“No, no, the book’s right here. I saw it when they went into the bedroom.”

“They went into your bedroom? What for?”

“Oh, I guess just being nosy. One of them is certain I’m keeping secrets. Which, of course, I am, just not particularly well, it seems.”

“Well, if they didn’t take your book…they didn’t do anything to your crystal, did they?” He was way too down in the dumps over a “mere” unauthorized entry. “ Damien…did they steal your crystal?”

“No, no…it…that’s not what happened.”

“Then what was it? I can tell, by your reaction, that it was something to do with your crystal. C’mon. Empty the bucket, big bro.”

“It’s not important.”

“Yes, it is. Now come on. Tell me.”

“They kinda lost it.”

“ Lost it?”

“Yeah.”

“Lost it how?”

“It, uh…accidentally fell into the toilet. And it’s an autoflush toi---*”

“THEY FLUSHED YOUR CRYSTAL???!!!

“It was an accident, Dee.” He was tired of thinking about it.

“I…”

“Dee, don’t---*”

“WILL…”

“Dee, they didn’t mean to---*”

“ROAST THEM ALIVE!!!”

“Dee, please.”

“WITH BARBEQUE SAUCE!” The handset spun in fury.

“Dee…”

“TERIYAKI BARBEQUE SAUCE,YET!” Now they were all in trouble; he knew she saved that for special occasions.

“Dee, they didn’t mean to do it.” 

The handset dipped lower. “Oh, big brother. I’m so sorry. I know what that crystal meant to you.” It circled around him on its spiral cord, the receiver lying against him, rubbing up and down on his chest and neck; a caressing gesture. “Look, I’ll get a division of tellers together, an’ we’ll come up there and search for it. We’ll find it.”

“No, Dee, that would give everything away. I mean, a full division, running through, scouring the sewers of Paris? How would anyone explain that? It…maybe it’s like you’ve been telling me. Maybe it’s just time I moved on.”

The handset examined him closely. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Dee, I’m fine.” He actually managed a weak smile.

“ Alright then. Now I gotta yell. WHAT WERE THOSE GIRLS DOING IN YOUR APARTMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE?!! YOU NORMALLY PAL AROUND WITH PEOPLE THAT JUST BREAK INTO YOUR PERSONAL SPACE WHENEVER THEY GET THE URGE?! I’D’A PUT THE BOOT TO THEIR BUTTS SO HARD THEIR DESCENDANTS WOULD HAVE BRUISES!!

“Dee, could we please let this go? I feel bad enough about it already.”

The handset saw he was emotionally exhausted. “O…kay. I guess there’s nothing else to be said, anyway. Did they do anything else?”

“I haven’t checked yet, but something happened to set off the fire suppression system. And, uh, I hope you weren’t counting on getting a full set of those plates.”

…

Down at the bottom of the stairwell: Marinette and Ayla were still recuperating from their scare. Marinette was nibbling on her sandwich, still wondering where it had come from. Ayla started chortling. "What?" she said.

Ayla chortled more. "You should'a seen your face."

"What, was it like---" and here she adopted a goofy, googly-eyed expression clearly intended to be Ayla.

"Yeah!" laughed Ayla, "only more so!"

Their laughter carried down the hallway, right into the transceivers of the still-floating phone handset. It once again began trembling in fury. " Oooooh, that does it, I am takin' em down ." It suddenly darted out the still-open doorway like a cruise missile, angling down the hallway and half-wrapping its cord around the bannister, clearly intent on performing various and sundry atrocities on the heathens who found her poor victimized brother's plight so damn hilarious. Fortunately, Damien had some experience with this, and grabbed the spiral cord before it could make it out to the hallway. Even so, the sheer force of the runaway handset still pulled him out into and partially down the hallway, like a skier.

“No, Dee! That really WILL give everything away! C’mon, Short Cord! Don’t let anybody SEE you! Not like this!

“Work with me here, Dee! Please!”

She realized he was right, and calmed down. “Well, the next leave I get, I’m coming up there. You’ll see; we’ll fix ‘em.”

“Dee, I don’t want them ‘fixed,’ they’re my friends. ”

“Clearly you need a new set of friends. Besides. Now that you’ve decided to move on--- you have decided, haven’t you? ---I gotta scope out the possibilities for ya.”

“Uh…Dee?” Wait, what? All of a sudden, he felt incredibly nervous. 

“Yeah, new friends. And I’m sensing at least a couple who’d like to be more than just friends, if you get my drift, you stud muffin, you. I gotta pick her out. Don’t worry; I’ll find you a good one.  

“Gonna haveta go now, but leave isn’t but a few days off. See ya then. Love ya, big bro.”

To be continued...