Jongler | Cowboy Hat Mike, Tenna, a pair of Rabbicks ⢠pre-canon scene featuring Jongler in the middle of one of their shifts as Mike. ⢠615 words
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Sometimes, being Mike was just being Zapper with extra steps.
âYou all right, big guy?â asked Mike, chancing a glance backward. Tenna, all six feet of him, was cowering behind them.
âOh, Mike,â he said, relief resizing him back to his regular skyscraper stature, âYouâre a lifesaver! What would I do without you?â
Uh, probably spray âem with his foam can? ââS no trouble,â Mike said, and turned back to the troublemakers: a pair of Rabbicks, left behind after Card Kingdomâs final visit. These ones had been lurking around, disguised as a pair of Ribbicks, the actual dust-based darkners who came from this Dark World.
(Yâknow Ribbicks arenât TV World natives? I spoke to a Shuttah and it told me theyâre holdovers from the previous Dark World, before Tenna came âround and built the studio. Iâll have to corner one and see if any of âem have ever seen Mike.)
âWe didnât mean anything wrong,â pouted one Ribbick. âWe just wanted to clean you up! Youâre getting dusty these days, Mr Tenna.â
Its partner chimed, âA CRT needs to be squeaky-clean. (Sukkiri.)â
Thatâd be all well and good, if they hadnât gone about it by lunging at the man and scaring the scanlines out of him. Heâd jumped half a foot in the airâand with his size, come dangerously close to scraping the ceilingâand Mike had caught the assailants with their lasso before they could scramble any closer. Hard to do, what with how small they were, but hey: they werenât the best cowboy âround for nothing.
(Youâre the only cowboy around, now that that showâs cancelled! Donât let it get to your head.
Donât listen to him! Heâs just jealous he canât lasso like you.
In what world would I be jealous of that!?)
Mike could practically hear Tenna bristling. âIâm perfectly clean!â He straightened out his necktie. âMike does my dry cleaning, my eyedrops, books my spa treatments...Iâve never looked spiffier! Donât I, Mike?â
âJust dashinâ.â ...There werenât any spas in TV World. Where was he getting his spa treats?
âSee!?â Tenna huffed and waved a hand, dismissing the pair. âMike, make sure those two donât cause any more trouble, weâve got some real special guests coming in for todayâs shoot!â
There was a new cartoon coming to one of the channels. Tenna had high hopes that it would recapture the kidsâ attention, give them a reason to sit in front of the TV after dinner.
Off he went, striding down the hall.
âAll right,â said Mike, rolling their shoulders. They crouched down and set to untying them. âYou heard âim. Letâs get movinâ.â
âNo,â wailed the one on the left. Lefty, they decided. The one on the right, William, sighed in disappointment. âWell, maybe we can clean the cells...?â
Tennaâs footsteps got fainter. Mike pretended they were fussing over the rope for as long as it took for them to fade completely. âHey,â said William. âDo you want a cleaning?â
âIâm good.â Mike pulled the rope away at last and straightened up. âYou twoâre free to go.â
â...To the cages?â guessed Lefty. âYouâre trusting us to just bring ourselves there? (Sukkiri.)â
âNah.â They finished rolling up their lasso and sent it back to Mikeâs room. âMr Tenna just said to make sure yous donât cause anymore trouble, yeah? So donât cause none, and we wonât have a problem.â
âReally!?â Lefty jumped up, bringing William along with it. âYouâre the best, Mike!â
âAw, shucks,â Mike said. They turned their head away, bashful. âNo need for that, I's was just...â
When they looked back, the two were already gone: a pristine, clean trail marking their departure. â...Ah.â
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Jongler | Cowboy Hat Mike, Pluey | Cat Mike ⢠excerpt featuring jongler and pluey talking. ⢠510 words
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By the time Battat shut the door behind him, Jongler was already starting to feel a little better.
Just the thought of not having to be Mike after the morningâs ordeal was a weight off their shoulders. They slumped even further into the lounge chair. Not that they didnât feel a little guilty that Battat had to start his shift hours early, but it was a relief.
Pluey sat next to them. She bumped their shoulder with hers and fingerspelled, U OK?
âGettinâ there,â said Jongler. ââM sorry, Plues. I know you and Batts were sâposed to be hanging out today.â Mornings with Jongler playing Mike meant Battat sniffing around for Mike Clues⢠while Pluey followed, bothering him at every step.
She shrugged. âItâs all right,â she signed. âWe wouldnât have fun if we knew you were upset.â
âGuess thatâs fair,â they conceded. âStill. Donât feel too good, dat you ân Batts gotta reschedule on my behalf.â Well, actually, maybe Batts appreciated the extra time he had to ply Tenna for information.
âYou would for us.â
âIâll cover for one of yous tomorrow, then. You and Batts are on for Tuesdays, yeah? I oughta be good to take his evening shift. âs only fair.â
She didnât have her cat head on, but Jongler knew if she did sheâd narrow her eyes at them. She shook her head emphatically. âNo way, buster! You and me,â she said, signing faster as an idea occurred to her, âYou and me are going out tomorrow instead! While Battat is Mike!â
âUh, Pluesââ
âNo!â She stood up and dragged them with her. âWeâll do whatever you like! Teleport wherever! Go out and be cowboys!â She summoned her gun, grinning wildly. Okay, Jongler could tell that one was as much for her as it was for them. Still, they were amused. âItâll be a day just for you. Jonglerâs day!â
âJuesday,â said Jongler, at the same time. Then, âOh, uhââ
Pluey was waving her hands, contemplating. She signed, âTuesday,â then fingerspelled JUESDAY, then something else Jongler couldnât identify.
â...Sorry, what was dat, Plues?â
She shook her head, dissatisfied, and signed something similar: she moved her hand in a circle, with her pinky out as her wrist rotated. Oh!
âIs dat Juesday?â They asked. That circle motion was part of how most days were signed, and the letter J was signed by forming a fist with your pinky out, then arcing it so it shapes the letter in the air.
She nodded, brightening. âYou got it!â She signed it again. âJuesday! Thatâs your day.â
âAw, Plues,â they said, charmed. âDatâs sweet of yous.â Normally, Pluey swapped to LSF in order to sign their names: holding a finger and punching it for battre, miming juggling for jongler. This was the first time sheâd modified a sign for one of them. Some part of Jongler couldnât help but feel special for it.
âTomorrow is Juesday, no getting out of it,â she said. âIâm sure Battat will agree.â
âIf he didnât, youâd just make âim,â said Jongler dryly.
every day battat lives in hell and every day pluey lives in heaven ⢠Battat | Small Mike, Pluey | Cat Mike ⢠Murder as a first resort is on the first page of the Mike playbook, according to Mike. ⢠not an xmas fic but happy holidays anyway ! ⢠870 words
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âWe gotta start killing people,â said Mike.
Shadowguy laughed. This guy was a riot! He mimed wiping the tears from his eyes and signed, âYeah? Where do we hide the bodies?â
âIâm dead fucking serious,â said Mike, and started patting at Shadowguyâs clothes. âWhereâs your tommy-gun? Gimme. Iâll take care of âem no sweat, no problem at all.â
The pair of pippinses that had poked their heads into Mikeâs room and seen her holding Mikeâs bowtie above his head and smirking at him had to have been long gone by now. For a guy that insisted on keeping this âoperationâ under wraps he sure was gung-ho about disappearing people, Shadowguy thought, and eased back.
The gunshots would net them an irritated zapper quick as anything (Hey! Whatâs with all dat racket!? Only da boss gets to shoot without a license!) and no matter Mikeâs status he probably wouldnât hold up to scrutiny if they started interrogating him. Or if he started yelling back loud enough to get Tenna on the scene, which also wasnât great! Probably even having Zapper on their side wouldnât be able to help them then.
She took his hands in hers and shook her head. He said, âYou chuckleheads have no respect for the mission. Just none.â
Shadowguy thought about the Mike costume she was assembling in her spare time and let go of his hands to sign, âI respect it plenty!â
âThen Iâll go make sure no one talks! We clear?â
âNo!â
âI wasnât asking your permission,â he said flatly.
âWe donât have to kill them.â She thought for a moment and perked up. âWe could just take them back here and threaten them into silence!â Theyâd just need rope! Oh, or they could get Zapper to teleport those two into the office...
âThatâs way too much work! And what if they talk anyway, huh!? Then theyâll get to say oh, youâll never believe what Mike did!â
Well, talking isnât working. At least she could tell Zapper she tried. Shadowguy lunged for Mikeâs head.
Mike shrieked and jumped away. âWhat the hell are you doing!?â
âMike,â he signed. âTake the head off, itâs making you say things.â
âThis is exactly the sort of shit Iâd say outta costume!â Just to prove it, he took the head off. âFine! Donât give me your gun! Iâll just...come up with something else!â
Yikes. âLetâs wait for Zapper to come back,â she suggested. âMaybe they can, uh, put those two in jail...?â
âYOU WANNA PUT A COUPLEA PIPPINSES IN JAIL JUST FOR POKING AROUND!?â
She gaped at him. âYou want to kill them!â
He sputtered. "Itâthat's different!"
âYeah? How?â
The door opened. Mike cursed and picked up the nearest thing to throw: a curling iron. (For the eight strands of hair he had. Yes, she counted, and yes, every day she woke up and looked at Mike and had to try not to laugh.)
âHey, boss, bossette,â said Zapper, poking their head into the room. âWhatâs with all da racket?â
âHe wants to kill people!â Shadowguy signed, and pointed accusingly at Mike. âWith my gun!â She summoned it just to clutch it protectively.
âIâm trying,â he grit out, âTo make sure my cover doesnât get blown!â He waved the curling iron like it was a legitimate threat. âAnd I already said I wasnât gonna use your gun, fur-for-brains!â
â...Well, whatever it is youse doinâ, try to keep it down,â said Zapper. âI just passed a couple pippinses. Deys was gigglinâ about Mike beinâ a player, havinâ one of âem in his room one day, a shadowguy the next.â
Shadowguy couldnât help it; she burst into laughter.
Mike stared at them. âZapper,â he said. His face was frozen in an incensed grin. âTeleport me to where you saw âem last, wouldja?â
Zapper eyed the way Mike was wielding his iron and said, âUh, I donât think Iâs can do that, boss.â
âWhat do I keep you two around for,â he seethed.
Well, he didnât. Zapper had it in their head to mind him and make sure he wasnât going overboard, not that they were very effective. Shadowguy just liked to bother him. Speaking of: she waltzed over and draped herself over him.
He sputtered and pushed her off. âWhatâs your problem now!?â
âWOE IS ME,â she lamented, staggering dramatically and sinking to her knees. âThat my heart belongs to such a cruel, careless man!â She held a hand to her forehead and pretended to faint.
âOh, nos,â Zapper said, and moved into the room to set their hand on her shoulder. They looked up at Mike. âBoss, how could ya do this to her?â
Mike threw his hands up. âIâm done. Iâm done! Iâamâout!â He turned to leave. Of course, the curling iron had gone up too, and gravity is a real and beautiful thing that exists, and Shadowguy looked on with unfettered glee as it dropped back down, right onto his head.
Thud! Mike was flat on the ground.
Zapper stood up in real concern. âBoss? Hey! Boss!â
Ooh. Sounded like that one hurt, actually. Shadowguy popped back up and saluted. âIâll get him the medkit.â
Battat | Small Mike, Jongler | Cowboy Hat Mike, Sunglasses/S-Rank Pippins ⢠Battat and Pippins have a chat while Battat waits for Jongler's meeting to finish. ⢠jongler juesday! ⢠1900 words ⢠leave a comment!
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âSo that zapper over there,â said Pippins. She pulled her sunglasses down just enough so Battat could see her glance at the crowd of guards. He rolled his eyes. âThey arenât your partner?â
In crime, sure. âNo,â said Battat, and took a sip of the drink Jongler gave him. It was theirs, but the meeting they were in the Green Room for had begun and theyâd handed it off to Battat. No clue what it was, but whatever; it tasted good enough for him.
They were idling at Rambâs bar, Battat standing beside her as she attempted to luxuriously lounge on the barstool. Some distance away the zappers were getting briefed on tonightâs Big Event. Apparently Rudy, whoever that was, might be coming over for Christmas Eve. Some Lightner for sure, but whenever heâd last visited had been before Battatâs time.
In any case, it got Tenna kicking up a fuss like no other. He had Mike rushing to and fro, back and forth, hithter and thither from the very moment he heard the news. MIKE! Change out the curtains! MIKE! Dry clean my suit! MIKE! Dry clean my other suit! When Battat had tagged Pluey in for Mike duty he saluted her solemnly. Goodbye, Plues, it was nice knowinâ ya.
Waiting on Jongler like this wasnât anything new for Battat. The zappers gathered like this near-nightly whether or not some official briefing or new instructions needed to be given; Jongler always came back with something or other they could make use of as Mike, so Battat wasnât as bothered whenever it cut into their Mike hours.
Pippins hummed skeptically. âRight,â they said. âSo when they fixed up your necktie before they left, it was completely casual.â
Sure it was!! Jongler couldnât go five minutes without complaining about Battatâs necktie. It was de rigeur for them to reach out and adjust his necktie even minutely. Rich of them; they constantly forewent the âspiffy!â ascot Tenna insisted the zappers wear and went around sporting a bandanna instead. Like some sort of delinquent! Who did they think they were!?
...Well, Mike always let it slide. So it wasnât too big a deal. What he wouldnât pardon, however...
âYours could use a little fixing, too,â he said flatly. âNot sure wearing it like thatâs dress code compliant.â
She had it tied around her forehead. âAww, Battsy, donât be like that,â she said, and leaned in, grinning. âYou wanna tie it up nice and proper for me?â
He yanked it off their head, sending it into a slow spin. They giggled. âHey,â they said once it stopped. âHey. Wanna bet on somethinâ?â
âNot really.â
âYeah, you do. I bet,â they continued, heedless of his groan, âHmm. I bet that...you wonât last two more glasses of that before falling flat on your face.â
âHA!â Easy win! Battat felt nothing. Jongler must have given him something non-alcoholic. He made sure she could get a nice view of his sneer. âYouâre on. Ramb! Another two glasses of this, please and thank you!â
âOoh. Please? Thank you? Wow, Battsy,â marveled Pippins. âDidnât know you had it in you. Guess that zapper of yours is teaching you some manners.â
âKeep your mouth shut.â
âThere he is! Our little charmer.â
The bartender himself popped up from who knows where before Battat could lunge at them. He eyed Battatâs glass of neon slurry. âAre you sure about that, mate? Two glasses?â
âIâm sure.â He shot a glance at Pippins and straightened up. âMake that three, actually!â
âAnd these are for you,â said Ramb slowly. âNot for your partner over there?â He jerked his chin in the general area where Jongler was; they were easy to pinpoint, being taller than the rest of their cohort.
Pippins laughed.
Thanks a lot, Ramb. Battat sighed. He stalwartly ignored the flush creeping up the back of his neck at the thought. They were coworkers. Coworkers! â...Not for them, no.â
â...Well, suit yourself,â said Ramb. âCustomerâs always right, yeah?â
Battat could practically hear Tennaâs voice in his ear. Mike, this is vermilion, not crimson! âMake that four.â
Rambâs brows raised. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. âIf youâre sure.â
âOh, Battsy,â Pippins said as Ramb brought up the bottle, voice one of wonder. Battat began to think he had made a mistake. âYouâre going to die.â
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He was going to die.
âI feel perfectly fine,â he said. Not slurring, thankyouverymuch! He was not letting some sort of cursed drink lay him low, no sir! Heâd been Motormouth Mike in sickness and in health! On the heels of three all-nighters! In the throes of a vicious cold! A little drinking had nothing on him, nothing! âHeh. You ready to eat your words?â
âYou still got three glasses left, Battsy,â they said sweetly. They picked one up and waggled it in front of his face. âBottoms up!â
Boy, was it getting hot in here or what?
So! All right. Heâd concede (not aloud, of course) that maybe heâd miscalculated and the drinks, even if not alcoholic, werenât meant for non-tech darkners. Battat could swear every cell in his body was buzzing. A frightening ringing had begun in his ears sometime around halfway through his second glass.
Like hell heâd quit, though. He looked Pippins dead in the sunglasses and took the drink just as a loud sound cut through the din: the zapper at the head of the pack had clapped his hands. Battat and Pippins looked over as the rest saluted and began to disperse.
âLooks like your palâs free,â observed Pippins. She smirked, eyebrows waggling ridiculously over her shades. âLucky you! Iâll leave you two alone, huh?â
âI keep tellinâ you,â said Battat, exasperated. âTheyâre myâJongler,â he called, catching them looking around in confusion. He waved and his arm lagged. Yikes. âJongler! Hey!â He waited at the same place every time! Mostly! All right, maybe only sometimes. Like that one time, or the other one, which were definitely occasions that were real and had happened. Whatever! âOver here, bozo!â
Whether Jongler had found him or not, Battat didnât see; instead he turned in faint concern as Pippins snorted and began violently coughing. âWhat the hellâs gotten into you? Do you need me to do the Heimlich? Hang on.â
âNo,â she choked out. Still, she managed to laugh in his face. âOh my god, Battsy, donât you dare! You sucked during that first-aid workshop!â
âEXCUSE ME?â
âYouâre gonna kill me!â
âFine!â He threw his hands up, face burning. âHack yourself to death, see if I care!â
âAlways so dramatic!â They wiped the tears from their eyes with a dramatic flourish. âOh, man, we have got to hang out more.â
âAgree to disagree. You gonna start wheezing again?â
âNooo,â they said. âAw, Battsy, scoutâs honor.â
âYou scammed the Rudinn Rangers so badly Iâm positive they have your face on a wanted poster even now.â
âPippinsâ honor,â she insisted, as though any such thing existed. âLook, Iâm not gonna laugh at you anymore.â
âWasnât even anything to laugh at,â he muttered, and took another sip from the glass just out of principle. He could swear he smelled sparks.
âBut youâre so funny,â they cooed. They leaned their face into their hand with an exaggerated moue. âOne moment youâre callinâ the guy your Jongler, next breath youâre callinâ them bozo.â
âMy WHAT?â He sputtered. âWhenâd I say that!?â
She tried leering at him, but she was grinning too wide; it was clear the only reason she wasnât cackling was because she wanted to heckle him. âSo used to callinâ âem your Jongler you didnât even clock it? How sweet!â
He barely had time to react before a shadow fell over them. âEy, Boss,â came Jonglerâs voice. Their hand found his shoulder and squeezed gently. âWhatâd I miss?â
âNOTHING,â he barked, half in frantic fright. He covered it up with a glower as he faced them. There was no way they heard any of that, right? âNothing! What took you so long!?â
âWell HELLO,â said Pippins. They lunged for Jonglerâs hand and shook it vigorously. âItâs so nice to meet you! So youâre Battsyâs Jââ
âJONGLER,â blurted Battat. Ugh. Yeah, okay, he heard that one. âWHAT is this drink you gave me!?â
âOh, dat?â Jongler paused. âIâunno.â
That took the wind right out of Battatâs sails. He stared at them. âWhat?â
âI dunno,â said Jongler. âHey, uh, Ramb!â The bartender was too busy being accosted by another pippins. They shrugged. âI jusâ asked Ramb what was good witâ da other zappers these days. Aw, boss, did you gets me some more?â
Speechless. He was speechless. He let Jongler take the glass right out his hand.
Pippins made direct eye contact with him. âSay,â she said. Unfortunately, Jongler was between them now, so Battat couldnât stop her. âAinât it nice of Battsy to buy you all those drinks?â
âSure is,â said Jongler. âThanks, boss! Oh, hang on, I think youse got a little somethinâ on your face.â They swiped their thumb across his brow and frowned. âAw, itâs still there...â
Battat moved away before they could try it again. âItâs fine! Itâs fine, Iâll just clean up in...Iâll just clean up later.â Gah, heâd almost said our room. That was it, Battat decided, he had to cut this short before Jongler could do even more damage to his reputation. Being clucked at and fussed over by a zapper... âAll right, pack it up, pal! Time to head out.â
"Aww." Pippins pouted. âLeaving so soon?â
âMikeâs got us working on something tonight,â said Battat, which wasnât even a lie, not really. âOkay nice talk good to see ya so SEEYA!â He was dragging Jongler off before he even finished.
âBYE-BYE, BATTSY,â they hollered after him. âBRING YOUR PARTNER OVER NEXT POKER NIGHT!â
Battat entertained a brief yet vivid daydream where her sunglasses came alive and knocked her head off her shoulders, tumbling across TV World forever and ever.
He hustled them out the door.
âBattsy?â Jongler asked, amused. He got the impression that if they could raise a brow, they would have.
âDonât get any bright ideas,â he grumbled.
âI wasnât, donât worry,â they said. âAfter all, Iâs already gots somethinâ to call ya, donât I?â
âOh?â That was news to Battat. âWhatâs that, then?â
âMâ pardner,â they said, their drawl in full force as they hugged Battat to their side.
GOD. âDonât listen to her,â said Battat, face aflame yet again. âSheâs just messinâ around.â
âI likes the sound of it, though,â said Jongler. âYou and meâre partners in crime, sorta, ainât we?â
âI guess so.â He glared at them. âDonât you go spreading that around!â
âYep,â said Jongler, popping the p. âDonât worry, boss. And hey, I donât minds you callinâ me your Jongler. Heh.â
IâM KILLING THEM, thought Battat. IâM KILLING THEM WITH MY BARE HANDS. He went to threaten them accordingly and pronounced it as, âHrgrhuh.â
Jonglerâs flush brightened to faint visibility. Battat's steps faltered. Well, fine, whatever. Heâd let them have this one. Just once! He'd...
Oh.
"Jongler," he said. He stopped walking entirely.
They looked at him, puzzled. "Yeah, boss?"
Hands shaking, he took hold of their bandanna. He stood on his toes to get closer to their face.
"...Boss?"
"This is all your fault," he told them, and keeled over.
"BOSS!?" They grabbed him under the arms just before his face met the gross, gross carpeted floor. "Hey, boss, what's gotten into you!?"
That scheming shark, he thought dizzily, as Jongler picked him up and lugged him the rest of the way. She won the bet.
my jongler ⢠Battat | Small Mike, Jongler | Cowboy Hat Mike ⢠Jongler's trying out petnames for Battat. Battat turns the tables. ⢠jongler juesday! ⢠800 words ⢠check out the art @ keplitz on twitter made!
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âHow's darling,â said Jongler.
âAbsolutely not,â said Battat.
âSweetheart,â they tried.
âDo I look like a Hathy to you?â
â...No,â said Jongler, who admittedly did not very well remember what the other Card Kingdom denizens looked like. They crossed it off the list and flipped to the next page of their notepad. âHows about pumpkin?â
Battat snorted. He moved a pin from one end of his board to the other. Persnickety as always. They bet he would place it right back in an hour. âWhat, are you hungry? Go get us some TV Slop.â
Jongler shrugged, then sat up on the couch and did it again so Battat could see them. âPluey hates those now. Says it don't feel right after findinâ out what Tenna's puttinâ in 'em.â They tapped at their notepad as they spoke, preemptively crossing out petnames they were sure Battat would chew their LED off for even thinking of.
âWell, thatâs the point, theyâre inedible otherwise! The toppingâs the only real draw. And thatâs all weâre gonna say about that!â Battat spun around and pointed warningly at Jongler, who held their arms up in acquiescence out of habit more than anything. Theyâd learned their lesson after the last time theyâd had something less than nice to say about Tennaâs cooking.
(To Tennaâs face, as Mike, at that. Wasnât a good day for constructive criticism, turned out. The endless cooking show reruns after had been miserable. Battatâs endless seething hardly held a candle. All that heat in their Mike costume...constant taste-testing at Tennaâs behest...Jongler shuddered to think about it even now.)
âSpeaking of Pluey, where is she? He'd be more excited about this than I am.â
âTook her Mike shift early,â said Jongler. âPlus, wes already hashed out what I gets to call it. Mon amour?â
Battat fumbled his yarn. âNot within this lifetime, pal!â
âBut Batts,â Jongler said, turning over on the couch to look at him head-on, âAinât yous my love?â
They dodged the ball of yarn Battat threw at them. Yep. Theyâd figured it was promising, and they were right; this was the most extreme reaction theyâd gotten out of him yet. His scowl did nothing to undercut the flush on his face. "All right, that's it," he garbled out. "I'm callin' a moratorium on the petnames business!"
"Veto."
He sputtered. "THIS ISN'T A VOTE! Mum on the sweetums, sugarplums, and handsomes!"
Oh? "Is ain't tried callin' you handsome yet," said Jongler. "'Zat what you'd like?"
"NO," howled Battat, and pulled one of the pins from the board to point at Jongler. Heh. Got âim. "Zip it on the sweet talk, rubberhead!"
"How coulds I, when you calls me such sweet names," drawled Jongler. "'m only tryin' to return the favor, Batts." They didn't actually mind it overmuch; Battat was far more bark than bite when he wasn't Mike. It had grated on them when they were first getting used to him, sure, but over time...
They got up and made their way over to him, taking his sword-hand in theirs gentle but firm. They lowered it, leaning in. "So,â they said, watching his eyes go wide. They raised their other arm up to cage him against the board. âHow's about it, handsome?"
He sputtered. His hand jerked, dropping the pin to the ground. Iâs gonna hafta make sure he donât step on it later, Jongler thought. They could practically see the gears turn in his head as he overheated. Poor guy was scrambling for a response.
Then Battat smirked. A little strained at the edges, sure, but Jongler could tell when he was trying to save face. He leaned into their space in turn, shifting his hand over in theirs until he was cradling it. He lifted it up to his mouth and pressed a kiss on it. âIf my Jongler wants,â he said, eyes flicking up to look at them, âHow could I refuse?â
âWHOA NOW,â blurted Jongler. Their LED flared. They were sure their blush was visible. âHEY THERE. HEY NOW, BOSS.â
Battat dropped their hand like it was scalding. âWHAT,â he said. âWHAT?â
Leave it to Battat to make a competition out of nothing and win anyway. âWell,â they said. Gosh! âIf yous wanna calls me your Jongler then, uh, yous can go right ahead!â
His jaw dropped in unabashed horror. His voice squeezed out his body: âWHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING?â
Jongler put their hand to their face, bashful. âAw, boss,â they said. âI didnât know you had it in youse!â
âHad what,â fumed Battat, flush back in full force now. âOut! Get out!" He'd moved forward to usher them out the door when he stopped. He went pale. "Jongler," he said. "Get the medkit."
Uh oh. Looks like the pin had gotten him. "You got it, boss!"
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