#mistle command

Watching Shift and Switch was always something else. Two felines, one of which who could have easily been a world-class acrobat, had the tendency to swirl with the music, sway with the beat, and weave between crowds like no other couple.

To anyone watching, they would have been convinced that the couple had no idea anyone else was in the room with them. From the changing expressions on their faces, it was implied that they were communicating with their minds rather than their words.

Shift, wearing his tux as he did for every school dance, grinned down at the pink-and-blue-clad Switch. Unlike school dances, her cat parts were unhindered, her tail swaying with the beat and her ears pricked with interest.

Despite their unconcerned attitude with the world, somehow, every time the passed beneath a sprig of green and white, they paused, smiling to themselves. They would exchange a series of kisses - eyelids, cheeks, ears, nose, nothing escaped their attention. If it had been anywhere else, they probably would have been kicked out for PDA. At least, that’s what Galen had absently mumbled to Lucas on her way to the punch bowl.

Lucas had noticed - barely, what with all the snow and cake in abundance - that she tended to head for the punch, as if she could forget a dance was going on if she focused on the crimson liquid.

He didn’t really care about that, though. It was hard to when a diminutive blonde wielding a baseball bat was following him around demanding cake.

“Lucas! You have to share! C’mon! It’s not that hard, you dolt! Just give me some!”

Eyes narrowed, the blond boy levelled her with a stare: “I might! Just wait, to heck with it!”

Still tugging at his sleeve, she waved her bat around - ever present, even during a dance. “Share!”

“No! There’s more for you over there! Go eat that!”

“I want the cake you have!” came the protest.

The argument progressed for several more minutes. No one paid much attention, except for the two figures seated at a table exchanged money, murmuring about how the argument would turn out.

As the argument reached its height of disagreement, Lucas threw his arms up - and a bit of the cake, too - and growled loudly: “Fine! Take some of the danged cake!”

With that, he shoved the plate at her. In the process, Aiko had been working towards leaning up and snatching it. Somehow, without much of a warning, their mouths bumped.

Money exchanged hands behind them, the girl at the table repeatedly banging her head on the hard surface. The boy beside her snickered and laughed, counting his newly-acquired currency, sharing a light-hearted wish of condolence to his monetarily-lacking friend.

When the two blushing blondes pulled away, Lucas scowled, eyes narrowed. “NOW YOU HAVE YOUR CAKE, ARE YOU HAPPY?!” Shoving the plate into Aiko’s hands, he stalked off, shoulders hunched and face burning. He’d go outside to cool off. That’s where the snow was anyways.

After the outburst, the boy behind them slid a five dollar bill back to the girl. She in turn grasped it like she’d won a lottery.

As Aiko stood there, bat tucked under her arm, she glanced up at the mistletoe above their heads. It made her wonder whether or not the kiss had been accidental or not. Without much more thought, she scarfed down the cake, looking the picture of irritation.

She remained there until the young man with the purple hair came over. Ponytail swishing from side to side in what some would call a magnificent display of the use of hair product, Flak paused, staring up at the green spring.

Wary of the newcomer, Aiko squinted up at him - farther up than she had to look to see Lucas.

She was expecting some snide comment about two people meeting under the mistletoe. What she wasn’t expecting was what came out of his mouth: “Hmm… It makes excellent conditioner and skin moisturizer…”

She paused, mid-chew, and stared some more. His orange-and-red eyes met hers in confusion at her lack of response. “I said, it makes--”

“I heard what you said!” she snapped, turning catty-corner to him. “Don’t you know anything about mistletoe, you moron?!”

The dark-skinned lad tilted his head in puzzlement. “Yes… The berries I use for excellent conditioner and skin moisturizer…?” His eyes narrowed in warning, talon-tipped hands digging deep into rose-colored pockets.

“No, you idiot!” Here, Aiko deigned to brandish her bat as if to make a point. “You’re supposed to kiss someone under it!”

Eyebrows rising steadily, Flak nodded at the dangling greenery. “The conditioning plant?”

At this point, her patience utterly destroyed through combination of snarky ocelot boy and this purple-haired dunce, she swung her bat at his shoulder, irritated beyond reason.

It was as if Flak never moved at all when he caught the bat, bronze fingers wrapping around the weapon. When he spoke, his voice changed from the unassuming, cool murmur to a threatening growl. “No one… No one… is permitted to mess with my hair.” His eyes were blood-red slits, glowing as if from some deep source within.

Aiko, completely unabashed, shook her captured bat up and down, grimacing. “No, you idiot!” she retorted, “it means you have to kiss me!”

She didn’t even know the guy - nor did she necessarily want to kiss him. He seemed like a big jerk to her, in all honesty. The young heiress was simply flabbergasted by his defunct knowledge of traditions.

It was, naturally, at this time when Lucas chose to return to the scene of the crime. His eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. Who was this guy? What was Aiko saying? None of this made sense. He’d only been gone for a few minutes…

Letting go of the offending bat, Flak straightened up, brushing himself off. Staring down at the young girl, he narrowed his eyes into glowing slits. “I would not lower myself to kiss a being who tried to strike out at my hair.”

With a low growl, Aiko lunged at him, causing Lucas to grab both her arms in an attempt at keeping bloody noses to a minimum. “Come on, Aiko… Leave the weirdo alone. Let’s go find some different cake,” he muttered, dragging her behind him. Even as he did so, however, she still stuck her tongue out at the offended Flak, sneering at his oddness.

Flak watched her go, neither delighted nor bitter at their departure. He was often puzzled with the way humans acted. Perhaps it was simply the way he saw the world, he reflected, taking in the bright hues of the lights that swirled around the room.

His musing was interrupted by a dry, sarcastic voice: “Wow… That was either the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen, or the bravest.”

Without a hint that he’d been startled, the lavender-hued young man turned to face the newcomer. His eyes widened a bit at the stark white, stick-straight hair. He doubted he’d ever seen hair more glorious - aside from his own, of course. A completely pale girl - truly colorless, not simply lacking much pigment - was standing behind him, dressed in all black.

Quite the quandary, he thought to himself, why such a beautifully colorless person would choose to dress in a void of color. Especially when such magnificent spectrums of color existed in the world and in fabric. As he cogitated on color, the albino girl started nibbling on something just as white as she was.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice inflectionless.

The girl shrugged, glancing around. “No one of consequence. Just someone under the mistletoe, same as you.”

“Ah, yes, the conditioning plant,” he murmured silently to himself, thinking back on a conversation he’d only just had with a blonde girl minutes before. Mistletoe is for kissing, you idiot! he recalled her voice.

As if he had no qualms about it, he leaned down and pecked her square on the lips. A surprised, agitated squeak sprang from her mouth. Flak had only briefly touched her before he pulled back, a quizzical look on his face. “That is the proper use of mistletoe, is it not?” he queried, eyebrows raised.

Crystal, so rigid from shock and anger, simply stood frozen. Her mouth twisting in a grimace, she glared up at him, the hint of near-banter gone. “What did you do that for?!” she hissed between clenched teeth, magenta eyes focused in a daggerlike stare.

“According to human tradition, I was supposed to… and you didn’t insult my hair.” With a smile - one that more closely resembled a grimace than anything - Flak turned on his heel and strode off, as if proud he’d mastered one of the elusive human traditions.

Now it was Crystal’s turn to be left scowling after an individual. She wasn’t even sure of what his name was - but she knew that as of tonight, she hated him.

Her anger was about ready to spill over into little black sparkles of destruction when a female cackle split the air. A lower chuckle soon followed. Eyes slit, Crystal followed the sound to a nearby table. There, a short-haired blonde and a familiar dark presence sat.

Lee’s voice was the first one that addressed her: “That was something close to perfection,” she rasped between bouts of laughters, smirking but not quite smiling.

Rayk was similarly preoccupied, an uncharacteristic smile on his face. “Didn’t realize you and Grape-Hair of Wrath over there were a thing,” he smirked, eyebrows raised in amusement.

While he looked on, Crystal strode forward with something close to murderous intent in her eyes, only to be stopped when Lee stood up in front of Rayk. “Sorry, but you look pretty mad, huh? Maybe you wanna chill down a little before you go all ragnarok on him or something, eh?”

There was an edge to Crystal’s voice when she spoke: “I’m not gonna hurt him.”

“Well, we’re gonna go dirt biking tomorrow, so try to not break him, yeah?” Lee replied, hanging close by behind Rayk’s left shoulder.

“Yeah, don’t break me, Crystal, I have so much to live for,” came the snarky tone from Rayk’s corner of the table. Dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt, nothing had changed about his general appearance.

In the space of two seconds, the possibility of a civil conversation was killed brutally. The argument built up in moments, causing a very-argument-weary Lee to roll her eyes and receive the urge to repeatedly stab something - preferably in the face.

As she glanced over, she noticed something out of the ordinary - at least in everyday life. More of the nefarious green-white-berried plants. She couldn’t help letting loose a snorting laugh, snickering at the irony.

The raucous disagreement was interrupted by the intrusive, knife-wielding girl. “What?” came the dead-toned reply from Rayk, glaring daggers - daggers not intended for Lee.

“Heh. Just irony,” she replied easily, pointing at the mistletoe.

Crystal began hissing loudly, ranting about how it was everywhere, and who possibly could have done that?

Rayk, ever the sarcastic one, simply threw a Hershey’s Kiss at her face. She snatched it out of the air with a fair amount of grumpiness. “Here, this fixes everything,” he replied with an easy tone, leaning back in his chair like he was done with the discussion.

Nodding to herself, Crystal unwrapped her newfound treasure, stuffed it and a marshmallow in her mouth, and excused herself from the table and thereby the argument.