#shrccb

        The first of the month was creeping up on their backs, and there were few things more threatening than the prospect of late fees and cut utilities. In the midst of many failed attempts at being frugal, Bee had dipped into her rent funds for one too many purchases. 

         Perhaps she should have cut back on visits to the bakery, but honestly, it was much easier to give in to the aroma that place gave off than it was to rush down the block and pretend she hadn’t smelled perfection rising in an oven. And of course there was her bad habit of spoiling Puppycat with things he did not need, and usually did not want in the first place.  He always griped about the cutesy wardrobe she brought home to him, but that was primarily because of his tarnished image rather than Bee’s irresponsible spending. 

        Towards the end of the month she finally committed to cutting corners and clipping coupons, but the damage had already been done. Last minute penny pinching wouldn’t bring back what had already been spent ( and eaten). They were due for temp job nevertheless, and a little adventure never hurt either. 

        ❝ Alright we just get this job done, and we’ll have more than enough to pay rent! Maybe then I could get you that cute sweater I saw yesterday!❞       

        <Your misaligned priorities are the reason we’re up this early on a Saturday morning. I don’t need anymore clothes. Now let’s go.>

         Puppycat glances over their industry memo before pressing a paw against the signature line. Their living room fades around them, left behind it its proper dimension while its tenants vanish in a burst pastel lights. The emerge into the dark emptiness of the Temp Space Agency, descending towards the dull blue glow of their commissioner’s computer screen. As always, Temp Bot is cheerful and her expression is merry--or rather, as merry as a computer screen could possibly be.

        “Hello, Bee! Hello, Puppycat! It’s been awhile! Today you’ll be working for Princess Shroob,the leader of the Shroob race! ”        

         ❝ Blehhh...royalty again? I hope she isn’t anything like that jelly blob queen.❞ Both Bee and Puppycat shiver at the memory of that she-tyrant. After a particularly unlucky streak of demanding jobs, they were hoping for something more easy going. But beggars can’t be choosers, anything that would make their wallet a little thicker in the end would be embraced.  

        Following their uniform assignment, Temp Bot spits them into Shroob’s domain. As they progress across the planet’s surface, Puppycat gives Bee his usual briefing.  <The shroobs are a race of poison fungus people. I believe they might be a nomadic race, and they function under a monarchy. That is all I know, so pay close attention when she gives instructions.>  

 That voice–that voice! Oh, oh, it wasn’t the cowardly tremble from that pathetic green brother that she could easily swipe aside and feed to her underlings, but that horrible,unbearable tone–albeit it was only one cautious word that escaped his lips–that crept from thehero’s mouth, the same man that had once destroyed her every fiber alongside her sister–anembarrassing defeat, given how far they had already come, and how desperate they were to go even further, for the sake of their race thriving in the future. They ruined everything and now–now that hero had the idiotic audacity to approach her in such a calm–yet aware–state and to further greet her with something as friendly–and insulting–as a wave.

 Needless to say, her greeting wasn’t as nice.

 Pivoting on her heel gave way to her visage, fangs already bared and seeping with poison as her tongue snaked out and writhed about her lips. In turn of his wave, she gave a quick swipe with one of her claws but quickly retracted afterwards, though her expression still painted an enraged emotion across her face, all aimed directly at how Mario acted–how he had greeted her–just because he was there.

 ❝∨ ∩–❞ She spat in her native language. ❝Ξ Π ⊃ ∪ Ξ!! ∠ ∠ ∀ ⊥ Σ!!! ∃ Σ ⊥ ∪ Γ ∀!!❞

Welp, that sure escalated quickly. Granted, Mario realized he probably couldn’t hope for sunshine and rainbows from the onset, but...c’mon. A little civility doesn’t kill anybody.

...Wait, did baby tears count as civility in some cultures; because if so, he’d put his foot in his mouth now--

The moment she brandished her claws, she’d quickly discover that averting her initial urge to attack had been a smart move. In that half-instant, Mario’s knees were already bent a tad, arms raised ever-so-slightly -- if she’d pressed inward against him, there’d have been a prompt stomping counterattack.

He may be approaching her like...well, Mario at the moment, but beware the silly ones, princess. His guard is never down.