A/N: Hi, I’m Book Eater. Taka wrote the part of Bubbles and I wrote the voice of Roadkill. I hope you enjoy while they try to kill each other. Really, we don’t hate each other in real life, though. I’m also not a squirrel in real life…looks shifty-eyed…of course I’m not a squirrel…ignore what Taka says.

A/N: Taka: Whatever you pointy-eared midget. Mwahahahaha. This is what comes of little sleep and a traumatic childhood. As well as my antipathy against squirrels and those darn plot bunnies. I don’t really want to kill squirrels… though some of those vermin in Central Park could use a sound lesson… friendly my foot…

Bubbles

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The shopkeeper looked up. The door swung open as the rather annoying buzzer sounded. I stumped into the shop. The cashier hurried forward expectantly.

“Welcome to Fred’s Guns and Ammunition.” He was a seedy man who looked as if he would keel over at any second. “Can I get anything for you?” The Oh-so-polite tone was contradicted by the sneer. So what if I wear a bunny shirt under my overall’s? They make excellent stew thank you very much!

I scratched my blond stubbly chin. “ Uh yeah. A WZ63 submachine gun if you got one.”

“I believe we have one in the back. If I could just see your weapon’s license I would be happy to show it to you.

I muttered something about “left it” and “home”.

“Ah. Well then I’ll reserve it for you under your account.”

Another mumble.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

Something to the effect of : “I don’t have…”

“That is easily fixed. What name should I put your account under?”

This was the part I always hated. I had been cursed with a name so terrible, so vile, that I shied away from any kind of introduction. A name that had caused years of therapy and trauma. A name that was a source of shame, ridicule, and the hillbilly laughs of any new neighbors. I braced myself.

“The name’s Bubbles Strasser.”

I was sort of grateful. There wasn’t even one guffaw. True there had been a snort but the cashier had the decency of trying to disguise it as a sneeze.

“Call me Bub.”

“Well Mr…. Bub, until you can provide a valid license I belienve that we have no more business. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” I growled and added some choice expletives that I found very colorful when his back was turned. I stormed out to my red Ford pickup (my little monster-truck wheeled, 5 ton, 4 doored, shiny baby), slamming the door so hard I don’t think the buzzer has ever been the same. Probably a good thing.

Roadkill

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The street was always very busy at noon. Lots of cars. All going very fast, with lots of drivers talking on cell phones and thinking of lunch.

I liked it best that way.

I watched very carefully for a female driver. Preferably late twenties or early thirties, because they always screamed loudest. Sometimes, they even cried, and said things like, “Is it alright? Did I hit it? Oh, it scared me half to death!” I tried very hard to look cute and innocent then. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a lot of men on the road…not the swearing type, either. Calm drivers are no fun. Understandably, I was excited to see the perfect target drive by…young, female, and with a nice, big SUV.

Here’s a riddle: Why did the squirrel stop in the middle of the road?

Answer: Why did the human swerve to avoid it? (Okay, I know. It’s not an answer. You’re just jealous that you didn’t think of it.) Why do you think I’m called Roadkill?

Anyway…fifteen paces in a quick dash, and then a pause. I watched my target’s eyes widen in shock. She didn’t scream, but she did yank the steering wheel pretty hard. Ah well. They can’t all be perfect.

The car behind was bad, though. Red Ford pickup truck, four-door, monster wheels, with a man who looked inclined to road rage behind the wheel. You know…the type with a fifty-fifty chance of swerving. Lucky for me, he hit the SUV. Shattering glass, some swearing, some crying. Entertaining to watch, sure, but better seen from the bushes.

“Git off the road, ya mangy varmint!” The voice had a strong accent, and followed up this statement with some strong words. Then, a sound of legend…gunfire. Oops…only one thing to do. I began to dart back and forth across the road. Lots of crashing cars. No fire, though, so maybe it wasn’t too bad…one bullet grazed my tail, which really hurt. Physically, of course, but also in the pride region…my first injury in my noble profession, which was saying a lot.

Soon, a clicking sound…out of bullets. To be injured without giving injury was an unthinkable thing. What was there to do but lunge at the man? After lunging, the next logical step was to bite his ear. This caused much swearing and tossing of the head on his part. It didn’t take me too long to go flying, and I’m not sure if I landed on my feet, but I landed in the bushes, so it was all right. After a while, I noticed I still had part of his ear.

Yum…