Another somewhat short chapter, but quite a bit happens during it...quite a bit of useless stuff, anyway. And some important stuff. I am so mean to them. :D

I love writing this story. I think I might actually finish it. Actually, I've already got the end drafted out. Woot.

Thankies to CrazyJujube for another review. (That was rather sneaky, changing your name on me like that. :P ) It is a good thing you are only offering Mango your chocolate after it's gone, because I seriously don't think Mango needs more sugar...especially not during this chapter. Heh heh...

We ended up going fishing. Only, not quite fishing: it was Tuesday's variation on fishing. He didn't like worms, he claimed, so we didn't use bait. Not that we would have caught anything, anyway, seeing as how we were dropping our lines into a pond in the middle of nowhere. Or my development, whichever is more believable. Now why were we fishing where there was no possibility of catching fish? Well, I, I was aiming for birds.

Okay, not seriously. Jeez, people, did you actually believe that one? 'Cause I really would never do that. Birdie, birdie, birdie. Birdies are nice. (Insert smiley face.)

Yes, if you haven't guessed, I had coffee. Lots and lots and lots of coffee. Okay, not really; I only had a couple cups (alliteration!), because Tuesday drank some, and then Monica drank some (don't ask when she got home; she wasn't there when Tuesday and I went to sleep, and I really hadn't thought she would be home so soon). Needless to say, I was not a happy camper.

Fortunately, we were not going camping, we were just going fishing. For invisible fish. With invisible worms. I wonder if invisible worms are slimy. Huh. At least invisible worms don't cost money. And I don't have to hunt for them. See, if I liked fishing to begin with, I could really begin to like Tuesday's idea of fishing. But I have always hated fishing. Why? Because when I was six, my cousin shoved a raw (live) fish in my mouth while we were at camp. It tasted like seawater, and it was...alive. And wriggling. Talk about traumatizing.

Anyway, the reason we were fishing without bait was that Tuesday just wanted to talk. As though, you know, we hadn't talked every single time we wrote letters back and forth. Funny, though, we still had things to talk about. (Actually, it was mainly me talking, being caffeine-high and all.) Tuesday said he liked to just think things through, but he needed something to do with his hands. I had imitated smoking weed, and Tuesday had cuffed me upside the head-which had really hurt, thanks for asking. (Isn't that a stupid expression, though? "Upside the head"...as though my head has a downside. Maybe "downside the head" would me if he swiped his hand downwards, instead of upwards? Eh, language is confusing.)

"...fireworks?" My ears pricked up at the end of Tuesday's statement, too late to do any good.

"Eh?" I asked. Yes, I'm a pyro. What blue-haired kid is not? Or maybe it would be red-haired kid. I had red hair once! I think it was around my birthday last year. But I'm not sure. After awhile, all the colours kind of blend together. Like, I can tell you that my hair was green at one point, but I don't know whether it was before or after it was purple. Or maybe the red came in between. But you probably don't care, do you?

"Are you allowed to light off fireworks here?"

"Dunno. If not, I do it anyway. Only, I don't know if Monica will let me light any off this summer, because last summer, I..." I paused, uncertain how to phrase it. "I wasn't aiming for the neighbour," I said finally.

Tuesday turned to me, eyes the size of saucers. "You hit one of your neighbours?"

I began to cackle. "No! I would have been killed! Monica would have fried my bones. Or my skin. And then broken my bones. Eaten the marrow. I don't know, something along those lines."

Tuesday blinked at me, trying to process the statement. I admit, I had said it a little fast. I didn't want to think about Monica eating my marrow. That was just nasty! "So what did you do?"

I shrugged. "One of them broke a window. And I almost lit the porch on fire." I thought for a minute. "Come to think of it, I don't think I ever painted over the burnt spot. I should do that this year." I clapped my hands (I had set my fishing rod off to the side; there was no need to hold on to it, when there weren't even fish around). "You can help me!"

"I've never painted a porch before."

I chuckled. "Monica never even let me near finger paints," I confessed. "I mean, I can't believe she trusts me enough to touch the porch. Then again, she'll never notice it anyway...unless I don't paint it. And if she were hiring someone, I would probably have to pay for it, being the cause of the damage and all." I wrinkled my nose. "I don't even have a job, and she expects me to pay for things! Crazy woman!"

Tuesday blinked at me a couple of times and then shook his head. "Note to self: never give Mango coffee."

I pouted. "But I like coffee. And pancakes. You should make more pancakes. But not invisible fish pancakes. Because I don't think invisible fish taste very good. And fish pancakes is just nasty. Are? Are they just nasty? Or is they? Augh, brain!" I flopped dramatically on my back, clutching at my head. I think Tuesday was ignoring my antics at this point...but I still have you to torture, don't I? Wait, am I talking to myself? I'm torturing myself? Oh no!

"What's wrong?" Tuesday asked in alarm. I looked at him blankly. "Well, people don't just go around yelling 'oh no' when nothing's wrong."

"Oh. I didn't realize I had said that out loud." I shrugged. "I don't remember what I was thinking about."

Tuesday rolled his eyes and began slowly reeling his line in. I watched him. He didn't catch anything (surprise surprise!), but he cast his line again. Suddenly, my fishing pole zoomed forward (super-speed fishing rod!!) and hit me in the head (I was still lying on the ground). But did it stop there? No, it flew out towards the pond. Instinct made me lunge for it, and I caught it. And was almost pulled into the pond.

"Tuesday!" I yelped. "I think I got dinner!"

"-the hell?" Tuesday shouted. "I thought you said there were no fish here!"

"I don't think there are!" I stumbled a few steps closer to the water. "Tuesday, get your fat ass over here and help me with this!"

Tuesday caught me around the waist (oh God, why, why does he torture me?), and we both pulled back on the pole. "Try reeling it in," Tuesday instructed.

"You do it! I don't know what I'm doing!"

Tuesday snorted. "All you have to do is turn that little crank right there back towards you."

"This?"

"Do you see any other cranks?"

"Good point." I tried to reel it in. Super-strength muscles, I choose you! Gah, my powers must not have been working; I could barely budge it. "Your turn."

Tuesday's hands brushed mine as he reached for the crank, and I fought to keep from shivering. Trust me, it's really difficult; he's extremely fuckable. Oh, wait, I think I mentioned that already. Once or twice, you know? Or maybe you haven't been listening. Yeah, Tuesday is mighty fuckable. Or fuckable and mighty. Or both. Mmm.

I'm going to skip the part of Tuesday reeling in our-my!-catch, because it basically consists of a lot of grunting and me feeling horny. Because Tuesday was fucking pressed against me. God damn. I just wanted to tell him to forget the fish, but he was reeling it in like it was the most important thing in the world.

Finally, finally, we pulled the beast up onto the land. I swear, it must have taken us half an hour at least. Jeez. It had better be a big fish; my arms felt like they were going to fall off, and Tuesday had done most of the...reeling. What would that be called? 'Cause I don't think reeling is the word I'm looking for. Scratch that, I know it isn't. Eh, whatever. He was reeling. (I hope he reels when I'm pressed against him. Except he's straight. Damn it.)

I took a closer look at our prize and screamed. "Snapper!" I let go of the fishing rod, but I couldn't move because Tuesday still had his arms around me to hold the pole. "Snapping turtle, snapping turtle, snapping turtle!" I shrieked. "Lemme go, Tues!"

Tuesday, the insane one, was laughing. No, more like cackling. Like, I have never seen someone laugh so hard in my entire life. It was kind of comical, only...it was a freaking snapping turtle. That thing could probably, like, eat through my arm. Or my foot. I began doing a weird dance, trying to keep my feet off the ground. Maybe it wouldn't eat through them if they weren't on the ground.

Tuesday let go of me and walked carefully towards the turtle. "Fool!" I yelped. "It'll eat you!"

"We can't leave it stuck to a fishing rod for the rest of its life," Tuesday pointed out. "Anyway, the hook isn't through his mouth, it's just on his shell." When he got a couple feet away, he clipped the line. "It'll probably fall off at some point," he said, coming back towards me.

The turtle moved towards us. I screamed again. "Run!" Without giving Tuesday time to do anything else stupid, I grabbed his hand and yanked him along, running as fast as I could away from the pond. God, only someone with my luck (or lack thereof) could catch a snapping turtle in a community pond. Jeez. Although it was kind of funny...

At last, we were far enough away (at least, I hoped so, because I couldn't run any further), and we slowed to a walk (or rather, I slowed to a walk and pretty much gave Tuesday whiplash because he was still running). We both bent over panting. Tuesday began to laugh again. "I just-keep thinking-about you-saying you had dinner!" he gasped around fits of laughter.

I stuck my nose in the air, play-acting as a pompous ass. I used the British accent and everything. "Have you never heard of turtle soup before?" I pretended to peer at him through a monocle.

Tuesday sobered immediately, giving me an odd look. "Wow, you just sounded exactly like my uncle. Creepy." He began to laugh again. "Is there really such a thing as turtle soup?"

"Yeah. I heard it's really hard to clean the turtle in order to cook it. I saw a documentary about it once." What? I had been sick, and it had been the cooking channel or the sci-fi channel. Which basically are the same thing: weird mushy things getting moved around. Mushy. I love that word. We're quite a couple, aren't we? Loopy and mushy. Huh. Oh God, I just referred to Tuesday and I as a couple. I wish. Damn hot straight boys.

"You're insane," Tuesday said, slinging his arm around my shoulders. "So, now that we've had our excitement of the day, what do we do next?"

"Dunno."

"I chose fishing; it's your turn to choose an activity. Only, nothing permanently scarring, okay? No cliff-diving or anything like that."

"Hey, your fishing idea turned out to be potentially scarring," I pointed out. "I don't think you can get on my case about choosing potentially scarring things. Especially since I only chose to go get candy floss last time."

"All right, all right, I take that back, just choose something."

I grinned slyly. "Anything?"

"I don't like that look," Tuesday said nervously.

"Come on!" I said, pulling Tuesday along in the direction of the boardwalk. The best thing about suburbia: anywhere you want to go, you can walk to. Ditto for living in the city. Only we probably would have had a worse time finding a pond in a city. But yeah, I hated cars. Well, not cars, really, I just hated being behind the wheel. It might have had something to do with the time I crashed into the garage door and was grounded for a month...or that time I almost ran over the neighbour's cat...or that time-okay, I think you get the picture. I suck at driving. I can't multitask. The end.

You know, I really felt like jumping on top of that bench over there...Hmm. Must...quell...strange...urges! Nope. No self-control whatsoever. I dropped Tuesday's hand and leapt atop the bench. "I am Lord Mango, Turtle-Catcher!" I yelled, attracting the (rather disturbed) looks of a few passersby. Eh, they were tourists anyway (evidenced by the tacky clothing and abundance of cameras). Do people actually believe people who live by the beach wear tropical prints all the time? Regardless, I would never see them again.

Tuesday stared at me. I shrugged. "What?"

Tuesday smirked and then jumped on the bench beside me. "I am Prince Tuesday, God of Sex!!" Yes, two exclamation points for him; he yelled his ten times louder than me. Now, we were definitely getting looks, mostly from irate parents who were looking between us and their kids. (Not their goats, in case you need clarification. Although it might be kind of fun to bring a goat with you on vacation to see what the people at the hotels would do. But then the goat might chew on the sheets-I had my shoelaces eaten once-and then you would have to pay to replace them, and I don't have much money, not having a job and all, so yeah, maybe I shouldn't bring a goat with me on vacation. Not that I would anyway; I don't like goats. That one that ate my shoelaces? Yeah, it traumatized me. I was only seven, for crying out loud!)

Tuesday hopped off the bench and bowed to the people gawking at us. "Our work here is done." He glanced over his shoulder. "Come, Turtle-Catcher."

"How come you get to be a prince?" I whined.

"It isn't my fault you decided to be merely a lord. And from now on, you must refrain from taking such an informal tone with me. It's unseemly for one to speak thus to a prince." Wow, he was really good at this stuff.

"Aye, my Lord Sex God." Have sex with me? I sighed. Have I mentioned recently that Tuesday is absolutely fuckable? God damn. I walked a couple paces behind him, since he was prince and all. And I was, um, feeling rather horny. Yeah. Sex God. Mmm.

Tuesday stopped and waited for me to catch up, grinning. "I don't know where we're going, Turtle-Catcher."

I pouted. "Stop calling me that."

"I thought that was your name."

"No, I'm Lord Mango."

Tuesday snorted. "How did you come up with the name 'Mango' anyway? I mean, I understand why you don't want to go by Jonathan...whatever, but 'Mango?'"

I shrugged. "Why did your parents name you 'Tuesday?'"

"Tuesday is actually an acceptable name."

I bristled. "And Mango isn't?"

"I didn't mean it like that, I just meant...you're probably the only person in the world with that name."

"Good," I said shortly. Yeah, I'm a little sensitive about it. I don't feel like getting into it right now.

"So, are you going to tell me why you called yourself that?"

"No." I wasn't getting into that either.

"Where are we going?" Tuesday asked.

"You'll see," I teased. At last (okay, we hadn't really walked that far), we came to the place I was looking for, and I pulled Tuesday across the street. We stopped in front of a store with black painted-over windows and a flickering neon sign above it (that the owner left on day and night).

Tuesday raised an eyebrow. "A club? Looks kind of grungy."

"Nope," I said cheerfully. I indicated a neon green sign hanging on the door:

BODY PIERCINGS

Tuesday looked vaguely ill. "Uh...Mango? We're not...we're not..."

"Yup!" I jumped up and down a couple times. (I was still caffeine-high; funny, you'd think I would have got it out with the running for my life from a turtle thing. Apparently not. Note to self: if ever expecting to need to run for life, drink coffee. Interesting. Although I think coffee is supposed to dehydrate you. Eh, whatever. Caffeine!)

Tuesday gave me a look and folded his arms across his chest. "And this would be why I specified nothing 'potentially scarring.' I'm not going in there."

"Tuesday," I whined, drawing out his name.

"I'm not going in there," he repeated firmly. "Absolutely no fucking way." He glanced towards the building again. "Besides, it looks grungy; you'd probably get infected."

"It's not." I pulled him inside (hmm, either Tuesday really wasn't so set against this, or my super-strength was finally kicking in). A teen with black and pink hair and dozens of piercings was leaning back in a chair behind the counter. The place was surprisingly clean and painted all white and shiny. "See?" I asked Tuesday. I turned to my cousin, Adrian. "He mistrusts your ability to keep your shop clean," I informed him.

"You know him?" Tuesday asked, looking bewildered.

"Yeppers. He's my cousin. Tuesday, Adrian. Adrian, Tuesday." I grinned at Adrian. "He wants a piercing."

"No I don't!" Tuesday yelped.

Adrian grinned slyly at me. "Does he, now? And where does he want it?"

I'm tempted to say he wants his cock pierced, because a) then I could see it, and b) Tuesday's reaction would probably be comical. Heh heh. I'm a little evil sometimes. Let's see, what's the next best option? I can see everything on his face already..."Belly button." Mmm, Tuesday's stomach.

"No!" Tuesday yelped. Adrian was already working the cash register. Tuesday grabbed my arm. "Mango, he isn't really-I don't-"

"Relax," I said. "Jeez, don't be such a wuss. It doesn't hurt so bad."

Adrian snorted. "Like you would know. You haven't got anything besides your ear done."

I reached up and touched the piercings running up my cartilage. Did I mention those? Probably not. I got my first piercing in seventh grade, and I've added one a year since. They drive Monica crazy, and she made me promise not to add any others. But now I'm eighteen, so everything goes out the window. I mean, theoretically, she could still kick me out of the house, but she's never there anyway. I wonder if Tuesday would let me live with him if she did. Mmm, living with Tuesday. Oh, wait, that's what I'm doing already. Right. Mmm, living with Tuesday. Drool moment.

"So, are you getting anything done, or are you just torturing your new toy?" Adrian asked suddenly.

Tuesday straightened. "He's not mine," I said sulkily. "He's straight."

"I never said that," Tuesday mumbled.

I blinked at him. "Yeah, you did. Twice now."

"No. You asked me if I was gay. I'm not."

"But you aren't straight." I raised an eyebrow. "How does that work?"

"There's something called bisexual, Mango," Adrian said with a snicker. "Idiot."

"Oh. Duh." I blinked at Tuesday. "Wait, wait, wait, you're bi?"

Tuesday smirked. "Yep."

Oh, fuck. Fuck him. Actually, don't. You can't. I want to. He's mine. You can't have him. Bi. God damn. Something tells me I should have seen that one coming.

If anyone's wondering, that is how I go fishing. Yeah, I'm insane. :P And the incident with the snapping turtle did happen, only it was my sister catching it, it was in a lake, and my uncle had to dive down to get the fishing rod back. But yeah, she caught a snapper.

Is it strange that I'm afraid to let someone punch a hole through Mango, but I'm not afraid to punch holes through myself by myself? I mean, Mango is in far more capable hands than I was...Hmm..