The Waffle Truth

     Trevy was surprised by this every time.

     It was uncanny, because Trevy was no less intelligent than any other Neopet, and quite a bit smarter than some. Yet never in her long life with Trish did she ever connect waffles to bad news, despite the fact that it was the only time she ever got to eat them. Perhaps it was the sugar rush (Trevy adored syrup) provoking some sort of chemical reaction that prevented the necessary connections to form in her brain.

     Not that Trish was complaining, of course.

     “Trevy, we need to move,” Trish announced just as Trevy was enthusiastically making her way through the third plate of Acara Day Waffles.

     The Cybunny stopped and stared at her sister.

     “What? Why?” she asked in a trembling voice. “We love Meridell!... Don't we?”

     “It's the Lenny,” Trish replied with a shrug. “I'm sorry, but he is giving me the-- what's the technical term?”

     “Heeby-jeebies?” Trevy offered.

     Trish shuddered and nodded.

     Unfortunately, for the past month or so, a giant Mutant Lenny had perched itself on the roof of their house, staring malevolently at Trish whenever she left or returned to their home. Trevy was not particularly bothered by the Lenny, but Trish could not stand the fixed, beady glare, the bobbing head at the end of that long, crooked neck, the giant, heavy wings that opened and closed with a creaky, snapping sort of sound, like bones being ground together...

     Or, for that matter, the fact that at each day, at three in the morning, the Lenny would look up at the sky, open its jagged beak and its beak would spill forth words of prophecy to chill the blood of all those who heard it.

     And boy, did Trish hear it, especially since it happened right outside her window.

     Most of the stuff the Lenny said was actually accurate. A few weeks before, he'd actually predicted that the faeries would be turned to stone. Trish had thought this a big pile of dung at first, but then he'd been proven right. Most of the other stuff he predicted were pretty harmless, though; for example, he'd been useful enough to forewarn Trish about an impending stock market crash and she'd sold all her stocks just in time. Then, another day, he predicted the mailman's arrival. Why, just that morning, he'd crooned in his creepy voice: “Beware the wear of the wood that turns the land, for it will snap as surely as the moon does rise! Beware the handle of the great metal tooth that bites into the ground, for it will break and leave you weeping with the futility of your task!” And sure enough, as Trish was digging through the NeoGarden, tending to the long-neglected shrubs, the handle of her hoe snapped, leaving her unable to continue her task.

     That was when she decided she could not stand it anymore.

     “He's freaking me out and we need to move,” Trish said firmly.

     “You haven't even tried to talk to him,” Trevy said, licking her plate clean. “Maybe if you ask him nicely, he'll leave.”

     Trish stared incredulously at the blue Cybunny.

     “He's a creepy Mutant Lenny who never eats, never sleeps and foretells the future every night,” Trish pointed out. “And you want me to... 'ask him nicely'.”

     Trevy rolled her eyes.

     “Oh, come on, you've lived in the Haunted Woods,” Trevy said. “You used to have to fend off Count Von Roo just walking to the grocery store. Now you're afraid of some--”

     “Abomination against Neopia? Yes, Trevy. Yes I am.” Trish crossed her paws huffily. “This isn't some Blumaroo in a silly costume!”

     “You know, at this rate, we're going to have to move every couple of months. Remember the Lost Desert?”

     Trish shifted uncomfortably.

     “So, our home was built over a mummy tomb.” She shrugged. “The real estate agent said it happened all the time.”

     “No, he said it was a freak accident that could not have possibly been predicted,” Trevy said pointedly. “And he said it over neomail, because he would not, for the life of him, come anywhere near our house. We were stuck on the roof the whole night and had to wait for the Defenders of Neopia to come save us. And besides, where would we move this time, Trish?”

     “I dunno... Mystery Island? I heard the weather was nice.” Trish shrugged.

     “Yes, Trish,” Trevy rolled her eyes, “the weather is nice. To make up for all the cannibals.”

     “Oh, come on, that's a myth.”

     “So were mummies until they rose from the grave and shambled across our living room,” the Cybunny pointed out.

     “Well then, aren't you glad we moved from there?” Trish said.

     “We wouldn't have had to, if you'd apologized to Edna before we left the Haunted Woods,” Trevy said.

     “Oh, not this silly 'curse' business again,” Trish snorted.

     “I'm just saying, we never had to move three times in one year before you insulted Edna.”

     “Look, there's no such thing as curses, okay?” Trish said pointedly.

     “Oh, no? So the creepy Lenny chose our roof completely at random?” Trevy asked.

     “It's a nice roof,” Trish mumbled.

     Trevy stared at her sister with exasperation.

     “I'm going to need another plate of waffles,” the Cybunny muttered and raised a paw to flag down the waitress.

     “What I don't understand is why you're not as freaked out by that Lenny as I am,” Trish said.

     “I dunno,” Trevy shrugged. “Maybe it's because I'm not a wuss?” she teased.

     “Oh, ha ha, very droll,” Trish deadpanned.

     “Or because I'm not the cursed one?” the Cybunny continued.

     “Well, it's not fair,” Trish muttered.

     “Oh, please stop,” Trevy snorted. “This stuff happens to you with disturbing frequency.”

     A new plate of waffles had arrived and Trevy tore into them with gusto.

     “Remember when you insulted that Light Faerie?” Trevy reminisced. “You glowed in the dark for three months.”

     “I didn't insult her!” Trish protested. “I said she was looking a bit dull for a supposed Light Faerie.”

     “Right, and that wasn't at all insulting,” Trevy snorted. “Or that whole business with King Skarl?”

     “I fixed that! I apologized, didn't I?”

     “Yes, just as he was about to hang us by our tails over the moat as an example,” Trevy muttered. “We're lucky he had no idea we lived here. If he didn't think we were just dumb tourists, we would have probably ended up exiled.”

     “I didn't think my joke was that bad,” Trish sighed.

     “Look, just... Next time you talk to someone, just ask yourself two things: first, are they capable of making you feel very, very sorry for insulting them, and second, do you really need to criticize anything about their person?”

     “It's constructive criticism, though,” Trish insisted.

     Trevy glared.

     “Nonetheless,” the Cybunny insisted. “Please, think of everyone as Dr. Sloth in disguise: not to be trifled with.”

     “Okay,” Trish said, though she was starting to sulk.

     “And tomorrow morning, you're going to Edna to apologize,” Trevy added sternly.

     “But--”

     “No buts,” Trevy cut off her sister. “At this rate, by next year, we'll have run out of places on Neopia and ended up living in a world made completely out of jelly.”

     Trish giggled at this mental image.

     “That's silly. Jelly isn't structurally sound!” the Eyrie said.

     “Exactly.” Trevy nodded. “Now, are you going to pay for the waffles?”

The End