Unlikely Friends

      Royce the Elderly Bruce had spent the first half of his life carrying a sack of mail from one Neohome to another and delivering messages. His assigned locality had been in the suburbs of Neopian Central, and he’d known the area like the back of his right flipper. Each day he’d trudged down the same streets, waved hello to the same group of gossiping Unis trotting down Usuki Avenue, and made his way past a half-dozen Lupes out by their decks, tool belts at the ready as they insisted vociferously to anyone that would listen that this was the year that they would finally complete their Neohome renovations.

      That was all a lifetime ago, before Royce had been swept up in the glamorous world of petpet shows.

      Imagine this: glittering lights, a densely packed crowd of Neopets straining their necks so they can watch a tiny-but-fierce Ukali make its way down the runway and let out a puff of smoke in the shape of a heart to a chorus of saccharine awws, and in the midst of it all: Royce, sitting at the judge’s table, clipboard in hand as he furiously scribbles notes.

      Those had been the days. Royce had made his debut as a judge at a local petpet show, and quickly been catapulted to judging stardom. While other judges tossed out perfect scores without a care, Royce held himself to a higher standard. He’d never, in all his years of judging, handed out a ten.

      His immaculate ability to determine the nuances of a petpet’s performance and award points accordingly had eventually led to him judging the highest petpet show of all: the Neopian Petpet Spotlight.

      Five months after Royce got that gig, the Petpet Spotlight was shut down for maintenance. (On the down low, Royce had heard a disturbing rumor regarding petpets using the spotlight as a front to play games of Cheat! in the dressing rooms, but the official version of the truth was that the building the spotlights was housed in had a slorg infestation.)

      Royce had been heartbroken. He’d moved somewhere where no one had ever heard of him – where no one ever knew he’d been an esteemed critique of petpets across the land. Upon his arrival to his new home, aglow in his first taste of anonymity since his years as a neomail courier, he’d vowed to never critique a petpet ever again…

      Unfortunately, that wasn’t his choice to make.

      Royce heard the quick scurrying of tiny feet across the stone floor, and stumbled backward instinctively. “Mice?” he muttered beneath his breath, “in a castle this grand? It couldn't be.”

      "No!" yelled his host, a Royalgirl Usul. "Bad Francis!"

      "...Are...are you talking to the mouse?" Royce asked tentatively. He’d never met royalty before today, but he’d heard King Skarl was quite eccentric. Perhaps that was a trait he shared with Princess Skarlette.

      "That's not a mouse," the princess said, placing her paws on her hips. "It's Francis."

      "Ah, yes," Royce found himself saying. "Of course. Francis."

      'Am I supposed to know what that means?' he wondered. His sarcastic response went unnoticed by the princess, who suddenly, and seemingly without cause, leapt across the room, skirts awhirl.

      "I've got you!" she shrieked, somewhat maniacally.

      At that moment, Royce was overwhelmed by the desire to leave. His heart simply wasn’t in it. Years and years of watching petpets trot down runways had left him jaded and weary of the fast-paced and glamorous lifestyle that surrounded petpet shows.

      When he’d left Neopian Central, Royce had taken up residence in an inn by the outskirts of Meridell. His dearest wish had been to live a peaceful and quiet life, save for the occasional opportunity to yell at young Neopets that passed onto his property. He’d never been to Meridell before then, and he’d thought he might like it.

      He’d been very wrong, but now it was too late. The King’s daughter had heard of the angry old Bruce that once used to judge petpets for a living, and so he’d been dragged in to comment upon the princess’s pet.

      Perhaps it was his fate. No matter what he did, he came back to this.

      Skarlette had stood up now, and was holding her paws together delicately.

      "See?" she said. "Francis." She lifted one paw up, revealing a tiny, but perfectly average looking Seece crouched comfortably in the palm of her paw. Royce found its buck-toothed grin to be as alarmingly bizarre as it was charming.

      "Francis," Skarlette said sharply, "tell the nice judge a bit about yourself."

      Royce winced internally at the word ‘judge’ and the bittersweet memories it evoked to be referred to as such, but made no comment.

      The small, fuzzy mouse-like creature, on the other hand, squeaked delightedly, waving its tiny paws in excitement at the presence of a visitor.

      The Usul gasped. "What did I say about using that sort of language?" she chastised.

      Royce stared at the Usul quizzically for a moment, and decided that this farce had gone on long enough. He’d risk incurring the royal wrath of King Skarl if it meant he could be left in peace thereafter.

      “In your royal missive where you so kindly demanded my immediate presence, you mentioned that petpet has been making the rounds in the circuit,” he said, “But – and no offense intended, Princess – I don’t quite understand what it is that’s particularly special about…Francis.”

      Skarlette set the Seece down on the bed. “Watch,” she said, casting Royce a side-long glance. “He’s exceptionally well trained.”

      “Sit,” she said. The Seece stared up at its owner and squeaked in confusion. “Sit!” Skarlette yelled, loud enough that Royce jumped, or would have, if his elderly knees weren’t aching due to the imminent thread of rain. The Seece’s buckteeth reappeared as it smiled cutely, and promptly began tap-dancing upon the bed.

      Wait…tap-dancing. The little Seece was tap-dancing? What in Fyora’s name?

      “Why, he’s delightful,” Royce cried, taken aback. “Such talent! And where did that top-hat come from? And oh – a cane!”

      The little Seece did a delighted spin, tossing the thimble-sized top-hat into the air and catching it on its head as it twirled while Royce stared on in shock.

      “No!” Skarlette was yelling futilely. “Sit! I said sit!”

      Nearly an hour later, the Usul sat on the bed, her head in her paws as she looked down dejectedly. “I promise he’s not always so ill-behaved,” she said. “What with the dancing – and oh, that bit where he decided to do backflips when I asked him to roll over. Perfectly horrid,” she said, shuddering.

      Her little Seece was perched upon her shoulder, his tail happily thump-thump-thumping against her dress as he nuzzled her cheek affectionately.

      “Oh! And when he decided to recite the Constitution of Faerieland when I asked him to fetch!” Skarlette said, throwing her hands up in despair. “That was horrifying.”

      “Yes, truly horrifying,” Royce repeated, too focused on the alarmingly talented little Seece to comprehend the nonsense its owner was currently spouting. Royce could already imagine the future: he would bring Francis to the spotlight – he and Skarlette’s Seece would take the petpet show world by storm. And then, once he’d taken his share of the profits, he’d retire peacefully and live wonderfully alone, away from pesky Usuls and royalty.

      “Say,” he asked, strange thought occurring to him, “how did you acquire him?”

      Skarlette frowned. “Well, I’d just been morphed into a Royalgirl Usul after being a Skeith my whole life. It was a very complicated time,” she said, her eyes downcast. “I was incredibly happy, because being being a Usul had always been a dream of mine…” She paused. “Usuls are so very friendly, you know?”

      Royce nodded in agreement, wishing she would get to the point.

      “It was for my birthday, you see,” she continued. Her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment.

      “I had my father call all the faeries to his council, and they brewed me a morphing potion. I thought being a Usul might help me make more friends, too. But it didn’t. Sometimes I think that it’s my fault, and that I’m just too – hey, Francis! Stop that!” The Seece had stood up on its hind legs and pressed its paws against Skarlette’s face. It gave her a concerned lick.

      She laughed and plucked the Seece from her shoulder to lay him in her lap.

      “Francis has been my friend since the day I got him,” she said, petting him gently. “I found him out by the stables and brought him here. I thought he might be cold,” she explained.

      Royce found that a patch on the tapestry behind the Princess’s head had become the focus of his intense study. It allowed for a distraction from the largely unfamiliar feeling that had taken up residence within him: guilt. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever acted selflessly in his life.

      “Maybe he can’t sit or roll over when I tell him to, but he’s a very good friend, and I think everyone ought to have a good friend.” Skarlette was saying. She glanced down at Francis, who appeared to be attempting to make a nest out of her dress so he could rest more comfortably.

      “I can be difficult to deal with, I know, but he’s a very special petpet,” she said.

      Surprised by the self-awareness the Seece inspired in her, Royce couldn’t help but agree. “He’s very special indeed,” he said, and to his surprise, received a smile from the young Usul.

      “So?” Skarlette prompted. “What would you rate him? You know, being that you’re a judge.”

      Royce considered the matter carefully. He thought of how he’d been content as a mailman. He thought about the toll petpet shows had taken on him, and the fact that he’d been inclined to move to another land to escape their lingering hold. Mostly, he thought about a young girl crouching in a barn and discovering a small Seece, and instead of calling in an exterminator like Royce would have, making a new friend.

      “Ten,” he said.

      The End.