A Bedtime Story

     You do realize the only reason I’m here is because I’m getting paid five neopoints an hour, right? Yeah, really – I’m making money off this, Fyora knows how much I deserve it. What do I mean by that? I’d say taking care of a little twerp like you is worth at least that. And, no, I’m not trying to be mean.

     Well, good, great, glad we got that cleared up. Now, it’s your bedtime – I don’t care when Mommy normally lets you go to bed; this instruction paper says you should be sound asleep by 8:30. No, I don’t believe in the ‘five more minutes’ thing – five turns into fifty really fast. And don’t you dare try wheedling me into it, because I don’t fall for those things. It’s bedtime.

     Yes. I’m serious. I’m not making this up just to torture you – it says right here, see? So hop in. Or I’ll take away your game privileges. Or outdoor privileges. Or whatever little Kyrii look forward to in their day these days. Get in bed now.

     Good job – see? That wasn’t bad, was it? Listening to me is always better.

     You want a bedtime story, now? Oh, come on. Spoiled kids these days. ‘I want my bedtime story!’ – blimey, don’t start a temper tantrum now. Just, don’t. I’m not in the mood for the yelling and tears and stomping – so, gosh, I'll tell you the bedtime story, happy?

     You do realize I’m going to charge extra for it, though, right? And no milk or cookies, either.

     All right, let’s see. Once upon a time –

     Aw, no. What do you mean, that’s a clichéd beginning? Do you even know what ‘clichéd’ means? Let’s see you try coming up with something better. Now can I continue?

     Thank you. So, once upon a time, there was a little faerie. She was a –

     How am I being discriminating against girls? I’m a girl myself, so that’s like discriminating against myself. Seriously, you’re like, what, three? You shouldn’t know these things.

     You’re kidding. What do you mean, little faeries are too young for you?

     Ugh, fine. You know what. Fine.

     Once upon a time, there was a vicious pirate-knight. Happy? She lived high in the mountains of, eh, Shenkuu, in a pink castle with frills and ribbons and glitter. She had three petpets – it’s a story, it doesn’t matter if it’s against the PPL regulations – named, eh, er... something. They were all expensive and wore bejeweled collars and, er...

     ...Shut up. Improvisation is hard.

     So, as I was saying. Vicious pirate-knight, pink castle in the mountains, gamboling little petpets. And – she’s a pirate, right? So she owned a big, imposing ship called – well, you pick a name for it. Something mean and fearsome. Black Pawkeet. Black Tooth. Black Beard. Black Berry. Black-something.

     No, the ‘Black Blankie’ is not a real pirate ship name. I mean, come on – ‘her enemies cowered in terror at the sight of the fearsome pirate-princess-knight at the prow of her ship, the Blank Blankie. It’s stupid.

     ...Don’t you dare go all teary on me now. No. Save those for when I really get the angst going in the story, yeah?

     All right, all right, fine, fine, fine. Be that way.

     Recap: Vicious pirate-knight-princess – yeah, she’s a princess now. Deal. It’s a compromise, yeah? And so the pirate-knight-princess lives in a frilly castle in the mountains, with her three petpets, lots of money, and a big ship called, er, the, er, Black Blankie. Because she’s a pirate, she acts all pirate-ly and makes a habit of raiding the neighboring countries, invading homes and towns, striking fear and horror in people’s hearts, the usual pirate stuff, y’know?

     Smart aleck. You’ll never rise past ‘teacher’s pet’ in society if you keep acting like that. ‘But pirates raid on water’ indeed – fine, she’s a Viking then. And she steals stuff from people. Like their muffins.

     Yes, their muffins. Those things are made of such epic win, okay? Honestly. How are diamonds and gold and precious jewels worth more than muffins?

     All right, you. Do you want the bedtime story or not? There are clearly easier ways to get you to fall asleep – like, playing Cheat!, or reading you the Neopian Times editorial, or bashing you over the head with a rolling pin.

     No, I wouldn’t get convicted by the Defenders of Neopia. Believe me, no. I would claim self defense from an annoying little Kyrii. Or I could say you were Boochi in disguise. They’d buy it. Yes, they would, don’t doubt it for a moment.

     ...Be that way. So, the pirate-knight-princess person will steal some really valuable portable property, if that makes you happy. All right. Good.

     So, with her amazing ninja-like skill, the pirate girl sets sail in her –

     Oh, now you want a name? And a species? And a color? I’m a cheap babysitter being paid less than minimum wage, not an epic writing star like Chet Flash or whatever. Wait, you don’t know who he is, do you?

     Oh, well then. Someone’s educated. I’m not an Alstaf, whoever the heck he is.

     You want to call the pirate girl Alstaf? You’re kidding. It’s a guy’s name. And it sounds, so... ugh. Bleh. Don’t you want to go with something elegant and regal like, I don’t know, Iyalesianaelle or whatever?

     ...Well, it that’s what you want, I’ll go get the rolling pin now.

     Ugh, all right, all right, I give in. Though, you must know, puppy eyes are actually listed as a form of blackmail, so I wouldn’t continue with that habit if I were you.

     So, Alstaf set sail in her Black Blankie for the neighboring country, of, er, Shut-up-annoying-little-kid-land. No, it only sounds like an insult, I’m not really trying to say anything. So, she set sail.

     Riiight... so I did forget to mention her color and species when I said I would. How about, er, faerie? And a Kyrii like you?

     At last, you have something positive to say about my own-some skills of storytelling. Gasp. It’s the end of the world.

     And so, continuing the story, Alstaf landed on the darkened shore and crept towards the main city, which appeared as a dense bundle of black buildings in the distance. Yes. The city was suffering from a convenient lack of candles, lamps, and all other illuminating devices. It’s all part of the dramatic effect!

     ...One moment while I run down to the kitchen and grab the rolling pin.

     All right, so. Back to the story.

     Alstaf chose a large manor to make her target that night – it looked rich, and so she could probably steal quite a bit from the house to give to the poor.

     Yes, that’s what she does with all the money she steals. No, that’s not an overused concept at all, what silliness. Do you want this story told or not?

     Thought so. So with her amazing mad skills of secrecy and ninja-ness – I don’t care if pirates and ninjas are sworn enemies, she’s a Mary Sue half breed between the two or something – she climbed up the wall, bleached silver and white by the full moon. More dramatic effect, I don’t need you to comment on that. And she has epic wall-climbing skills because she’s a half ninja-pirate-knight-princess-whatever.

     ...Or she could use the rose trellis. That’s just stupid – why don’t you tell the story then, if you’re going to insist on picking on every little thing I do?

     Whatever. So, Alstaf used the rose trellis to climb up the wall. She came to an open window that just happened to be open, the curtains blowing into the room. She slipped through the window and entered the house, proceeding to sneak, er, sneakily through the halls. She picked a few locks, disabled a few locks, and then got to the house’s main vault. She’s telepathic, too, you know? So that’s how she knew the password to the main vault and its location and all that stuff.

     So, once inside the main vault, Alstaf proceeded to steal stuff. Yes, stuff. You imagine what sort of stuff, I don’t feel like listing it all out. Muffins. Muffins. Muffins. And maybe a little diamond. I don’t know, just stuff.

     Now here’s the good part. See, Alstaf forgot to disable one alarm, and a big wailing red siren went off. Yes... it was, erm, magic. Anyway. So the alarm goes off, and –

     Stop interrupting and ruining the story! For Fyora’s sake, who cares if it’s totally predictable? I mean, really. You’re supposed to at least pretend to derive entertainment from the fact that she’s gonna get chased by a stereotypically angry mob wielding pitchforks and torches, trip over an Angelpuss in the dark, end up captured and executed for her crimes.

     Oh, wait. Heh... whoops. There goes the rest of the plot.

     Um, and they all lived happily ever after?

The End