(almost no interruptions) When a lonely child by the name of Clay and the nickname of Dream discovers a Mermaid Prince as lonely as he is, they grow to become best friends on the outside, with a few tiny feelings on the inside. How the hell are supp...
"Alright, alright I'm going! Jeez, Puffy! You're like my mom!"
"Yeah and I always feel like I am because I always have to make sure you're not getting arrested every 5 minutes! You just love doing crazy dangerous stuff, this is your chance to make it up! Now go!"
"Already gone!"
The woman's rainbow hair flew behind her like burrs in the wind as she waved to Dream. The shining smile wilted a little, but just enough so that she still looked kind and approachable.
"Well, now that he's gone . . . "
She turned her head in our direction.
"May I ask why you were spying on him?
Both our faces went white as sheets, and I was too frozen in shock to give her a proper answer.
I wish I could tell you that I kept my calm, introduced us as Clay's schoolmates, and asked for her help, but the very first thing I did was look over at Karl . . .
To see he had fainted.
"KARL!"
"God! I've never seen someone pass out before meeting me! It's always after!"
"Wait, why is it after?"
"Er, maybe we should focus on your little friend first."
The lady walked over to Karl, picking him up in a bridal position.
"Come on Wilbur. I'll need your help after I explain everything."
"How did you know my name?"
"Not important. Let's just get to my house fast so we can treat Karl. After, we need to run after Dream to make sure we don't miss his conversation with George."
"Alright, alright. Wait, who's George?"
While I followed her through the thick brush, she introduced her name as Captain Puffy, a witch from the DSMP, whatever a DSMP may be. She said she knew Clay as Dream, but she knew it was the opposite for us and filled us in on a few "Key moments" in Clay's(or dream? I'm just calling him dream for now.) life. I had always thought that he was a little too quiet, and even though there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, it always felt like he had so much more in him. It was like that feeling you get after receiving some bad news and you start to keep to yourself a little more.
After a few minutes of running, we came to a mildly overtaken-by-nature looking, victorian style house, with strangely vibrant pink and purple flowers on the sides of the house, falling off the vines like blobs of grapes.
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(like this but with fewer flowers around the windows also imagine it in a largeish clearing)
"Alright, can you open the door, or are your hands full?"
"No, I got it."
Entering the house, I could definitely understand how someone could live there. It had the glossiest oak floors I've ever seen, with a small wood-burning stove, an oak desk, what must have been THOUSANDS of books in every direction I turned and a moderately messy bed with lots of stuffed animals splayed all over it.
