Of Dictionaries and Space Monkeys: WordGirl Oneshots

Orange Juice (2015)

A/N: As I think I mentioned, I went on a writing spree after watching Rhyme and Reason for the first time. This, Forlorn, and like two other oneshots what aren't finished yet were the results. What can I say? #ihavetherandomestships. That's probably what I can say. XD

Enjoy!

-----

Rhyme was always the first one up. No exceptions.

Reason wasn't one to sleep in very often—he always set his alarm for seven and got up the first time it went off. He'd make his bed, get dressed, draw the curtains, and head to the kitchen for breakfast, always in that order. Rhyme was always sitting at the table, munching on her cereal as she read the paper.

"'Morning!" she'd greet him, and he'd do the same. On the counter, a bowl of dry cereal would be ready for him, banana next to it. He'd slice up the banana, put it and some milk on his cereal, and join his friend at the table.

They'd usually talk about something silly she'd spotted in the paper; what, if anything, rhymed with sudoku; and whether Cheeri-Loops were better than Fruitios. They'd stick their dishes in the sink and get ready to head out for the day.

Usually.

Today Reason, at 7:15 as usual, had the chance to make cereal for both of them and was now sitting at the table alone. His breakfast was becoming soggier by the minute, but something didn't feel right.

He got up and poured two glasses of orange juice.

He sat back down after taking a sip. It was better—they'd both nearly forgotten about that orange juice; it was clear in the back of the fridge and only days away from expiring—but it still wasn't right. Rhyme wasn't there, and that was weird.

"Everybody sleeps in sometimes," Reason muttered to himself, glancing at the paper he'd gone out to get. He didn't unroll it. "I'm sure it's fine. She's probably just tired."

Tired after doing what? They were done moving; just bored. All yesterday they'd just watched TV (for crime inspiration) and played some of their old video games (...also for crime inspiration). Rhyme was up with the sun the day after getting home from jail at one in the morning. Tired from doing stuff wasn't the problem.

Maybe she didn't get enough sleep? She was usually out like a light the second she hit her pillow. They'd lived next to a train station once (mistake), and she showed no signs of noticing it even after a week of no sleep had forced him to finally buy earplugs. She usually slept fine.

Which narrowed down the reasons for her not being up already to pretty much nothing. He frowned, ignoring his mushy cereal. Something had to be up, if not wrong.

He stood up, though it didn't improve his height much, and glanced toward the hallway. No music or other noises were coming from her room, as was usual if that's where she was.

He walked down the hall, stopping at one of the lime green doors. A hanging sign was nailed to it—a piece of paper that read RHYME in big blue and green letters. A smiling slice of bread with peanut butter on it was doodled underneath. He smiled a bit, not really ever having had the time to look at it, but shook it off. That wasn't what he was here for.

He held his ear up to the door for a good minute—not eavesdropping; just listening for any noise. He heard nothing, and frowned.

Reason hesitated, but then turned the doorknob. He didn't mean to intrude, but he was worried—she'd understand.

The door opened a bit, and he poked his head in to make sure she was actually there. Sure enough, a six-foot figure covered in blankets of various colors and sizes was still lying in the old queen-sized bed. The sheets were a little crooked, the blanket was all off on one side, and her head wasn't on her pillow, but nothing looked too wrong from where he stood. The longer he looked at his super-powered friend, the more concerned he became. There was no reason why she should still be in bed at... eight-thirty? Did he dawdle that long? Well, two hours extra sleep was plenty, as far as his concern was... concerned.