Yamino and the Kreepy Krawlies

The Unruly Bleating

Kekta goggled at the thoughts that flitted through his nephrons. They were shocking -- no, they were erupting. Belching, he seized Kicktoria firmly by the shoulders. 

"My louwe, may I type?" asked Kicktoria.

"You dumb dame, it's a notebook," yelled Yamino.

Kicktoria ignored him, cuddling into Kekta's shoulder-hold.

Kekta's disgust was overrun by his mind-pictures. They were slotting into an orderly line, and the Truth was revealed. He ran a hand through his shiny mane and then finally spoke in an understandable fashion, holding out his transkription of Shah-Mosa's mumbled verse.

"You ignorant fools, look at these words! What do they tell you?"

Kicktoria tried harder, trying to do better than her previous comment about words. "Ah... piglets! Bamboo!" She nodded sagely. "Indeed, indeed."

Kekta retched away from her. "No, it is the secret of the orb!"

Yamino was confuzzled. "I would like you to konvey it in a klear fashion."

Kekta rose, and then ordinarily descended into a plush rose-coloured armchair. He steepled his fingers at the tip of his nose, and blartled in a communicative fashion. "Look at the transkript. Shah-Mosa says 'daddy dear' gave her a 'present' that 'shone'. And it is 'round'! Don't you see what this roundular object could be?"

"My bald head!" Yamino shimmered, grinning like a grave-robber in a morgue.

"A lightbulb," Kicktoria intoned with the serene air of a church bell at midnight.

Kekta nearly pitched forward into a backflip, so great was his frustration. "You dadgums! It is the Orb! The whirring Orb that the salacious schnoozkoop stole."

There was much gasping of the atmosphere.

"I would further like to emphasize the idea presented in the poem that this Orb has an 'identical peer'. Shah-Mosa claims it is with 'him'."

"Is 'him' the schnoozkoop?".

Yamino whacked Kicktoria upon the earlobe. "Shut! The schnoozkoop is an innocent chameleous beauty."

Kekta kontinued, ignoring Yamino's obviously flawed comment. "The second Orb, I konjekture from my extensive mind-picture-processing, is with Shah-Mosa's male relative."

At this revelation, Kicktoria abruptly ran 6.75 pentagons around the Kuad while bleating like a platypus. The bleating echoed off the crumbled walls in a blaring manner. Thanks to the noise, Shah-Mosa unconsciously engaged her trusses. Yamino sneezed upon her lower kidney to keep her quiet. Then he returned to Kekta and said, "we shall traverse the Kuad searching for this prodigal kin."

Kicktoria gazed across the Kuad. Even she could realise that it wasn't more than 20 metres long.

Kekta was temptulated to run and go seize the orbs himself. Alas, despite Kicktoria's incompetent mental capabilities, his elbow buzzed with affection for her. He could not leave her behind. Yamino, however...

Kekta turned to the Kick-master. "Kicktoria. My krisp, klean, on-time kleenex. My harbour of emotions. Come! Run away with me."

Kicktoria's heart blossomed with the fleshy moths of a thousand passionate fruits (such as passion fruit). Her eyes twinkled. The gravity of his love sunk upon her like an apple on Beethoven's head. "Yes! You can be the ship to my harbour. Will there be free fried chips?"

Rage bubbled through the cones of Yamino's eyes, shining like daggers at midnight. He sensed exclusion as the impromptu pair blew away in the krisp, kold air. The feeling grew to the size of the Titanic and cccc-cleaved through the icebergs of stupidity, then sank.

He could see it. His hair was slipping from his clutches. He needed the orb. The orb. The orb.

Not Kicktoria. Not Kekta. The orb.

The orb. His succulent locks needed the orb. To get the orb, he needed...

Shah-Mosa moaned in verse.

She knew who "he" was, the man in the poem. The man who had the other orb.