James poked his head out from behind the tree, watching his victim in anticipation.
The red mass fluttered by closer and closer and...
"WTF!" the clad red figure cried. "What in the world?!" She spun around, searching for the nincompoop who had just struck her wing with a rock.
Her eyes met a pair of brown ones behind a tree.
"James!"
"What?"
"What the heck do you think you're doing, throwing rocks at my wings?" Flora complained.
"Whatever I feel like doing."
Flora's mouth opened and shut like a fish on the verge of death, gasping desperately for air. "I'm going to call your mom immediately," she threatened.
"My mom is gone. Why can't you call my dad?"
"Because he's probably busy in an international conference or something."
"Oh," James piped up, "is it because he's male and is therefore more productive? What an oppressive, patriarchal and medieval society."
"James, we live in about the 18th century. Except for the peasants. They live in about the medieval times but that's the elite's way of keeping power, so shut up before you cause an enlightenment among them. I don't want to get taxed. Come on, we're having a conference."
—
"Your son has been throwing rocks at my wings," Flora complained.
"I wanted to see if they would bleed since they're so thin and translucent."
"James, why would you do such a terrible thing?" Miranda asked.
James refused to meet her eyes.
"James, aren't you going to respond to your mother?" Flora asked from across her shiny, dark ebony desk.
James spun around and stuck his nose up in the air haughtily. "She's not my mom," he said. "Besides, she doesn't even pay attention to me back at home. She neglects me. Did you notice the way she ignored me when I said the reason I struck your wings was because i wanted to see if they'd bleed and yet she proceeded to ask why I did it? How could you doubt that she neglects me at home to go play poker with her peasant friends, whom she has elevated in rank for no good reason, and suck out the money from our treasury?"
Miranda rubbed her hands sheepishly. "James, how about you and I play a nice game of poker this afternoon when we get home?" she said in an attempt to sound like a good parent.
"Please, Miranda, you really needn't stress yourself out," Flora said. "You're an adult. It is James who needs to adapt. His ideas are far too advanced for anyone to comprehend, it's almost threatening to the kingdom. Did you know he's starting to play with rebellious peasant boys and believing in such notions as equality and popular sovereignty?"
"Goodness." Miranda put a hand to her forehead and fainted.
"Don't worry. She does that all the time to get attention," James assured Flora. "By the way, stop playing nice with her. She doesn't have the power to reduce your taxes, only the King."
Flora cussed under her breath. "Go home, rat."
"Okay."
He bent down and pulled out several locks of Miranda's hair and tied his shoes. He then proceeded to hop home, as his shoes were tied together and therefore were inseparable, preventing him from lifting one foot up and setting it down and therefore preventing him from walking.
