A Distraction at the Bus Stop

A/N: I wrote this for an Anti-Valentine contest on dA ^^



Mr Edwards doubted he’d be able to remember what Miss Smith looked like once she’d left the office. In fact, he doubted he could describe her now, with her sitting in front of him. She was average. Absolutely and perfectly average. Which was what gave it away to the professional eye. Patently an alter-ego.

Mr Edwards couldn’t believe his luck.

Arch-Enemies was… discreet. No website, not even a sign on the door. After all, it was a highly-specialised introductions agency and all suitable clients found the place through word of mouth. Business rivals made their first acquaintance here, bitter enmity spurring each side on to making more and more money. Songwriters and poets were introduced to highly unsuitable romantic partners, so that after a brief and distressing love affair everyone could go off and make art about how bloody awful their ex was.

This was the everyday, bread-and-butter stuff. But every so often the real deal came along.

“Miss Smith,” said Mr Edwards. He looked down and consulted his notes. “Or would you prefer to be called Superba?”

Miss Smith blushed a little. “I only use that name when I’m crime-fighting.”

“Of course.” Mr Edwards checked his paperwork again. “You know, your questionnaire is rather interesting. I think that’s the first time we’ve ever had a perfect score for ‘goodness’.”

Miss Smith blushed even more and looked down at her hands clenched together in her lap.

“Well, no-one’s ever completely good or bad… I’m not perfect… I do have my days when...”

She came to a complete halt and glanced up at him.

“Yes, all right, I’m a goodie.”

“Miss Smith,” said Mr Edwards. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Moral ambiguity is all very well but there’s nothing like an old-fashioned battle between good and evil.”

He leant forward on his desk and smiled. Miss Smith attempted to smile back.

“So you’re looking for your arch-enemy.”

( Story continues... )

Bride/Groom

Wife/Husband

     /Widower

“The cat did it.”


A bizarre case—woman suffocated in her sleep by her cat dozing on her face.

“Can’t arrest him,” said DI McGonagle. “Better phone the RSPCA, Sergeant.”


Pompom smugly washed his paws.

Handy that a cat isn’t legally responsible for his actions, but can be named sole beneficiary in his owner’s will.




A/N: This story was inspired by a conversation I had with my sister. (We do rather slander the feline lodger. He's actually lovely, and keeps the face-jumping to the bare minimum.)

In the spring of 1313, after 13 years of marriage, it became evident an heir was finally on the way for the King and Queen of Deviancia.

“In honour of our future child, I shall add an extra month to the year,” said the King. “To bring the baby luck!”

The Prince was born on the 13th day of the 13th month.

It was a Friday.

“Really?” said the Queen. “You couldn’t have worked out this was going to happen?”

“My love,” said the King, trying to soothe his wife’s angst. “Let’s not give into triskaidekaphobia!”

But he did feel uneasy, and decided to invite the local fairies to the christening to be on the safe side.




There were the usual presents of handsomeness, long life, intelligence. Then it came to the turn of the youngest fairy. She was desperate to get to the lavatory (fairies have bladders the size of a peanut) and didn’t think carefully about the wording of her gift.

“He’ll be able to absorb others’ bad luck!” she declared. And sprinted to the facilities.

“So he’ll be full of everyone else’s misfortune,” said the Queen beginning to weep. The young Prince patted his velociraptor rattle and grinned like a gummy Cheshire cat, completely unperturbed.

The oldest fairy now stepped forward.

“I cannot remove the gift,” she said, “but I can lessen its effects.  On the Prince’s 18th birthday, when he’s at an a capella concert, a shoe thrown at his neighbour will hit him instead. Whomsoever that shoe fits will be his one true love and they’ll live happily ever after.”




The Prince grew up and reached puberty. Because of his curse, all his friends had miraculously clear skin while he had truly breathtaking acne. But nothing could mar his charming personality.

On 13/13/1331 it all happened as the fairy had foretold, and as soon as the swelling had gone down, the Prince travelled the kingdom, searching for the one the shoe fitted.

Finally, under a lover’s moon, he saw her:

Beauty, his own true sweetheart.




The ceremony was held outside in the palace grounds as the bride had some problems getting up and down stairs.

“They do seem very happy,” said the oldest fairy, tentatively. “And she’s got lovely chestnut hair.”

The King drained his thirteenth cocktail and glared at the fay.

“Did you know it was going to be a flaming horseshoe?” he said.

---

A/N: Written for a contest celebrating DeviantArt's 13th birthday. The story had to be 400 words or less (mine is exactly 400) and had to include these words: Peanut, Angst, Cat, Horseshoe, Moon, a capella, Stairs, Puberty, Acne, Luck, Velociraptor, Cocktail and Triskaidekaphobia.

Luna married Sol:

A daughter - Dawn.