Sunday, February 2, 2014

~~For Love of Minecraftia: Chapter Four--They're Taking the Hobbits!~~


Oh no. Oh god no. Please god no. Please please please no. Please do not let that be the song I’m hearing!

But it was…And on the song went, each line in Legolas’ fine voice.


It was at this point that I finally managed to bust down the wall beside my bed and find the spot where the blond-blobbed pixelated elven archer stood, mindlessly repeating the incredibly annoying words. Unable to stop myself, I grabbed him around the neck and started shaking him back and forth, yelling at him to shut up, shut up, shut shut shut up!

I had started repeating myself. In my own mental monologue. I was going to kill this guy….

I was around ten minutes into choking the idiot when he gasped out, “Let me go…can’t breathe.”

Holy hell he was unfrozen!

Swearing, I let him go, and stammered, “I’m sorry, Legolas I’m sorry….You were just singing that horrific song and I couldn’t help myself….”

The elf stared at me, before sighing and nodding. “It’s alright, I understand perfectly why you attacked me. I was definitely being annoying, repeating myself over…and over…and over…and over….”

After about a minute, I took hold of his shoulders and shook him back and forth a few times. He blinked after around ten shakes, his mouth silencing at last. He gave a small apologetic grin, and mimed locking his lips shut and throwing away the key. I laughed at that, and decided it was time I took a stroll around, now with a companion I minded a lot less than the accursed Pedobear and his messed-up grape fetish….

Smiling to myself, I headed back down towards the beach. I was around half way there when I remembered: I still had to put the pair of blocks I’d punched out of the way back. I turned around, and walked smack dab into the chest of someone a good deal taller than me, dressed in soft green clothes. I blinked in surprise, and looked up to spy the elf smiling down at me. He patted me on the head, and stepped out of my way, gesturing for me to continue on. Deciding I did like this guy, I started my way back towards my home, looking up the large rolling hill to where the door lay.

As I scrambled up each block on the way, I wondered why I hadn’t just installed a stair case out front, even though it probably would have ruined the look of naturalness I was going for with the rest of this place. As I was clambering up one of the last steps, I felt a large narrow hand spank me smartly on the left butt cheek. Letting out a sound that was somewhere between a yelp and a scream, I practically levitated up the rest of the way to the top, not stopping for a second as I ran-jumped up the rest of the blocks. With every huge leap I barely managed, I cursed my shortness—the blocks came up to my waist, and they were just far, far too tall for me.

Finally, I managed to get to the last step, and I almost broke down the door in my haste to get in. I slammed it shut behind me, wishing I could lock it or at the very least put a block in front of it. Just as I was about to relax, I heard footsteps coming from my room, and remembered: I had forgotten to put the blocks back in my bedroom.

Legolas, the perverted elf, was inside my house.

Swallowing, I reached for the chest near me, flicking it open. If I remembered, I might just have an old spare sword in there….Sure enough, there it was, and I pulled it out just in time to see the blond haired elven prince step out from around the corner. He knelt in front of me, seeming to be ignorant of the pointy stick I clutched in my hands. Smiling very softly, he reached into his pocket, and just as I was readying the sword to strike out at him he pulled out….

A sheet of paper.

“You dropped this,” he told me softly, before simply blinking out of existence, the paper falling slowly to the floor like a leaf in autumn winds.

Curiously, I picked it up, flipped it over, and eyed the words that I found there. They were written in a curvy, messy hand—my hand. Swallowing now, I read it slowly: Wake up, Mitchie. Please wake up….

I woke up in an unfamiliar white room. My very first words were pretty straight forward: “Am I dead?”

One second later, I was hugged by two very sad and worried people, saying over and over how happy they were to have me back. I blinked a few times, my eyes getting used to the very bright room slowly, but I just knew there would be something very weird going on in the room. A few minutes later, as my other senses caught up to my eyes, I gagged on the horrific taste and smell. It was like I was inhaling antiseptics. God…..I hated hospitals.


The word hit me really hard, but nowhere near as hard as the massive headache that came right after. Swallowing, I started to raise my left arm, only to feel yet another weird unfamiliar feeling start. It was like there was something in my arm, keeping it solid. Feeling almost scared of what I would see, I turned to the side, and stared in horror at the large needle and bag that dripped some weird thing into my…into my arm…through the cast…..

I threw up before I knew what had happened.

When I was done, I found myself with my hair pulled back, bent over the side of the bed, puking into a trash bin. Luckily, there was pretty much nothing in my stomach, so it wasn’t all that bad that the trash bin was pretty much full anyways. A friendly hand reached around my head with a washcloth, dabbing at my mouth. I looked up at the hand with a little smile, and stared right into the eyes of someone I recognized.

Staring at the rather geeky boy for a few moments, I fought to find a name, any name, that fit him, but I couldn’t find it. Eventually, the boy grinned and said, “Should’ve known you wouldn’t remember me, Mitchie. It’s me, James. James Degrey; you and me worked on a lab project a few days ago.”

Now that I realized why I recognized him, I tried to smile awkwardly. “Oh, yeah I remember you. Sorry, I…I fell down the stairs so I might have a bad memory for a while.”

He grins, shaking his head. “I heard. My mom’s a nurse here, so when I heard somebody I knew was in the hospital, I came right over.”

I nodded, accepting the explanation, deciding he wasn’t some creepy stalker. A few moments later, a thought slipped into my mind: “Why aren’t you in school?”

He grinned at me, rolling his eyes. “Mitchie, it’s Saturday. Why would we have school?”

I had never facepalmed so hard in my life. Midway through my breathing exercise that followed, I managed to mutter through my hand: “So I fell down the stairs for nothing….”

James just laughed, a laugh that I noticed was actually pretty cute. Much as I was embarrassed to admit it, everything about this guy was cute. I blushed, and looked around the room, examining the room.

Well, as hotels room go, it had a TV so….It wasn’t bad. And it was pretty private, a fact I liked. There wasn’t another bed in the room with me. That would have driven me insane, having someone beside me for the entire time that I was bedridden in the hospital….

After a few more minutes of vaguely awkward conversation, I realized three very important things: 1. I needed food, and now. 2. I needed to drink, and that need was even more important than the need for food. And three? I needed to pee, more than I ever had to in my life.

The only problem was….

I was strapped into the bed, and it didn’t really look like I would be able to get out of there without help. Only, how could I ask to do such a thing like peeing when there was such a cute boy in the room?

Apparently, my face showed some of my thoughts, and my mom leaned over and whispered something in my dad’s ear. He shot me a knowing look, and said very loudly, “How about you and I go and get the girls some food, James?”

James nods, apparently pleased to be included in such an errand. With a polite farewell to my mom, he heads off, in search of my mother’s coffee and my “anything the doctors would let me eat.”

When the boys had left, my mom grinned and said softly, “Need to pee?”

Nodding, I motioned to the random assortment of straps and needles and things that seemed determined to keep me lying in bed. Guessing I needed help, she stood up and walked over to me, plucking off straps and trying to not mess with the IV that stabbed itself through my arm. A good two minutes later, we had finally gotten me unstrapped, and my mom carefully lifted my arm and then me, keeping me as level as I could so I didn’t get hurt more than I needed to. After a few more minutes, I was in the washroom, carefully managing to sit down. My mom left the room, leaving me to the small amount of privacy that the glorified cubicle lent me.

But, due to the fact that the world really didn’t like me very much, guess who would show up but James and my dad, bearing food. Swearing to myself, I decided it really could not be helped, and just started to pee. And you know what? I didn’t care any more that it was probably the longest, loudest pee in my life. I didn’t care at all that the sound seemed hugely amplified by the acoustics of the toilet bowl. I even didn’t care about the fact that they could definitely hear it in the other room. I. Did. Not. Care.

Finally, when the pee was done, I awkwardly got to my feet, fixed the hospital gown, and left the bathroom. I walked in and said with as straight a face as I could manage: “What did you guys bring me to eat?”

James grinned at me, and said in reply, “We have some apple juice for you! And some of the cafeteria’s macaroni—it’s the best food the doctors would allow you until they know if you’re sick or not.”

I rolled my eyes, and declared, “I’m not sick, actually. I just….Really do not like needles at all.”

James grinned understandingly, reaching over to mess with my impressive mess of black bedhead hair. “I get that, girl. My mom’s a nurse, and I help out around here occasionally, and I’m still not used to it. I hate watching the needle go in….”

I almost gagged again, and the jerk only laughed. He gave me a lopsided grin, as I managed to stammer, “J-jerk…!”

He only laughed. “Oh, girl, I have too much fun messing with you sometimes…..Now get your broken butt back to bed and start drinking apple juice. You need all the fluids you can get, and some of this fine Macaroni Á La Hospital sounds good too.”

I rolled my eyes, and did as the cute geeky boy instructed. He passed me the cup of apple juice, having already peeled off enough of the plastic for me to drink from. Grinning thankfully, I took a few sips, and then a few more sips. About five seconds later, the final drop of the glorious liquid slips down my throat, and I’m left attempting to drink empty air.

My dad laughs at me, and stands up, saying, “I’ll go and get…three more of those juices. That sound good to you, Mitchie Rich?”

I blushed heavily when he used his cutesy name for me, and I could hear James struggling to keep from laughing out loud. Whether he found my dad’s “slip of the tongue” funny, or my reaction, was unclear—but I figured it was the incredibly bright red blush that ran its way down my neck.

My dad laughed when he saw the reaction the use of my nickname had gotten from the group, he turned and walked off to find me more to drink. I hoped he hurried back, because from the odd looks passing around between my mother and James, I doubt this would be very pleasant.

Less than thirty seconds later, James turned to my mom and asked, “So tell me, how long has it been since Mitchie here wasn’t obsessed?”

My mom snorted in response, “I don’t know, honestly. You see, as long as I can remember, she’s been obsessed with something. Only this time it’s a lot more intense, and it’s also lasting a lot longer than the ones she had been obsessed with before.”

“She’s playing Minecraft a lot, isn’t she? I’ve caught a glimpse of a few of her diagrams—they are…very impressive, actually. Very detailed. Many floors,”at this point, as if realizing he should start talking to me instead of my mom, he looked over at me: “I’d love to see some of them in real life, Mitchie. They look actually incredible, and some of them when they’re done.”

I had never blushed harder in my life. Who was this guy, being so nice to me? This wonderfully nerdy guy? This cute, adorable, came here because he was worried about me guy….

My mom interrupted in a faint snarl, “You won’t see them for a long while, James. Mitchie’s grounded from her computer—and from Minecraft—for an entire month. She needs to get over her addiction to the game.”

I never thought that the phrase “glare daggers at someone,” was really true, but that is the exact phrase that matched the look in James’ eyes as he looked at my mom. “Creative expression is an addiction that needs to be stopped??”

My mom looked back at him, her eyes stern. “It is an addiction when it starts to interfere with the life she has, and you definitely can tell that it has interfered with her life. Minecraft seems to be the only thing she thinks about and cares about. That is not a good thing, James.”

James only looked back at her for a few moments, before he said in just as stern  a voice: “I myself am a writer, and I am willing to attest to my craft having bled over into my life. Thanks to my love of writing, my grades are extremely high just from having the sort of brain needed for writing; I have a deep appreciation for the time it takes to make such novels as the ones I spent my time reading; and I definitely have an appreciation for the dedication needed to complete such an undertaking. Your daughter is not that much different from me. Even though her tools of choice are pixelated blocks, her craft is still important and still takes a lot of dedication and time. You should be proud of her—she’s very impressive already, and I don’t think the game’s been out for much more than a few weeks now.”

My mom just glared at him, shaking her head. They likely would have gone on arguing for a lot longer had my dad not walked into the room, looked around at them, and declared with a straight face, “I brought ice cream for everyone!”

We all just turned and stared at him.

Unsurprisingly, it was me who broke the ice, bursting out into mildly insane laughter. James was he next to laugh, almost falling out of his hard plastic chair. For the next several minutes, all I could manage to do was laugh and laugh, even though it definitely hurt me. My mom didn’t laugh at all, apparently not finding the sudden change of tone in the room as funny as any of the other guys. But granted that probably was because she was my mom—she was by no means the most hilarity loving person.

Once we had finally calmed down, we all just started eating icecream. I’m not even going to say how swiftly that ice cream, three containers of juice, and even the horrendous macaroni disappeared down my gullet. At every bite I took, James’ eyes got just a little bit wider, more and more impressed with the gusto I used to devour the food—if it could even be called food.

When I had polished off the last scrap of pasta, the others were only a few licks into their ice creams, my mom sipping idly from her coffee cup while she kept up the polite chatter. I attempted to join in on the conversation, but then I realized it was all about painting, a subject I knew very little about. Deciding ir was best to remain in the background, I closed my eyes, lay back on the bed, and let out the loudest fart I had ever been cursed to give.

The conversation stopped instantly, and everyone just turned to look at me, entirely silent. I blushed like a cherry, and very so slowly James started shaking his head. Finally, he raised a hand and held it out in front of me, and said very simply, “That was the nastiest, most impressive thing I have ever heard in my life. High five, chickyboo.”

Unable to believe this was happening and feeling like I was in a daze, I high fived him—barely, my aim has always been truly dreadful—and with as much strength as I could muster. Needless to say, I almost missed high fiving him and then just managed to give him a high five with all the strength of a wet noodle.

I looked around at the faces of my parents, neither of whom could handle keeping the laughter in now that James had laughed as well. Rolling my eyes, I decided I couldn’t help but smile too. James saw he smile, and he smirked at me, getting me to laugh harder. His smirk increased, changing to just a funny face—his eyes bugged out, lips pursed tight, cheeks hollow, and tongue stuck out as far as it would go.

I became a retarded, mute seal, flapping my one good arm and whacking the bed, laughing far too hard to even make noises any more. James, realizing he had succeeded, transferred his face into a perfect poker face, staring expressionlessly right at me while he waited for me to calm down. My parents by this point had managed to find within them the ability to breathe, and I was left the only one feeling like an idiot while James’ expressionless visage made me laugh harder. When I finally calmed down, I just went right to sleep.

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