Chezzanne Goes To Tyrannia
Chezzanne was a blue Uni. She had a great sense of humor, liked to be odd, but she was very intelligent as well. She especially had a knack for learning languages.
She mastered Ancient Maraquan, was fluent in the Kiko language used in casual situations, and was diligently studying Tyrannian when a clatter made her jump as she studied the rules of passive voice. She scurried into the kitchen where it had come from. “W-what happened?” she stammered, staring from the stove to the blackened pot (previously copper) and to Pixie, her queer but kind owner.
“I heated up the pot so it would be ready for cooking the omelette I was making,” Pixie said, gesturing to the eggshells strewn across the floor, “but, unfortunately, it got too hot... and burned.”
Chezzanne noticed, then, that the stove was burnt too. She hid a giggle. Pixie’s wild red curls were falling all over her face, and there was a splatter of egg on her hand. Not to mention the singed pot in her other hand that was issuing smoke like a candle just after being snuffed out.
“Hey,” Pixie said quickly, changing the subject as quick as a wink. “Why don’t we take a trip to Tyrannia? We can get free omelette there! And besides, I am sure that someone will be able to give you a hand with your Tyrannian. Wouldn’t that be great?”
Chezzanne grinned. “That would be uber-great!” she said, using her favorite adjective, which she had made up herself.
“Oh, Chez, you are so funny,” hooted Pixie, sticking the pot in the sink. “Go pack.”
Chezzanne complied, skipped to her room and began stuffing her things into an old backpack she found under her bed. “I’m ready,” she called several minutes later.
“Come here, I have a gift for you.”
Chezzanne smiled broadly. “Thanks!” She hurried into the kitchen where Pixie was scrubbing the pot furiously. “Oh, wow! A fuzzy notebook. Uber-great!” She cuddled the purple plush and looked at it again. “A pencil, too?” She pulled out the tatty pencil. Chezzanne looked up solemnly. “My gratitude is ineffable. But–but... thank you anyway!”
“It’s so you can keep a journal while we’re on holiday,” explained Pixie, frowning and sticking the pot in the trash as she spoke. “It’s no good,” she muttered. “Oh well! I’ll go pack, and we’ll see about getting a ferry to Maraqua, and then one to Tyrannia from there.”
Chezzanne scurried to her room to write her first entry.
I can not believe this! Pixie says that finally–finally!–we’re going on holiday, to Tyrannia no less! I’m learning Tyrannian, too. It’s quite difficult, but I would like to become more fluent. Perhaps hearing a native speak will improve it...?
Pixie is so nice. But she is a disaster in the kitchen. This morning she ruined a pot, and the stove is unrecognizable. Poor Pix. We’re going to get some omelette while we’re in Tyrannia, so we won't starve. I got a bite of a cheese omelette a few months ago. Someone had it in their store, and Pixie bought it for me. It was good, much better than Pixie’s burnt ones. Teehee!
I probably shouldn’t tease her, but she is an awful cook.
Well, I think that is about all for now. Oh! I must remember to write to Pixie’s friend Kela. Hopefully she can watch our house while we’re gone. She lives a block away, and her baby Gelert, Phaeded, likes to play with me while Kela is busy. We're the best of friends now, although... well, that was a while ago.
Farewell, dearest of books.
Chezzanne went to see if Pixie wanted her to talk to Kela about house sitting.
“You’re so smart,” Pixie said appreciatively. “I forgot about that. Please do.”
Chezzanne composed a Neomail to Kela.
Pixie and I are going to Tyrannia for a week or so, and we were hoping you would check our mail and such.
Of course, if this is too much of an inconvenience, we will ask our neighbor, Mr. Byrd, but... we hardly know him and were hoping that you could.
We’ll bring you some omelette!
Chezzanne sent it and waited for a reply. “Oh,” she said with a smile. “She Neomailed me back, Pixie!”
Dear Chezzanne and Pix,
Of course I can house sit for you! Phae said she would be delighted to clean your closet while you're gone. (Don’t ask; she’s currently very into fashion and keeping tidy.)
Chez: Do you have a petpet that needs looking after? We don’t want to neglect it if you do. I’ll collect your mail every day and leave it on your desk, Pixie. Will that work?
We hope you guys have a wonderful vacation, and we’ll see you in a week or so.
Chezzanne told Pixie what Kela had said, and replied that she did not have a petpet (she was saving for a Cirrus or a plushie Angelpuss, whichever she could find for a better deal) and that the desk would be a fine place for the mail.
Chezzanne leaned over the edge of the ferry’s rail with a blissful smile. The salty mist whipped in her face, and the soft smell of the ocean surrounded her. The sun was warm, but not enough to give her a sunburn! She burned terribly, and freckled instead of tanned.
But so did Pixie...
Maraqua, thought Chezzanne. Uber-great!
They stopped in Maraqua, went fishing, even managed to get into the restaurant. Unfortunately, they could only stay for two hours, then they got back on the ferry and soon, Tyrannia came into view. “Whoa,” she breathed. “It's so bleak, and deserty and, just, amazing. I love it.” Pixie smiled.
“It's beautiful... in its own way. I admit that I prefer the lushness of Mystery Island. I'm here for the omelette, not the view!”
Pixie insisted on going up to the plateau for omelette the next morning. She loved omelettes, but unfortunately it didn't work out too well to make them herself, as we learned.
“Mmmmm,” mumbled Chezzanne around a bite of omelette. It was carrot and pea. “This is absolutely scrumptious. I mean, mouth-watering! Luscious! Or, as they say here, 'ku-nung-poe'. That means, well, uber-great. Isn't it?”
Pixie swallowed a chunk of carrot and coughed. “Yep,” she gasped out. “I'm going to get a drink from the store, wait here, okay?”
“Uhh... uh-huh... what?” Chezzanne turned around. Where'd Pixie go? Where is she? Where? Where? Chezzanne felt tears prick her eyelids and she blinked hard. She'd never once been separated from Pixie, not ever! And now she was in a strange place, too.
Chezzanne scurried into the nearest shop. “Pu-jugg-leli ver-net?” she asked the clerk.
Chezzanne sighed and hurried over to the next one, and the next one, but nobody had seen “a redheaded human”. Tears of desperation and fear pooled in Chezzanne's eyes and she cried inconsolably. A red Pteri and a blue Tuskaninny tried to make her say what was wrong, but she kept crying.
At last, she stood up, sniffed and went back to where everyone was waiting for their omelettes. Maybe, just maybe...
Chezzanne ran towards Pixie and let out a shudder. “I-I was s-so scared, and–and...”
Pixie comforted Chezzanne as well as she could, then leaned back. “You are SO grounded.”
Everything was so uber-great... why did I have to go and mess it up?
I don't have the heart to write more. Pixie is disappointed in me... my heart has been crushed beyond repair, and I feel that I am too disobedient to live.
Farewell, my comforting book.
Chezzanne scrubbed the stove slowly, bored beyond words. They'd gone home a day after Chezzanne had gotten lost, and now Chezzanne was being slightly punished–she had to clean the stove, and they were absolutely not going on holiday ever again. Chezzanne stifled a sigh. She loved to travel, even the parts that weren't very fun at the time, like getting totally lost.
“Chez!” shrieked Pixie suddenly. “One of my stories finally got accepted for the Neopian Times! And guess what? There's a newspaper article section, too! I didn't know that. I love journalism. I just love it! I have got to try!”
“Oh. Wow,” Chezzanne said, shrinking into a corner, a bit intimidated by Pixie's screaming and wild gestures. “Is it the one about the sketch Peophin?”
“Yes,” Pixie said, slightly calmer now. “Isn't that, like, uber-great?”
“Yeah, uber-great.” Chezzanne smiled.
“For the journalism thing, I thought maybe I should interview the Haunted Woodsians. Ask them why they like living in such a creepy place.”
Chezzanne sniffed. She wouldn't be going.
“What?” Pixie looked up.
“Oh,Chezzanne, I shouldn't have done that,” Pixie admitted penitently. “I'm sorry. You're not grounded, and you don't have to scrub the stove. Go pack your stuff, now.”
“Yeah, I always say what I mean.”
“Oh! That's–that's... stupendous! No... out-outstanding! And... umm... it's... dazzling... and...”
“Uber-great?” suggested Pixie.
“That was just the word I was looking for. That is uber-great!”