“Atlas, are you up there?” Luke yells, peering around the doorway. His hair is a nightmare, as usual, but also appears to be a bit…orange. And not in a good way, like the color of the sun or wheat or anything romantic like that, but rather orange in the matter of oranges. Very orange oranges, it must be said.

 

“No!” Someone replies, probably Atlas, if the fake nasally accent is anything to go by. Of course, Galligher could be practicing his ventriloquism again. Luke is worried that these are his options.

 

He doesn’t really want to venture any further out, never going to live this down is sort of bouncing around between his ears, along with ‘you look like a carrot!’ His own brain is taunting him, how nice is that? No loyalty.

 

Footsteps sound on the stairs, somewhere behind him, followed by uncontrollable laughter.

 

“Atlas!!”

 

0---

 

It’s an ordinary patrol, just like any other. Except that it appears that they’re being followed. Which, technically, does sound about right for a patrol, but not when those stalking you are very large, very loud geese.

 

Des didn’t know geese were native to this part of the Islands.

 

At least it’s not seagulls, she thinks, because there is a brainless bird if I ever met one, and messy to bo-

 

Her train of thought is interrupted by a glob of runny brown whatever plops onto the deck not two inches away from her. She feels something land on her back, on her ear.

 

Des screams as the geese dive bomb her, droppings flying every which way, and dives for the cabin.

 

0---

 

“I hate wildlife,” she says, “I really, really hate it.”

 

Bella stares, openmouthed, as something drips off of Des and onto the floor.

 

“Oh my god,” she says, “what the hell were you doing out there?”

 

“I was ambushed,” Des says, “by flying turds. It was awful, I’m traumatized, truly.

 

Something thuds into the door behind them, and Des screams, grabs for Bella.

 

“Traumatized,” Bella says at last, scrunching up her nose, “right, I’m seeing that.”

 

0---

 

John is clutching at his stomach, his face going red as he laughs. He looks like he’s about to topple over, or die, or something. (Luke is considering helping)

 

Luke gives him a sour look. “It’s not that funny.”

 

“No, really,” John gasps, “it is.”

 

“Yeah well, sleep with one eye open.”

 

“Your hair’s bright enough to wake me up, I think.” John says, taking deep breaths. “I mean, honestly, what on earth did you do?”

 

“Apparently, lumpy oatmeal is not something to laugh about.” Luke says, and John looses it, entirely.

 

“I seriously hate my life,” Luke says, and turns on his heel and stomps away.

 

0---

 

“What’s going on in here,” Sera asks, “I could smell you down the hall.”

 

“Something stole Des’s dignity,” Bella says calmly, “and she decided to share.”

 

“I…that’s just disgusting, do we know what it is?”

 

“I don’t think I want to know until I’ve bleached my skin,” Bella says, “or, you know, ever, so please, just don’t ask.”

 

Sera stares at Des, at the muck sliding down her clothes and skin. “Can we hose her off? Or would that be inhumane?”

 

“Hose is good, hose is all she deserves.”

 

0---

 

Don stares down at Gary, openmouthed.

 

“I’m an Indian, duh,” Gary says, “this is clearly war paint.”

 

“And the mop?”

 

“My trusty steed, Fluffy.”

 

“I…don’t know what to say to that.”

 

Gary gives him a look somewhere along the lines of you crazy old man, how did people ever survive your generation, and Don thinks he’s just going to go now, maybe get something strong to drink, and hide in the office.

 

0---

 

“Pumpkin does not suit you,” Galligher says, “it really, really does not suit you. What were you thinking?”

 

Luke stares at him. “You think I did this to myself? Seriously?”

 

“Oh, right,” Galligher says, “uhm, no?”

 

“Have you seen Atlas?”

 

“Not since you started screaming about twenty minutes ago.”

 

Luke walks past him, hauls himself up onto the top deck, muttering under his breath. “Lumpy oatmeal, lumping freaking oatmeal… how about poisonous oatmeal, huh?”

 

Galligher stares after him, and decides that cutting oatmeal from his diet is a Healthy Living Choice, guaranteed to lengthen his lifetime.

 

0---

 

“I am never going to be clean again, never.” Bella says, staring morosely at the faint green stains on her skin. “Where’s the bleach, the acid, something, anything.”

 

“It’s not that bad, is-”

 

“Oh it is definitely that bad,” Bella says, interrupting Sera’s attempts to placate her. “Now gimme the bleach.”

 

“I really don’t think that’s necessary…or safe.”

 

Bella grabs her by the shoulders, shakes her. “It is so necessary, so very necessary, and far safer than the alternative of shaving a few layers of skin off with a potato peeler.”

 

0---

 

“Yee haw!” Jamie shouts, galloping along side of Fosher, with matching brooms.

 

Don watches, hidden in the kitchen. “You would think,” he says to himself, and a fly caught in a spider web above the fridge, “that with this many cleaning supplies, this place might be a bit cleaner.”

 

Jase and Gary are sneaking past in the opposite direction, faces and arms decorated with ‘war paint’ that looks suspiciously like his new black ink, Gary’s ‘trusty steed’ nowhere in sight.

 

Maybe, he thinks, the cowboys captured it.

 

This is probably why things are never clean. The mop’s just been captured by the good guys, and the brooms are riding off into the sunset.

 

It’s enough to make him want to cry.

 

0---

 

“I’m tired,” Luke says, “really, really tired.”

 

“Yeah,”

 

“And I look ridiculous.”

 

“Yeah,”

 

“You know I’m going to make you suffer, right?”

 

“You can certainly try,”

 

0---

 

“God, this stupid cough,” Rebecca says, “it just won’t go away.”

 

“It’s going around,” Kim says, looking down at her hands, flexing them. “It’s this cold, it came early.”

 

“It did, didn’t it? It’s only October, after all.”

 

“Usually the trees are still green, some leaves just starting to go red.” Kim shrugs. “Oh well, maybe this means spring will come quickly.”

 

0---

 

 

 

A return to 2007 Additions.