"Flaming bear red, drunken cougar lavender, purple."

There was a poof, then a splash.

Raz squealed in a very un-Agent like manner, and jumped from puddle to puddle, cringing, until he fell onto dry land. Well, no, actually, moldy wood. He cringed and jumped up, shuddering. Then it hit him. Blue green mold. Sound of suckerfish falling from the sky. Dripping sounds. Ominous mystical music created by Peter McConnell.

He was in the snot bubble.

"Quentin, what the hell?"

"I'm really sorry about this, man," Quentin apologized, then he threw his levitation bubble at Raz, who fell into an old outhouse from Shaky Claim's glory days.

"Should I make the door jam now?" Dogen inquired shyly.

"Yeah, that'd be nice." Quentin grunted, throwing his bodyweight against the door to keep an already Psi blasting Razputin at bay. "Whenever you feel like it, bro."

"M'kay." With that, the door jammed. Permanently.

Raz's face appeared in the tiny, moon shaped hole. "What the heck is this about? Where's Lili? Who is the Milkman?" there was a pause. "Holy shit, where did that come from?"

"Red blue gray PURPLE!" Quentin yelled, and Dogen blinked.

"Sorry Raz. It's the squirrels fault, you know."

Then they vanished.

Dejected, Raz sat upon the rotting wooden seat and settled himself in for some serious thinking, about Lili, life, love, Quentin, Dogen, sanity, the sanity of those two, and the purpose of the goggles.

"…There it is again!" Raz muttered. Then, in a clearer monotone, "I am a frustrated teen. This is doing emotional damage."

Another pause while Raz thought this over.

"I've got a G-Man in my mind. Great. I hope it doesn't ruin the romantic mood of rotting wood and dying suckerfish gasping their final breaths."

If only he knew.

--

"Get. That. Away. From. Me." Lili put deep emphasis on each syllable. "I would not wear that if my life depended on it."

"Your love life does," Franke pointed out. Smoke erupted from her shoulders. "Hey!"

"We're just trying to offer you some of the best fashions known to humankind," Kitty pointed out darkly. "Just try it on."

"No."

"Why not?" Milka asked quietly. "It's a nice dress, Lili."

"I hate it. It's yellow."

"I thought you liked yellow?" Crystal's eyes grew wide. "Everyone's lying to me!"

"I like gold," Lili scowled. "Not yellow."

"Oh for the love of fashion," Kitty held out her hand to Franke. "Give me the gold spray paint."

"Can't."

"Why not?" Kitty's eyebrows shot up sky high. Remember, kids, every time Kitty doesn't get everything she asks for, a puppy is shoved into a high power blender.

"I gave it to Coach Oleander. He said he needed it." Franke gulped. "Should we have Phoebe and Quentin get it?"

"That better be rhetorical," Kitty muttered. "Okay, people, let's accessorize while Franke gets the hippy band to unleash hell upon Oleander."

"Accessorize?!" Lili snapped.

"Just let me do my job."

"Maybe I could do it myself," Lili replied coolly.

"Bitch, please. Now show me your nails. It's polish time!"

I had better get laid tonight, Lili thought quietly. Or else I'm going to have to burn a bitch.

--

Quentin was a dedicated friend.

As a small boy, he had watched Sailor Moon and learned the value of love. He knew that love and friendship were like brownies and ranch dressing; perfect together and yet sacred even apart. Quentin knew he had to save Raz and Lili from seperation. If their rlationship fell apart, the universe would collapse. Puppies would give birth to full grown cats, burning rain would fall upwards, baths would make people dirtier, and DigitalDreamer would start updating CP regularly. Madness, pure madness, all of it! These things must be prevented at all costs, and only Quentin stood between the world and speedy snails.

He would indeed do anything for his friends. This is why he dressed up in a suit, slicked his hair back, stowed all pride, ate a half pounds of breath mints, put on some cologne, and set out to distract Coach Oleander.

With dance.

Carefully, a disco ball was TK'd into place, and Phoebe swapped out Oleander's drum march music (which he now regularly played throughout camp) with a Spanish love song. Quickly, the two-person band swapped out the normal rug for a dark pink, heart print one. Quentin put on his best smile.

"What is that racket-!" Coach Oleander started, then stopped dead. "Hedgemouse?!"

"Hello, Morceau," Quentin grinned widely. "I'm here to teach you to dance."

"WHAT?"

Quentin smiled, took the Coach's stubby arms, and led him to the horrible rug of doom. With a few simple motions, Quentin spun him around. They danced briefly, something akin to a cross between a tango and a ballet, with Quentin watching out of one eye as Phoebe dug through the Coach's abandoned bag. Twirling the Coach like a ballerina, Quentin decided now would be a good time to seek therapy. This was not a normal childhood.

"M'kay, so, here's how you start out-" Quentin attempted to instruct.

"I am not taking dance lessons from you, hippie," Oleander sputtered, his face going red. "How dare you call me by my first name! You're not a real instructor, either. Who put you up to this?"

It was clear by the glaring, the twitching, the throb in that vein above his eye, the heavy breathing, the way all his blood had rushed to his head, and the fact that his eyes were out of focus that Morceau Oleander was not about to dance. He was about to do something, to be sure, but probably something that would end in Quentin having a bone broken. Phoebe was still digging through the giant bag (man purse!) that the Coach insisted on carrying. Things were looking desperate. But friendship and love always won out in the end, right? Quentin's brain went into overdrive. Think of something, think of something...

Love.

"Morceau," Quentin batted his eyelashes, "Pleeease dance with meee."

Oleander blinked at him. Was it just him or did the hippy sound... flirty?

Quentin puffed out his lower lip, pouting. "C'mon, just this once. It'll be fuuuun."

"I don't 'do' dance! I'm terrible at it!"

"Oh, baby, it's okay," Quentin smiled, giggled, and blushed faintly. "I can lead."

"This really isn't appropriate, hippy. Now let me go before I kill you," Oleander growled, indignant as Quentin wrapped his arms around him.

"Don't be afraid of the fire, Morry baby. I won't let you burn."

And then...

"AGH! THE HIPPY KISSED ME! AGH!"

"Ew, you taste like cigars," Quentin mumbled, his eye twitching violently. Oh, God, this was not a normal childhood.

"What on Earth?" Milla's jaw dropped. "I, I was just going to give you this class schedule - I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"The hippy kissed me!"

"Why must you deny our love?!" Quentin asked, face heartbroken. "You need to follow your heart, man!"

"You're ten years old!" the coach roared. "I need to lock you up an run, that's what I need to do!"

"I don't mind that you're old," the hippy put in cheerfully, at which point the older man could not restrain himself anymore and hit the young redhead square in the stomach. Quentin gasped for air, rolling on the ground and clutching his stomach with much dramatic flair. "You're an abusive lover, dude."

As Phoebe crept out the back of the room, though, his job was done.

Quentin was about to run like hell when Milla's concerned face appeared in his line of vision.

"Darling, I think we need to have a talk." She stared him down with a mix of concern and disgust and more concern. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Flaming bear red, drunken cougar lavender, purple?" he asked hopefully.