Hi there! This is Rhealicet! And this story is a far cry from my previous one, "Parasite". But it is a oneshot. And a bit of a drabble. Romance! And some comedy! I suck at write romantic comedies, but I'm trying! Woohoo! It's a bit rantish…kinda. I just came up with it, and BOOM. It's there. Sorry if it's choppy! Please read and review.

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Gourmet is a morbidly obese diabetic man who lives off the souls of florescent harvest sprites. But this story is not about Gourmet. In fact it's not even remotely connected to him whatsoever. This was just a fragment of thought that you happened to barge in on. Not my fault your to rude to even ask before you flop down into someone else's mind. I guess you're here because you're, for some strange inexplicable reason, interested in my story. And I guess this is the point where I tell you my story, or at least bits and pieces of it. Because I've got nothing better to do.

My name is Fred Giovanni Ankletopper. But this isn't important in the slightest because no one has EVER called me Fred Giovanni Ankletopper. Why? I don't know. But I do know one thing. Life in Mineral Town isn't a basket of cucumbers. Especially not when you were green, fat, balding at the age of 12, had a strange ability to breathe underwater, and had a name like Fred Giovanni Ankletopper.

They call me Kappa nowadays, or at least they would if they knew I was alive. But they don't. Except for two people. The priest and the bimbo farmer. Also known as Carter and Claire.

People used to visit me. Used to send me offerings along with that idiot Goddess of theirs. But apparently I didn't appeal to them. Because they forgot me. Not that I cared. They gave pretty lousy offerings anyway.

So you can imagine my surprise when a cucumber fell into my lake. I pirouetted out of that lake so fast, and I guess I startled her. When I say her, I mean the bimbo farmer. Claire. And we just sort of…stared at each other. And suddenly, the moment ended with a scream and me falling backwards into the lake, my gorgeous face stamped with the stitching of the basket she hurled at me.

Unfortunately that was not our last meeting. In fact it was the start of many more increasingly painful encounters, each leaving more and more scars upon my previously unblemished emerald complexion.

And now I'm walking. And I'm a bit more nervous than I'd like to be. It's been a while since I've actually walked on land before. Ever since I began living in the lake. And now I'm at the door. Damn, I walk fast. I'm knocking on the door. It opens. A face, cherubic and confused stares up at me. I can't the read the expression upon it. Curiosity? Horror? Probably. I'd be pretty scared too if a bald middle-aged green…thing was nervously talking about the weather at my doorstep too. And yet, the ghost of a smile graced the lips of the face. Happy to see me, maybe? Yeah, and maybe Gourmet is an underweight scholar terrified by the mere mention of food. Not so much. Laughing inside probably.

I'm stuttering. Stuttering! Why the hell am I stuttering? My slimy webbed hands shove a soft blue object into the delicate hands of the poor farmer. My green cheeks grow warm. I want to get back to my lake. I should have never done this. Why the hell am I doing this anyway?! Everytime I encountered her I got hurt. And I still…

"I love you." The voice startles me as I stare down at the petite blonde.

Yeah.