I'm doing this because I threatened to. There is no other reason. I got stuffs to do, so if you think you will just look at this and not review, I will write another FoalyMulch that is so steamy that the graphic sexual events will haunt you until the day you die.

And you don't need that.

I don't own anything!

Foaly picked up the phone in the Ops booth and punched in Holly's new office's number. The ex-Recon officer had invited him to go out dancing in some of their favorite bars, and he wanted to check which bar hey would begin at and when.

It was a tradition that on the last Friday of every month, Holly would drag the centaur out to the nightclubs with her. Holly would dance and try to pick up someone to go home with, and Foaly would remain at the tables, drinking orange juice mixed with gin and chatting with any attractive males that happened to could his way.

It was a frivolous thing, but an event that was easy to grow accustomed to, and Foaly worried a bit that the change in careers would alter their tradition.

Four rings later, someone finally picked up.

"Hello, Short and Diggums Detective Agencies. What can I do for you?" the deep voice of the dwarf asked.

"Mulch, you son of a cantaloupe, how are you?" Foaly responded, pleased to hear his old friend's voice.

"Foaly? What the hell are you calling this number for?"

"My my my my my. Blunt today, are we? Is it your time of the month?"

"Horse bitch."

"Names will get you nowhere. How are you?"

"Eh, well 'nuff," Mulch said, "we're making no great strides just yet. The office is dingy, just the way I like it. I thought you were a client, which was the only actual reason I was polite to you."

"Oh, I thought you were sick, or worse, domesticated," Foaly said.

"You're rich today. What have you been doing…clapping erasers and wearing a tin-foil dunce cap?"

"No, but Sool looks at me like he'd like to make me do that. One more month of his calling me "centaur" and I am going to trample him and give him to my sister as compost."

"Charming imagery there."

"Why, thank you."

"I don't know why I'm still talking to you," the dwarf said. "You take a perfectly ordinary conversation and manage to turn it in to a graphic fantasy about your hooves and Sool…"

"AH!" Foaly yelled.

"What? What happened…are you still there?" Mulch asked, more curious than concerned.

"Yeah…but the idea of a sentence consisting of the words 'you,' 'Sool,' and 'graphic fantasy' is simply wrong on many, many levels."

"Ugh…I see what you mean…besides, with your anatomy, I don't even think you could…."

"You know what? You're absolutely right," Foaly said, grinning wickedly.

"I am? About what?"

"You're much better suited to him than I am." Gagging noises came from the other end of the line.

"Ugh…ugh…now that I'm done emptying my stomach, why did you call?"

"Fine. If you're done flirting with me, I need to talk to Holly."

"All right, you spoiled horse-boy…here she is."

"Waitaminute."

"What?"

"Holly and I go out drinking on Fridays, and considering the fact that you've gone all 'work-friends' on me, I wanna know if you'd like to join us."

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Mulch asked, sounding amused.

"No. I'm asking if you'll share the misery of going out into a noisy club and getting totally hammered on an otherwise perfectly good Friday night."

"Will you buy me a drink?"

"After you got gypped out of a medal? I'll have Holly buy the both of us drinks."

"I'm in. Here's the little prom queen herself."

After a few minutes talking with Holly, Foaly hung up his phone and sat staring into space, wondering if he still had that black pleather shirt somewhere. He intended to impress tonight.

Review, please. If I get one snippy comment about how this sucks and 'what was I thinking with this pairing,' then I shall write another. So review and say that I'm a trailblazer and that you'd never have thought of this pairing and that the writing was brilliant and funny and wow, do you think Foaly and Sool could actually go at it?...Ew.