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In the depths of cyberspace’s own personal kingdom, a stuttering, possibly robot man yelled at the top of his lungs.
“WHY BE THE [[Little Sponge]] WHO HATES ITS [[$4.99]] LIFE. WHEN YOU CAN BE-”
Honestly, kind of annoying. Unfortunately, he seems pretty [[Heaven]]bent on… Well, no idea what he’s doing but he seems pretty passionate about it.
“YOU WANT IT. YOU WANT [[Hyperlink Blocked]], DON’T YOU. WELL HAVE I GOT A DEAL FOR YOU!!”
More than just annoying, he’s definitely concerning. All semblance of safety has left the [[Dumpster Real Estate.]]
“YOU’VE GOT THE [[LIGHT.]] WHY DON’T YOU. [[Show it off?]]”
With a spine-chilling, unnaturally fast flurry of laughter, the dumpster boy approached slowly, and the all-too familiar black flashes of a battle start overcame everything. In the battle stood… Three figures. Salesman, and… Two swatchlings. Three swatchlings. Four…? Where are they all coming from?
One grabs the arm of the salesman, and another follows suit. Soon, they all had him stuck in their grasp as he was carried away.
“WHAT? DON’T YOU ALL WANT MY [[WACKY STACKS?]] [[EXCITING DEALS?]] [[FIFTY PERCENT OFF?]]”
Kicking and screaming, he was taken away. Yelling something about deals, or phone calls, or whatever. The large birds took him away without much effort, or really any physical or emotional difficulty. In all honesty, their efficiency was pretty unnerving. The battle view faded back to the oceanic blue you came to know of the city outskirts.
In the near distance, there’s a yellow glimmer as light bounces off the glasses of a very interesting bird, one you’ve come to know as the Queen’s head butler and Color Café’s bar attendant. He stands there upon a catwalk connected to a building, arms behind his back and no noticeable expression on his masked face. All he does is stand there, watching the battle come to a close.
Breaking through the emotionless demeanour, he looks your way, leaning on the railing and waving at you with a soft smile. An almost, unusually protective smile. In the café, he was nice, rather loving. However, always on a level of professionalism.
The bird pointed towards you. At least, in your direction, and from the shadows came another swatchling. His manner came across a lot softer than the precision efficiency of the four before him. In his hand he held a letter, which he passed over to you with a bow.
“For the young master; a gracious request from our superior.”
Leaving you with the letter, he returned to the darkness. The sudden arrival of all of them made it seem as if they could be anywhere at any time. The letter itself wasn’t standard either, having a lovely blue sparkling border with “The lovely young master” as its recipient written in perfect, elegant handwriting. No address on the letter either, just a recipient. In the corner, however, was at least a stamp. The imprint of a steaming cup of tea, as if it was manufactured into the letter itself.
“To my, and our, beloved young master. We’re expecting you in the café. Please, if you have the time, accept my request and join us for a special dinner. Of course, you’re the star of our night.
We wish to see you soon.
-Swatch, our gracious Lady’s head butler and Color Café manager.”