Ok... I don't know what y'all will think of this...


A smell drifted through the room, prompting Tristan too slowly, and groggily, sit up in bed. Chris had insisted that he spend the night, like, really insisted. He stepped out of bed and grimaced. His shoulder hurt.

“Stupid thug,” he mumbled while stretching in hopes of relieving the sore muscle. It didn’t help much, but he was too fuzzy headed to really care. Walking into the nearby bathroom he turned on the sink and began to throw water onto his face. What was that smell, he thought while rubbing his fingers under his eyes in an attempt to clear his clouded vision.

“Bacon!” A muffled shout rose from the kitchen, along with something said by Hope that Tristan couldn’t understand. It was breakfast. Well, he had known that, but now he knew what breakfast was. He dried his face and then walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Hope was busy dealing with the stove, while Chris stood near the wall with a mischievous grin, and a hand full of bacon.

“Good morning Tristan,” she said while throwing an egg shell into a nearby trash ben. “Chris is stealing your breakfast.”

“His breakfast,” Chris gasped. “Hope, it was in my fridge.”

“And I bought it.”

“And I paid you back.”

“No, you paid me back for the chocolate I picked up, and the soda.”

Chris shrugged, and then took another bite of his precious crispy pork.

“It was still in my fridge, which is in my apartment,” he said with his mouth full.

“Thats alright,” Tristan said while rubbing his sore shoulder without thought. “I’ll just go pick something up.”

“No! You can’t do that,” Chris said, bits of bacon sputtering out of his mouth. “You’re poor.”

“Chris!” Hope said as she threw and eggshell at him. It landed directly above his eyebrow, and then rolled down his shirt leaving behind a goopy trail. Tristan bit his lip, watching these two was like watching a comedy show.

“Hope, that’s not cooked.”

“Wait,” Tristan interrupted with a raised hand. “She throws food at you, and your only complaint was that it was raw.”

“Well,” Chris said sheepishly. “If it was cooked I would eat it.”

“What!” Hope said with a shake of her head. “You would eat a cooked egg shell?”

“I’m just worried that he’d eat something that collided with his face and then landed on the floor.”

“Wait, I thought poor people didn’t mind eating stuff off the floor.”

With this remark, Hope grabbed another egg shall and threw it at him like nobodies business. However, Chris was prepared this time and deflected it with the back of his hand. It flew three feet in the air, hit the cabinet, and then landed in the pan of sizzling bacon.

“Chris!” Hope said desperately as she flung it (and about a teaspoon of grease) out with her spatula.

“Well, now it’s cooked.” Tristan said, actually managing to laugh.

Fifteen minutes later they sat at the table and, once again, were provided with more words from Chris. The topics seemed to change rather quickly, from food to cars to the smell of fishermen beards, but remained no less energetic no matter what the topic.

“I’m telling you Tristan, I worked with fishermen for two years before I came here—”

“Half a year,” Hope corrected.

“Yeah whatever, but as I was saying stuff gets caught in their beards and gets so badly tangled you can’t get it out. Thats why they always smell like fish. They are still clean normal people, but a shower won’t get a tangled fish scale out of your bushy facial hair.”

“So were you the only guy who didn’t smell like fish?” Tristan asked with a smirk. “You don’t have a beard.”

“Oh no, he still smelled like fish,” Hope made sure to add in.

“That’s only because I didn’t take showers back then,” Chris retorted.

“Um, yes you did. Like twice a day for an hour each.”

“Fifteen minutes at the most sis, don’t exaggerate.”

“So you admit that you did take showers?”

“Um, like once a week.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. He doubted Chris was this stupid, he was probably just putting on the act.

“Speaking of showers,” Chris began in a poor attempt to change the subject. “What kind of soap do poor people use?”

At this remark Hope almost threw her eggs at him, but decided against it and just stood up.

“I’m going home Mr. Cole. Enjoy you time with my relative.”

“No you can’t leave!” Chris shouted as he also rose to his feet. “You have to help Tristan pick out his suit.”

“Well then I’m at least clearing the table while you finish your cold food,” she said as she started taking things to the sink.

Before too long, Chris had the living room arrayed with an unbelievable assortment of highly expensive and durable looking ninja outfits.

“These aren’t costumes,” he more than once mad clear. “These are genuine ninja suits that will serve the purpose of any hero.”

“Unless you are some kind of crazy armored flying machine.”

“Yeah but those don’t exist.”

Tristan shrugged, and looked down at a dark blue tunic with brown leather shoulder guards.

“Is all this stuff really necessary. I mean, I can appreciate the weapons you’ve brought,” he motioned towards a small heap on one of the nearby couches. “But I’m just not sure—”

“Bro, it’s necessary, and I already bought this stuff.”

“Ok,” he said with another shrug.

“So what’s your favorite color?” Hope asked while folding a brown mask which Chris had carelessly thrown to the floor.

“Um, green.”

“Oh, then what about this!” Chris quickly reached inside a box, pulling out a bright green suit covered in ugly snake prints. “It’s green, and kinda junglish looking.”

“Um, no. Sorry. I prefer to work in dark colors, like my jacket.”

“Agh, that make sense. Well, I have a black suit with both gold and green highlights on it. The gold is kinda flashy, but there isn’t very much of it. Hope, hand me that box right there,” he said while pointing towards the cardboard cube that was resting on the table. Once he received it, he pulled out the suit and gazed at the outfit before tossing it too Tristan.

“What do ya think bro?”

He looked at it for a second. It was sleeveless, but came with brown leather wrist guards. Most of the seams were dark green, and any bits metal were a gold color.

“It’s nice, better than the last.” He looked over at Hope, who smirked. The other green one was probably the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen, and why even Chris would waist his money on it they both had no idea.

“Oh, that’s strange,” Chris said with a frown.

“What?”

“It only have a half mask. See,” he said while holding up a green bandana like object.

“So, I actually like that. I’ve never been one to wear hats.”

“Dude, ninja masks aren’t hats—”

“I know,” he quickly managed to interrupt which a raise of his hand. “But my point is I like my hair free. Just feels better.”

Chris shrugged. “Oh well, if you want to reveal half your face, including that noticeable scar, go right ahead.”

Tristan was quiet for a second. That was true, the scar was noticeable.

“You could always wear a headband.” Hope added in.

“A what?”

“A headband, wrap it around your forehead. You also need a haircut, so it might keep the hair out of your eyes.”

Tristan smiled and ran his hand through his hair which, though overgrown to some degree, was not long enough to cover his eyes.

“Yeah sure.”

“No seriously,” Chris added in. “I have a green strip of cloth you could put over that. You’ed look like some rogue jungle warrior from two hundred years ago!”

Very soon, due to the relentless prompting of both Chris and Hope, Tristan walked back in in full attire. He honestly felt like an overgrown child who was playing with energetic friends at a sleep party, but nevertheless, he was slightly fringed with excitement. Chris had really taken his simple mission to the next level. All he needed now was—

“Eggs bro.”

“What?” Tristan asked in confusion. That was not the first thing he had expected to hear.

“Bro, not that you don’t have muscle, because you really do. However, you’ed look so much better if those bare arms were bulging. Dude, you need to eat eggs, lots of eggs.

“Um,” he didn’t have much else to say.

Goodbye, God bless, Greenflame24!