An Adventure for Mike Nelson

Part 1: An All-Purpose Backstory



By: Jaimielée Rocket
With *special* help from: Maelstrom

EMAIL: Jaimie-J: jaimielee_rocket@hotmail.com
Maelstrom: maelstrom32@hotmail.com
You can find more of our goofiness here at Have You Brought Pencils?:
http://www.hybp.homestead.com
All my MSTings are in the SoD Series section, go check it out! Please?

Disclaimer: Mike, Tom Servo, Crow T. Robot and anybody mentioned in here from "Mystery Science Theater 3000" belongs to BBI and whoever else has laid claim to it. Anything else mentioned in here that obviously does not belong to me belongs to whoever it belongs to. But anything that obviously DOES belong to me, belongs to me, such as Toby Thompson, Red Samson, Old Man and Henry, so on.

NOTES: Ah, I'm trying my hand at a MST3K fanfic rather than a MSTing. It takes place after Mike and the 'bots crash back to Earth. A nice little adventure of ::in sappy voice:: finding loved ones and find oneself. It also has original characters, but they aren't focal points. Trust me on this, even ask Bodger!

Speaking of Bodger: She was my beta reader! Thank you so much! You're a really wonderful helper! And I'm glad you liked it, and I don't mind your MST-like comments, it shows you liked it. :3

Overall stuff:
RATING: Uhhhhh . . . maybe overall PG or PG-13 . . . I'm not sure myself. ^^;; . . . Okay, if you're really really easily offended, turn away.
SMUT: Perverted jokes, nothing more I believe. The word "rack" is used a lot. Beware.
GORE: Hmmmm, probably not. Some people will get shmacked and things, but no blood and guts.
First part notes:
Characters: Mike Nelson, Tom Servo, Crow T. Robot and Hudson Hutchison
Notes on Hudson: She ain't a self-insertion, so don't think she is! She's an original character created for my MSTing series (the SoD Series), and she is supposed to be, in that series, a Mike-like character, that is why she looks and acts a lot like him, only she's into mechanics and not literature and arts like he. (And part of that reason is because she's pretty much illiterate!)
(That's the little plot points from the SoD, not this story. :3 People won't mind, not like I let slip some other important info . . . --ahem--)
Hudson isn't a focal point, she is merely here to cause the beginning conflict for the plot of this fanfic. Simple.

~*~*~*~*~*~

". . . so, then, after we crashed, we immediately ran off. We weren't going to be pinned for destroying acres of valuable farm land after just narrowly surviving a crash that seemed nearly impossible TO survive in. Then we got some money outta my account, found a nice little apartment and spent the following few months watching TV and eating rice. But eventually the rice ran out and our power and utilities were cut since we didn't have anymore money. We decided it was time for one of us to get a job and, since I was the human, I had to get it. One would think that I should have learned my lesson from before, but I didn't, and now I'm back doing temp jobs at D-Temps. But you knew that already, Hudson."

"Wow! That's so very fascinating, Mike!"

Mike Nelson grinned proudly at the woman that was sitting across from him. She was his first girlfriend since the return--hell, his first girlfriend for even longer than that!--and he had made sure he would make it special, so he took her to the best restaurants in town. That is, that best restaurants in town that he could afford on his salary. She didn't seem to mind, especially since she was a temp worker herself. He met her at his work place of D-Temps, and she was often seen alone, coming in to get work orders all by herself, no one bothering to go talk to her.

At first, Mike didn't understand why; she looked like a nice enough fellow. Then again, he had thought that because she had looked like a man at the time. Tall, toned, remarkably flat and with a plain face and short, messy hair, she looked like your average tousled male temp worker. Mike felt sorry for his fellow "male" coworker, and since no one paid any attention to him either, he went up to talk. After a pleasant conversation about jumpsuits and overalls, (Hudson apparently preferring to wear both), Hudson invited Mike out for "a movie or something." Mike agreed readily, eager to experience what socializing with humans was like again, but once Hudson had left, a coworker approached him, grinning wickedly.

"So, you took pity on her, huh pal?"

"On who?"

"Hudson Hutchison. Took pity on her, didn't ya? So now you're going out with her, right?"

"Hudson? You mean the guy who just left?"

The man stared at him oddly for a moment, then broke out laughing. "You thought Hudson was a man? You mean she didn't tell ya she's a she?"

Mike's mind slowly took this in, but eventually he realized what the man had meant. Well, actually, at first he thought that the coworker had been saying that Hudson was a crossdresser, but after that it eventually came to the poor farmboy's mind that Hudson was actually a female.
He was rather disturbed by that fact at first, and was planning on calling it off when he got home. Upon returning to his apartment, he found it a huge mess, with the furniture knocked over and spaghetti and strainers all over the place.

"We were watching Xena and our Joxer role play went a little out of hand," were the robots' excuse.

"You wanna join in?" Servo had asked, offering up a pasta strainer for the man to wear.

"Uh . . ." Mike had thought over his options quickly. Stay home and get plastered with pasta, or go out with Hudson, the man woman. Hudson won. " . . . Sorry, I have a date."

The 'bots, of course, thought he was lying. Even when he had left in a nice black shirt and slacks they didn't believe him. Even when he had returned, hours later than the movie was supposed to last, they STILL didn't.

As it turned out Hudson, once out of the green jumpsuit and gray overalls and into some jeans and a spaghetti stringed shirt . . . well, still looked like a guy, but more like a cute, feminine one. They had the same peronality and interests, but where he loved to read--anything from romance to cultural prose--she had a love for mathematics and for mechanics. It was a nice contrast, and Mike instantly fell for her after that first date.

The 'bots, however, kept giving him a hard time about his "alleged girlfriend."

"If she's real, how come we never see her or you in the same room together?" Crow questioned shrewdly.

"Di-yuuuuuh . . ." Mike thought for an answer, " . . . 'coz I've never invited her over?"

"And why is that?" the red 'bot inquired as smartly as his fellow robot.

"Because . . .you're wearing a bikini."

Servo peered down at the itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny, yellow polka dot bikini he was wearing. "That's beside the point, Mike. I don't wear it ALL the time."

"No," Mike replied, "'coz if you're not wearing it then Crow is."

"Or if I'm not, then our cardboard cutout of Bruce Campbell is," Crow added. Mike and Servo gave him "the look." "But that's still no excuse, Nelson. Admit it. You don't have a girlfriend!"

"I do so!" the man protested.

"Do not!" they shot back.

"Do so!"

"Not!"

"So!"

"NOT!"

"SO! And I'll prove it!"

"How?"

"I'm bringing her over after our lunch date!" When he had heard the robots' smug chuckles, Mike realized what he had been tricked. "Okay, guys, I'll bring her over after lunch, but you two had better be out of any clothing, no cardboard cutouts laying about, and absolutely no mess!"

"Gotcha!" they replied cheerfully.

So there he was, Michael J. Nelson, telling his past to a masculine woman, and he was about to invite her over to his apartment to meet two of the most uncouth beings in the world. "Gah, but why do I love them so?" Mike asked himself softly.

"Pardon me?" Hudson leaned forward, tilting her head.

Mike blinked, coming out of his reverie, and he smiled blankly at her. "Uh, so, after telling you all that, huh, how would you like to . . . meet the li'l guys? Uh, Crow and Servo?"

She smiled, her gray eyes lighting up. "I would love to!"

He smiled back. "Uh, yes, good. Good . . . you done?"

She pushed back her plate. "Yup! I'm full."

"Then, let's go, I guess." In thought, he muttered, 'And they had better have behaved themselves, or else I'll tear their wires out . . .'

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Well, here's my apartment . . . it's rather modest," Mike told Hudson humbly.

"Probably better 'n mine. Mine's a one room 'cept for a bathroom."

He paused before laying his hand on the knob. "Well, yeah, mine DOES sound better. . . . Well, heh, heh, here we go . . ." He rolled his eyes, praying to any who would listen up above that everything was in order and that a pie or a dirty sock or something wouldn't go flying for Hudson's face once he opened the door. Gathering courage, he threw it open, fitting his frame into the doorway, blocking Hudson's view, just in case . . .

. . . But everything was in order! No food or clothing plastered to the walls, no broken objects, no toys laying about. Nor anything that would embarrass Mike personally, like his underwear hanging from the light fixtures. Crow and Servo, themselves, were calmly sitting on the couch, watching the news, and they weren't even make derogatory remarks at it like they usually did.

"Why, hello there, Mike!" Crow chirped, looking over the back of the couch.

"Hey, Nelson, where's your date?" Servo asked, a little hint of skepticism in his voice.

"Oh! Oops, here." Blushing, Mike stepped aside, allowing space for Hudson to walk in. "Uh, Hudson Hutchison, this is Crow . . ." He gestured to the golden robot.

"Hello!" he greeted, as happy as ever.

". . . and the little pudgy one is Tom Servo."

"Enchanté, chèrie!" Servo greeted suavely.

Mike paused, waiting for some kind of wry or rude comment about Hudson from the 'bots, yet none came. In fact, they sat and talked for a couple of hours; nice pleasantries like life on a satellite and about whether or not Hudson could dismantle Servo and put him together again. It was later found out that she could do so perfectly, much to Servo's displeasure and to Crow's amusement. Throughout it all, the 'bots were perfect gentlemen.

Soon, it was time for her to leave to go get changed back into her jumpsuit and overalls to get ready for a temp job. "Bye, Hudson! Goodbye!" Crow and Servo sang after the woman as she and Mike left. A few minutes later, he returned, grinning.

"Well, what do you two think, huh?"

"Gee Mike!" Crow began brightly. "We think it's real nice of you to date a girl with absolutely no rack!"

Mike's eyes went wide. "What? Hey!"

"What?" Crow shouted, drawing back.

"Do you have anything nice to say?"

Crow looked at his fellow 'bot. "I thought I had!"

"Oh! Oh! I think I have something nice to say!" Servo called, bouncing around in his hovering.

"Yes, Servo?" Mike asked.

"She's nice, yes, and she certainly is smarter than you, Mike! Though that's not much . . ."

"SERVO!"

"What now? That was nice!"

"You guys are so infuriating!" the man yelled, his face turning red.

"At least we like girls with racks!" Crow yelled back. "She looks like a guy, Mike!"

"So?!"

"So?! So, that's odd!"

"Well, I dunno, Crow . . ." Servo interrupted him. "She sorta looks like Mike, and she looks like a guy, so maybe Mike is unconsciously dating himself . . ."

"Your point?" Crow snapped.

"That THAT is totally deranged."

"Ahhhh . . ."

Trying with all his might not to boot Crow and Servo, Mike balled his fists and asked in a forced voice, "Why do you guys always have to put down everything I do or like?"

"Because they're weird," Crow answered simply, with Servo nodding beside him.

Mike screwed his pale eyes shut and gritted his teeth. "Get out."

"What?" they both asked, bemused.

"Get out of the apartment. Get out now!"

Crow and Servo drew back, giving each other furtive, quizzical glances. "Are you serious, Mike?" the red 'bot questioned hesitantly.

Mike opened the door and pointed out to the hall. "Yes, I am."

Servo began to shake, as if he was about to panic and fall apart, but Crow's eyes did a subtle shift, making him appear, frankly, really cheesed off. With an edge in his voice, he said, "Okay, fine, Mike. Just 'coz we were being honest . . ." He headed for the door that was ajar. "C'mon, Servo, we're not wanted here."

Servo tentatively followed him, but paused next to Mike and stared up at the man. If he had eyes, they would have been large and wobbly. Seeing as he didn't, however, he could only sit and make pathetic little sniffling sounds. Just as it seemed he were going to say something meaningful, Crow rushed back and grabbed Servo's arm, tugging him out of the apartment. "C'mon, Servo, don't be a load!"

"I'm not a load!" was the last thing Mike heard before he slammed the door shut.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Well, so, Mike's gonna kick us out, huh?" Crow mumbled darkly to himself. He sat in a seat covered in soft supple leather. That seat itself was inside a red, high-class convertible. The engine was purring, and once in awhile he would rev it, making the angry noise accentuate his ire. "He's gonna regret that." Crow chuckled evilly as he put on some sunglasses he found on the dashboard. "He's gonna regret it good." He burst out laughing. "Gwahahahahah! Watch out, Mike Nelson, you're gonna regret it! Yes you are, you're gonna miss us, Mike. You're gonna miss us." He paused. "Should I kill Mike? Nah, I don't want to make him regret it that much." He revved the engine again, but stopped abruptly to turn and look at the entrance of the apartment building. "Servo! HURRYYYYYYY!"

A moment later, the doors swung open and the smaller robot came rushing out and hovered up and over the car door into his seat. In his hands he held a can of Sprite. "Sorry, but the line at the machine was killer. Get a move on!"

"Okay!" Crow readily agreed, putting the car into drive and zipping off down the road, ignoring those with the right of way.

After a period of silence, Servo opened his soda and took a sip. "Ahhhhh . . . Hey, Crow?"

"Yeah?"

"Where'd you get this car?"

"The rich guy that lives at the top of the apartment building came driving up as I was waiting for you and handed me the keys, saying, 'Be careful with her'!"

"Uh, Crow?"

"Yeah?"

"That guy thought you were the parking valet. Technically, I think we just stole a car."

Crow stared out at the road, not seeming to comprehend all that Servo was saying. "Yeah . . .so?"

"So . . . you think he left something of worth in here to hawk off?" he asked, leaning toward the glove compartment.

"Hmmm . . . I dunno . . . so go scrounging!"

"Whoo-hoo!" Servo cheered, downing the rest of his sprite and throwing the can into the back seat. He lunged at the compartment, popped it open, and began burrowing through all the papers and junk in there.

"Hey, as you look, try to find a map," Crow requested.

Servo pulled back out of the compartment. "Why? Where are we going?"

"Well, currently, west. Beyond that, I dunno. Maybe to Idaho?"

"Why there?" Servo inquired with disgust.

"I dunno."

"You don't know much, now do you?"

"Nope!" he replied, quite cheerful about it.

Servo returned to the glove compartment. "Yeah, not that surprising . . ."

"Nope!"

*sigh*
~*~*~*~*~*~

Right after kicking the robots out, Mike felt a kind of joy or happiness at being alone in his apartment. Being able to have Hudson over and not being afraid of Servo or Crow to come running out of their room, chucking balls at each other, or begging to watch TV was very nice. Then again, it was nice not having that in general, with or without Hudson.

Soon he began to feel regret and loneliness, however. Mike found himself awake a week after kicking the robots out of the apartment, lying in his bed, staring at the wall opposite of him, wishing for the sounds of wide awake and rambunctious robots running around and preventing him from sleeping with the ruckus they caused. Of course, he couldn't sleep now, but at least during those times he had the excuse of having the 'bots with him, rather than their abscence. He missed the sounds of Crow screaming that he wanted a glass of water, or of Servo running in and crying that he'd had a nightmare.

So Mike laid there, staring at the wall, until he decided to think of something else to keep his mind off his sadness. The first thing that came to his mind was, of course, the 5th Dimension, but the second thing that came to him was Hudson Hutchison.

"I wonder what she's doing?" he mused to himself, peering over at his clock. "Two A.M.? She's probably asleep." His gaze turned to his bedside telephone. "Would she mind if I call? I could really use someone to talk to . . ."

After an hour later of thinking, he finally picked up the phone and dialed Hudson's number. After a few rings, the machine picked up and her recorded alto voice recited, "I'm out. Leave a message. Simple as pie. Thank you. --beep--"

"Hello, Hudson?" Mike called. "It's me, Mike. Hello? I need someone to talk to, I miss the li'l guys." He paused for a couple of seconds. "Hello? Okay, sorry for calling this early, I'll try lat--" The machine beeped again and hung up on him. "--ter." He groaned and hung it up, rolling over onto his back to stare at the Silly Putty stuck on his ceiling. His eyebrows raised. "When did the 'bots do THAT? Oh well. But I wonder why she didn't pick up? Hudson said she kept her machine by her bed for just that reason. Could she still be working this late?" He gave a big yawn, stretching his legs under his covers. "Huh. I wonder . . . I'll call when I wake up . . ." And with that, he fell asleep, and had a fun-filled dream of the SoL, Servo, Crow and even Gypsy, where they went on a large Hobgoblin hunt.

He awoke with a jerk at noon. Moaning, he rubbed his face as he sat up. Scratching and yawning, he looked at his clock. "Dammit, I have a job at one. How could I sleep so long? And why have I been talking to myself so many times?" He stopped to scratch his head and think. "Oh, yeah, because I've slowly been going insane!" He picked up the phone and dialed Hudson's number once more. A few rings later, the machine picked up again. Once the message was over, he went back through the routine of, "Hello, you there?" There was still no answer.

"Hmm . . ." He hung up and stared at the phone. "She would have called me this morning, like she usually does if she misses my night calls." His eyes widened as dreaded thoughts came into his mind. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his face in horror. "What if she went to a job and the boss was some psycho? What if she was kidnapped? Murdered at home? *gasp* What if Crow and Servo went to her apartment and duct taped her to her bed and are torturing her by tickling her!" He shifted his eyes. "I wouldn't put it above them." Scratching his head some more, he decided that after he took a nice bubbly bath, he would call D-Temps, cancel his job, see if Hudson was working, and if not, go to her house to make sure Servo and Crow weren't making Hudson watch bad movies and riff the films with them.

"Yes, but first . . . the bath. Where's the Herbal Essence?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

As he had planned, he took a nice bath, and once he was dressed in some jeans, a white T-shirt, a blue flannel and his usual pair of sandals, Mike called D-Temps, telling them to cancel his next job, and asked whether or not Hudson had any jobs planned.

"No," the woman over the line told him. "In fact, she hasn't been in to pick up an assignment for two days now."

"Did she have a job before then? Like, the night before she didn't come in again?"

"No, she cancelled so you two could go out pulling taffy or whatever it is you kids do, Mike."

"Oh, yeah. Well, thank you, Susan."

"You're welcome, Mike, but don't miss too many work days, or you'll be fired."

He nodded. "I know. Thanks again. Bye."

"Goodbye."

He hung up and stood staring out his window at the city. It was a bleak, cloudy day. "My, how convenient," he muttered to himself, "the day matches my mood." His eyes narrowed dangerously and he straightened his flannel with a certain certainty. "Servo, Crow . . ." he murmured lowly, trying to sound as threatening as a Wisconsin farmboy could sound, (which wasn't much), " . . .if you're over there . . ." Picking up his wallet and making sure that he had enough money for a taxi, he dashed out of the apartment and out to rescue Hudson, if indeed she needed it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Here." Mike threw a wad of money at the driver, not really caring too much if he had given too much or too little, or if he had seriously injured the stranger with paper cuts. He rushed out of the cab and into the run-down apartment building, running up four flights of stairs and crawling up the other four, panting and grabbing his chest where the general location of his heart was. Ignoring the fact and embarrassment that he had basically panicked too much to have noticed that there was an elevator, he ran, or rather stumbled . . . or rather that, did a mad crawl to Hudson's door. Recovering strength, he stood and knocked loudly on the port. "Hudson? Hudson! You there?!" He fell silent to listen. No answer, not even one sound. "Hudson? Crow! Servo! You two had better not be in there!" He reached for the knob and turned it, expecting it to be locked. It opened with creaking ease, however, and he stepped into the one room apartment. He had been there once before after kicking the 'bots out of the apartment. It had been a jumbled mess then as well, so he wasn't too surprised to see the apartment still in a wreck. Stepping over pieces of clothing, scraps of paper, garbage and varying mechanical devices, he looked about for anything suspicious.

"Wow! Hudson!" Mike breathed as he picked up a picture from the floor that had caught his attention. "Nice RACK!" He turned the paper, looking at it at a different angle. " . . . Of spices!" he concluded, dropping the blueprints for building a spice rack back onto the floor. He turned around and let out a startled gasp. "Hudson! Now THAT'S a rack!" He hurried forward and took hold of something. "If I had guns, this is EXACTLY where they'd go!" He held aloft an intricately carved gun rack, which held large tools like wrenches and hammers rather than guns.

Even though Mike had seen the place before, it was just briefly and as he wandered about at that moment of time, he stared in wonder. Passing over all the wonderful racks, he admired many mechanical inventions and devices, many of which he couldn't recognize or see the usefulness in. There were some that he could, like the toaster only with more implements than it should have. Over by a drafting table that had papers all over it, he noticed something rather amazing. Sitting on two stools were two exact duplicates of Servo and Crow, but they just sat there, not at all animated. "Hmmm," he hummed to himself, "she must not know anything about the drives and programs that will run them." He went closer to the duplicates, and moved over to the table. He picked up two sketches of the 'bots, detailing individual parts. It even had wiring included, but there weren't any hard drives to give them life or will. He shifted through more sketches and blueprints, and found that none of them had any writing on themexcept for the names of the objects that were being made, (and even then it was misspelled sometimes; Crow, for example, was actually spelled with a "K" on her plans), and a few calculations. What mathematical problems that were written on there were large and complex, making his head spin. "Cripes, Hudson, how can anyone do that?"

Shaking his head, he put the papers he had been holding back down. He was about to leave when something new caught his eye. A piece of paper that had actual words on it. He held it up and began to read the pretty cursive writing. "I have Hudson, oh yes, I do, and soon I will get the others, the two that you love the most, but first I have to track them down. Soon, Mike, soon . . . Sincerely, P."

He blinked. "P? What in the world? Did Crow and Servo write this to throw me off?" He paused. "No, it's too nice of handwriting to be theirs. So, the two that I love most? Heckle and Jeckle? The Wonder Twins?" He gasped in terror. "Jessie and James?! NOOO! Oh, wait, I think this 'P' means Crow and Servo." He put the note back onto the drafting table calmly before he began to panic. "Oh no! Not the li'l 'bots! If they were to be taken away . . ." Tears welled up in his eyes. "P got Hudson, there ain't much I can do about THAT." He blinked away his tears and shifted his eyes. "I must do something about Crow and Servo, though. I must find my friends!" He turned around and stumbled back, surprised. "Hey! There you two are! Thank God! Oh, no, those are the duplicates Hudson made . . . I forgot . . ." He faced the door and began to march out, declaring in a voice filled with bravado, "Now, away! To find my buddies!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

After packing a duffel bag with clothing, food, water, and a blanket and pillow in case he had to sleep outside, Mike left his apartment building. On the way out, he noticed that the rich man from the top floor was waiting outside by the doors, an impatient look on his face. Come to think of it, that man had been standing there for the past couple of days. . . . The temp worker stood next to the man and asked, "Hello, Mister Sorenson, what are you up to?"

The man, Sorenson, looked at Mike and replied, "I've been standing here waiting for the stupid valet to return my red convertible."

Mike's face contorted into confusion. "We have a valet? Well, what did he look like?"

"He was short, spindly, golden and had a net on his head."

"Ahhh . . ." Mike nodded. "I hope he comes back soon! Bye, Mister Sorenson!" He began to walk away.

"Good day, Mister Nelson."

As he strode, a realization struck the temp. "Drove away in a red convertible? Short and spindly, huh?" He resumed walking, shrugging. He halted once more as another thought crossed his mind. "And he was golden, huh? With a net?" He ran back to Mister Sorenson. "Did the valet have a beak?" he asked.

"Why, yes!" the man replied.

Mike turned slightly and mumbled to himself in a frighteningly quick pace, "I see, Sorenson probably mistook Crow for the valet and gave him the keys to park the car. Crow, being Crow, probably didn't realize this and took the car, thinking it was a hand out. Servo, being Servo, probably went along with it gladly. So now they've been driving for God knows how long and I somehow have to catch up to them." He paused. "It's all coming together now." He faced Sorenson again, who was staring at him rather oddly. "Which way did he go, did you see him?"

"Yes, I saw him and his stout friend drive off that way, I believe." He pointed west.

"Thank you!" With that, Mike began to jog off at a steady pace.


And that was the Kronk sketch, ladies and gentlemen. If you don't know what that is because you haven't seen "The Emporer's New Groove" yet, then pooh to you.

End of Part I; An All-Purpose Backstory
Soon, Part II; Red in a Blue Ford Truck

_______________________________________

Wow, I made Mike seem incredibly dumb, didn't I? ^^;; Sorry. I don't think he's really that dimwitted, but for a stupid humor 'fic such as this . . . he was for a bit! So I apologize, I love Mike, I do. --kiss--

Oh, and Bodger was wondering if "The Emporer's New Groove" was good. I loved it, saw it about two or three times. (I literally can't remember how many times I saw it. O_o) I'd suggest anyone seeing it, I've heard few people say they hate it, and even then they said some parts were real good. Go if not just to hear the Kronk thing when he's sleeping with a Teddy under a small tent when he realized that Pacha took Kuzco. ^^ I love Kronk, and his shoulder angel and devil.

So, anyway, see people afraid of original characters, Hudson ain't that bad. And I hope to all that is good and beautiful that no one turned away just because of dear old Hudson. And if anyone has any objections to her little "problems," such as a couple of dunderheads at school, then pooh on you, too!

Good night.
Sage advice from Bobo about love: A really good mate is gonna be able to out run ya for a bit, but just grab a hold of a leg and hang on tight. You're gonna be kicked, that's always gonna be a part of it.

Jaimielée Rocket
--For more goodness, go to Have You Brouught Pencils? at
http://www.hybp.homestead.com
It has all my other goofy fanfics and my MSTing series, which is the best thing I've ever done in fandom works so far. Please read and give feedback. Thank ye.

Thanks again to Bodger.

© 2001, Jaimielée Rocket