Don't Step On The Flowers

Reno cracked open one eye.

And then he cracked open the other.

And then he shot into a sitting position with a bit of a yelp, looking around his room in a cold sweat.

... Oh. Okay. Okay, he wasn't dead, and he wasn't locked in a closet while not dead, after all, and he was pretty certain that he was sane again. Or as close as he ever got to it. No evil twins? No vast fortune? He was still just a dirty paid killer from the slums? He'd just slept in?

Okay. Good. Reno shook his head to himself, swore up and down that someday he was gonna find the island's balls so that he could kick them in, and then he got out of bed to feed his ferret. His nice, normal, possibly slightly retarded mutt of a ferret, who had perfectly normal toes and a tendency to honk at anything that moved.

"Fandom is way too friggin' weird," he mumbled to himself.

Mako Dumbass the First agreed with a hearty sort of honk while he gnawed on Reno's fingers.

[Open if anyone wants to say hi. I just felt like being all posty.]

Rone, the twin of the ill-fated and rather dim, rather wealthy, and stunningly attractive Reno, had spent Saturday in his newly acquired room, rifling through all of his ill-gotten gains. The body of his late brother had been tied up (simply because one could never be too careful) and locked in the closet, where Rone wouldn't have to lay eyes on it until he could find the opportunity to properly dispose of the very clearly, certainly, obviously, and indisputably dead thing.

He didn't mind losing the closet space, really. His twin brother kept very little in his enormous walk-in closet, aside from a few Armani suits and the food for Reno's rarest-of-the-rare prized pedigree Amazon black-footed angora siamese polydactyl scentless albino vegan afghan show-ferret, of course. And Rone had little interest in such trivial things.

No, no, Rone's attention had been on far more important fare. Reno's diary, left on the nightstand with the key conveniently set beside it for purposes of quickening along the scene, had proven to be interesting reading last night. He had learned a great deal about the family that he had never known and about the life that he was now going to assume for his own.

His foolish brother's diary had become his bible, and a red sharpie marker had taken care of the little matter of mimicking the two red birthmarks on his brother's cheeks, which were the only features that, at a glance or a glimpse or even a good, long look, set the two of them apart.

Armed with Reno's entire life story scrawled in flowery calligraphy in a little black book, Rone's plot to have his revenge and to take the family fortune for himself was finally underway. Reno's wallet was in his pocket, and he'd painstakingly perfected the art of forging his twin brother's signature overnight. All that remained now was the process of insinuating himself into every aspect of the life that his brother had once known.

Just as soon as he'd had himself a nice, long, melodramatic laugh, naturally.

[Door is closed, but the post is open, if you'd like to pop in. I'm headed to bed right away, but I'll be around to catch pings in the morning!]