For Some Odd Reason (pt. 6)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

It was.

That is to say, the Great Red Spot was.

That is to say, it was turbulent.

On the whole, therefore, the Great Red Spot was, in fact, very turbulent.


Consequently, when Ratchet entered therein, it was with great difficulty that her trusty fedora kept her stationary while the mass of oddly-tinged gases raised Cain, as well as half a dozen other murderous sons whom the Bible failed to mention. Ratchet's hair, which had only briefly reacquainted itself with the decidedly interesting effects of zero gravity and a complete vacuum, was suddenly wrenched every which way without much concern for the fact that her hair had, up until this point, managed to appear what might be called auburn by some, and simply brown by others. Ratchet was a sort of sensible nut, so in this particular case, she had elected not to take the more imaginative or romantic option and chose, when asked, to name her hair brown.

This had given her little comfort, for whatever mild sense of nonconformist satisfaction she got out of it. In the end, she was truly open to options. As it was, the Great Red Spot obliged. From that day on, her hair took on an almost nauseating red tinge which was regularly accompanied by the oddest aroma of strawberries. Ratchet couldn't think what to make of this, in following days, but she considered the precise nature of her hair of little concern at present.

She felt, at this time, the desire to call upon her fedora to get her out of there, but found rather quickly that she couldn't remember ever having named the chap. This unsettled her mildly, as she'd taken care to name almost everything she'd come in contact with since the day she was born. Some of the names, fortunately, were not in English.

Ratchet decided on the spot that she'd better name him...

"DAVE!" she bellowed as if the storm around her were making a lot of noise.

"WHAT!?" Dave said, seemingly accepting the name without thought or pause, and screaming to such a degree that Ratchet physically felt her skull rattle.

"GET ME OUT OF HERE!" she screamed in similar tones and volumes. Ratchet had never had plans to sing professionally in any capacity, but any aspirations friends or family had for her to do the same died a miserable and altogether gory death. Dave obliged rather wholeheartedly. Ratchet's neck popped strangely as her hat dragged her body by the head from the whirling maelstrom. She wondered later if the same force might have killed her had she less control over this strange...happenstance.

Ratchet flew through the solar system rather effortlessly, contemplating her precise purpose and origin. To be more precise, actually, she contemplated her thoroughly nebulous purpose and oddly foggy origin.

At this time, Ratchet assumed a rather dignified stance from which any outside observer could, well, observe that she was in deep thought. To be honest, she couldn't really have pulled it out without the fedora, but then again, he was pulling her through the solar system, had a physical mouth and eyes, and had spoken audibly in a complete vacuum. He obviously couldn't be trusted.

Ratchet snorted at herself and chuckled a bit. Her imagination was kinda getting out of control. She pulled Dave onto her rather ragged looking mop and grinned.

Suddenly, a sword and sheath appeared around her waist.

Ratchet didn't even flinch.


!Noah!