"Like stubborn horseradish from the earth came the gossip from his mouth."

-Delores, "Turn or Burn, Volume 1 of the Turnip the Volume Series"

It had been five days of inspiration-less silence in that borrowed beach house. Somewhere between the living and dining rooms a cacophonous wheezing could be heard, followed shortly by noisy gulps of water. It was 48 hours till Perrin Pits's call. It was 48 hours till Delores abandoned vegetarianism. Again.

"I'm sorry," said MJ.

"No, I'm sorry," said Delores. "This is just a horrible position I've put you in."

"Well, I'm super, super sorry," said MJ. "Real life sounds like a real pain."

"Yeah. And I'm sorry you have to hear about it."

"And I'm sorry you have to live it. Really. I'm sorry." MJ paused, mouth still open. "I'm..." he said, "I'm the sorriest."

Delores slumped in her chair.

MJ considered letting the moment pass. His social awareness itched. It itched some more. He slammed his lips closed, determined to tame his chronic worry. He thought about the joys of world building. He thought about the relaxing nature of creating a table of contents. His mind wandered over to character creation. Tall people, short people, people with twigs for hair... their hobbies, their habits, their pets... Pets. Pets? Oh! Pets! MJ shivered. He'd forgotten to feed his tenants upstairs.

"I... I'm so sorry I made that whole sorry thing a competition just now!" he stammered. "That's not how I meant it, really!" His words popped out like a jack-in-the-box.

Delores recoiled, eyes wide. Clasping her chest and slouching once more she said, "Ah, it's ok, Making Jargon, I'm s-."

Bump.

b-b-BANG!

"Did you hear that?" Delores leapt to her feet and scrutinized the ceiling. "It sounds like it came from up there."

MJ did hear it. "Uhhhh. No. Nope. I didn't hear it," he said. "What uh, what exactly did you hear?"

CRASH!

"That! I heard that! Except there was more banging before!" Delores snatched a fork off a used plate and wielded it like a sword.

"A fork?" asked MJ.

Delores nodded. "Good thinking, Making Jargon!" She collected three more forks from three more used plates. MJ shook his head.

Delores tiptoed across the room. She resembled a second-rate fairytale monster, rounded back, fists high and full of forks. The space where eyes would've been on MJ, bugged. The tips of his mustache twitched. Dandruff, like sweat, flaked from his chin.

THUD!

Delores took a step back, left heel twisting in the unseen, greasy white mountain. The author and her accessories disagreed on which way to land, her body going one way and her spectacles going the other.

"Oh gosh, are you okay?" asked MJ, floating down beside her. "I'm sorry. I've got the nervous sweats." He reached out to his supervisor with one side of his mustache.

"No, no, I'm sorry," said Delores. She rolled onto her knees as she spoke. Accepting MJ's outstretched hair, she pulled herself up and examined the undersides of her feet. "I'm pretty sure it's my fault. I've got slippery foot syndrome, remember?"

"Yeah, but I-"

OOOOOOO!!

Delores put a hand over MJ's mouth. "You heard THAT, right? I mean...is there something...is there someONE here with us?"

MJ went rigid.

"Making Jargon?" asked Delores, waving a hand in front of his face. "You ok?" She plucked the beard from where he floated and tucked him in the crook of her arm. "I get scared too sometimes," she whispered. "These forks will hopefully scare the scariness away."

MJ doubted it.

Delores crept up the stairs.

Though she did not turn the handle, the door inched open upon her arrival. A monkey, the size of a dresser stood on the other side.

Delores gasped. She set her imaginary friend down and rubbed her eyes.

Spotting MJ, the monkey stepped aside and allowed the pair entry.

Delores's hand hovered between her mouth and her chest as she walked into the room.

A monkey a little smaller than a soccer ball darted across her feet. Delores gasped again.

She pointed to each monkey as she counted, "One...two... and where's...?" Movement across a dusty white sheet caught her eye. "Three!" Delores reached out to the final monkey, who stood no taller than a thimble. The monkey leapt into her hands, curled up and promptly fell asleep.

Shock filled Delores's eyes. "What are they doing here, Making Jargon?" she whispered. "I thought I'd never see them again."

MJ coughed. He knew this moment would come someday and yet he'd neglected to prepare an answer. "I - I know it's wrong to house someone else's imaginary friends but...I couldn't just let them die...like their...creator did..."

"I thought I'd never see them again."

MJ winced. He hated that she'd found out this way. Two years of successfully keeping the capuchin triplets a secret went completely down the drain.

"I, I wanted to tell you..." MJ's words were as dusty as the air he now breathed. "I just didn't know how. I'm so-"

"Save it."

Delores placed the tiny monkey in the arms of his middle-sized brother and pat them both on the head.

She swallowed hard. "Did you bring them here just to mess with me, Making Jargon?" she said, eyes welling with tears.

MJ opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't tell me," said Delores. "You're good at keeping secrets anyway."

With one hand on the back of her neck, she headed out the door, determined to never look back.

(From the Tilda universe)