113;

[flair]

Title: Why Iceland Never Gets To Eat His Fries
Characters: Iceland, Mr. Puffin
Rating: G

The room was dark, small shafts of light filtering in through almost-closed blinds when Iceland came back from buying food from the local McDonalds, which was weird, since he always kept the blinds open to watch the volcano ash float over to England's house and have a good laugh with Mr. Puffin. Speaking of whom, he was sitting in a little chair at a little desk, a tiny cigar in his beak and a sweet-ass fedora on his head, lopsided in the matters of all good Bosses - and, like a good Boss, he was given Iceland the Look, the disappointed one all Bosses wear.

"What is it, Mr. Puffin?"

"Ya didn't get any fer me, did ya?"

Iceland blinked and looked at his bag. Surely the puffin didn't mean his food!

"This is people food. Puffins don't eat fries."

"That's what ya think, kid!"

Mr. Puffin dived for the bag, jumping angrily when Iceland lifted it up and away.

"Puffins eat fish."

"And I ain't no regular puffin! Listen kid, I got a deal youse can't refuse. Ya gimme dem fries, see, and then I let youse stay here, see?"

But he lived here.

"But I already live here."

"And youse about not to once I tear up this here lease form, see! So just hand over the fries, and nobody gets kicked out."

That was the first, but not the last, day that Iceland surrendered his delicious cheesy fries to Mr. Puffin.