The big fight. The big one, I say. The one at the end where the good guys inevitably win. I have no problem with this, I'm one of the good guys after all. But why oh why do I always have to fight wearing ridiculous costumes? I have thus far failed to mention the affair of my dress. In retrospect this might be because I was so caught up in telling my own wonderful story that I didn't want to lose the thread. I knew my readers would not be interested in my clothing (even if I would have been) when my life was in possible danger and the entire world might be falling down. Or maybe it was because it merely slipped my mind. Your guess is as good as mine.

Naturally Miata wanted me to power up because, quite naturally, I'd need stronger powers for the final battle. Naturally this happens at a critical moment. Naturally my girly costume becomes even more girly with more shades of pink than previously existed in all the universe and more layers than necessary and, most importantly, more uncomfortable than any other garment on God's green Earth. Or God's blue Earth. Or that yellowish one in the 43rd dimension. Which Earth makes little difference. The point is, I'm rather mortified. I don't like being mortified. Mortification is a bad thing… and in totally unrelated news, it's also a long word.

"Fish." I said. I was proud of the smooth and even tone in my voice. It added to the lunacy of what I was about to say. "Fish are to be taken into account."

Mr. Bad Man's perplexed look nearly cracked me up. "Come again?" he said cautiously.

"Fish." I replied. "Beavers. Chickens." I waved a free hand in the air and sauntered around. "They're important you know. Add a lot to the complexity of the problem."

He drew a contemplative sigh. Actually, he didn't draw anything. He didn't have anything to write with. Furthermore, if you're going to draw something let's hope it's more concrete than a sigh, good heavens. What he actually did was sigh in that hopelessly lost way like when you know you had your keys a half second ago but you can't for the life of you figure out where they're at now.

"Oh! Turtles. Can't forget the turtles. Nearly did for a second too. You're lucky I remembered."

At this point Mr. Bad Man had a revelation. He grinned knowingly. "I know what you're doing." He declared this with the air of a very satisfied child who thinks he's won an argument with his parents. Sadly, that satisfaction usually disappears when he finds out that 'because I said so' makes his case null and void. "You're pulling a Psycho Meri on me, aren't you? Thought you'd get away with it too. Very clever."

Drat. He wasn't supposed to guess that.

I heaved my own sigh as he carefully moved to stand beside me. All the little projectiles I'd managed to rig at the spot where he was standing were now completely useless. So much for the old 'nonchalant meandering while rigging a trap for your confused enemy' trick. I really should have enrolled in Revised Battle Tactics for the Good Guy 204 last semester but nooo, I had to take nothing but fluff classes like World Domination 256 and Sewing for Self and Prisoners 220.

"Fine." I snapped. "Let's get this over with then."

I won't bore you with details. Basically it all happened according to tradition. We faced off and not too surprisingly Mr. Bad Man had the upper hand at first. Only after I had just about given up hope did I get the edge. This was after Mr. Bad Man had grown to about four times his usual side and destroyed the tower. Standing there cold and alone in the dark (because the sun had obligingly set to create the right atmosphere) I heard Alero's voice behind me complaining about all the wind we were whipping up. It was ruining his hair. Kia yelled at him to shut up before he ruined my concentration. Camry angled for a better view up my skirt. Anglia sobbed quietly. It was then that I felt the sappy love flowing out of me. Me! I can't stand this group of losers I'm stuck with and yet somehow there are strong bonds, strands of friendship that connect each of us. They're a bright blue color, if you wanted to know. Here's the really shocking thing though: it hurt! They never tell you that it's going to hurt. They never tell you that it's going to feel like a cold fire washing through your skin. I was going to have to write a strongly worded letter. That's just cruel.

The injustice of this withheld information ticked me off. With one last blast from my wand it was over. It was all over… and man was I tired.