When Life Gives You Limes

Chapter II: Thanks, Grammy!

It had been around three hours since that non-climacteric thing had begun to terrorize their wonderous city, and for every minute it was still here, Lime's hatred for it doubled. He was almost to the point of going on Twitter to hate... 

But, Lime was a good man. So even though he had a burning hatred for that thing, Lime knew not to do anything rash. Besides, he had plenty more things he could do that were all much more productive and mature. Really, it was stupid to even think Lime was the type of person to do anything even remotely as bad as posting a Twitter rant. Cherry, what does he look like, someone with anger managements issues? 

Though just because Lime wasn't going to do anything too bad, he still needed a way to make the orange leave his city. Drive it out of town. Make it hit the road. Maybe, make sure it don't come back no more, no more, no more, no more, if you know what he means. 

It was something Lime had been pondering for the last 76 minutes and 15 seconds. How to get rid of the orange? He had a few ideas; steal all it's things, publicly humiliate it, change his major from business to construction management, start using his house as an Airbnb as he works on building a few dozen condos and apartments, open his condos and apartments to be rented after a few years, wait for the orange to move in, make everything go smoothly for the first couple of months, give it baked goods, then claim that gas prices are skyrocketing and triple the orange's monthly rent because even though he's a multi-billionaire, he needs to feed his family, or bully it on Roblox. 

None of his ideas were really too plausible. He wouldn't have enough space to store all of it's disgusting items, it would know Lime didn't like it, he didn't know how to bake, and he can't risk getting his Roblox account darkxwolf320 banned.

Lime sighed in exasperation, using his feet to kick off his desk and get a bit closer to the blueprints he had sprawled out across his coffee table. An audible groan could be heard from him as he leaned forward to read through his current, and best, plan. It was quite simple, really. 

Step 1: Find where the orange lived, with Lemon presumably. 

Step 2: Break in. 

Step 3: Steal the orange while it's sleeping and--

Wait. No. Lime groaned again. He couldn't do that, security was too tight where Lemon lived. Plus, he was pretty sure he was banned from there. Cherry, all you have to do is break in one time.

Lime clenched his fists, slammed them down on the table. The blueprints scatter around the floor. His grandma's cat, which was previously laying comfortably next to the papers, jumped up, scampering up the stares. In his anger, Lime began to grumble quietly, but knew he had to clean up his mess. He was just about to bend down, when he saw it. The picture he made when he was twelve. 

Flamey.

Lime's heart skipped a beat. Carefully, he picked up the drawing. How could he forget? His flamethrower. Thirteen years old, still worked like a charm. Or, at least, he thinks it still works as a charm. Lime isn't really... allowed to use it anymore. His grandma stole it from him after he accidentally set fire to a building or two with it after a senior started bullying him for being a freshman. It was epic, but apparently Grammy didn't appreciate his Awesome Acts of Arson™. 

But maybe he could change that... maybe he could get his flamethrower back... 

By drugging Grammy. 

The wheels of his chair screeched when Lime frantically spun it over to his desk. He ripped out a piece of paper from his notebook that had writing on it, throwing it somewhere near the trashcan. He snatched a pen from his "#1 Buisness Magor" cup. 

His pencil danced across the paper  as he wrote down everything he could think of. Hide lead in her food? No, that'd be inconvenient later. Lace her medication with chlorine? No, it'd take too long to kick in. Put cocaine in her mask? Too expensive. 

Lime hesitated. What could he do? Everything that wasn't lethal was either nearly impossible for a broke 23 year old such as himself to get or would take too long to kick in. He needed that flamethrower now.

A groan escaped Lime's throat. He glanced over at his clock. 1:08 AM. It was late, he needed to get sleep. He probably had a test tomorrow and was just too tired to remember it. Cherry... but he wasn't tired at all. Lime sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out above him. Whatever, he could just take some Nyquil.

Wait. Nyquil. 

Suddenly, Lime didn't really feel like going to sleep. 

For the first time since Lime had gotten home, he rushed upstairs. At first, he tip-toed, careful not to wake Grammy. A few steps later, he abandoned the want to be quiet, instead focusing on his main mission. Replace Grammy's Zocor with--well, you can guess what it's being replaced with. Lime was able to get to the bathroom, being so quiet not even Banana noticed him creeping throughout their house. He pried open the medicine cabinet, which really needed to be oiled, and instantly started searching for both their Nyquil and Grammy's meds.  

"Aha!" Lime quietly exclaimed to himself as he picked up the half-empty bottle of Zocor. A bit more of shuffling later and in his right hand was a nearly full bottle of Nyquil pills. He went right to emptying out the Zocor, pouring them in the toilet and flushing. Then, he unscrewed the Nyquil cap, pouring around half of it into the empty Zocor bottle. The Nyquil looked chunkier than the Zocor, and the colors were totally different, but Grammy was old and deteriorating, she wouldn't notice a thing. 

It was impossible to bite back a snicker as he placed the Nyquil-filled Zocor back onto the shelf, quietly closing the door so Grammy wouldn't think anything was up. He walked out of the bathroom just as quietly as he had entered, which wasn't really that quietly, tip-toing back down to his room, in the basement. This was going to be so good, and Lime wouldn't regret it at all.

Now all there was to do was wait.