AUTHOR: Amet (amet)
FANDOM: Invader Zim
RATING: PGish, because nothing Zim related can be G.
SUMMARY: Cleaning. With meat.
PAIRINGS: None. Because no Tallest, boo.
SPOILERS: I'm not thinking any.
ARCHIVED: Onion Girls
FEEDBACK: Yes please! ^.^
THANKS: To sephyelysian, for putting up with me. ^_^
AUTHOR'S NOTES: My second Zim fic, and hey look, he's actually in it. XD This is strange and kind of pointless, but so is the canon, so hopefully that's okay. Written for cyrulean, who wanted GIR, Zim and house chores (which somehow got into my head as 'cleaning', but same diff, right? Right?).
"Doo dee doo dee doo!"
GIR stuck his tongue out in concentration as he took aim, and let fly. A slab of Grade-A pork loin hit the floor with a satisfying squelch, slip-sliding across the linoleum to lay to rest smack in the middle of an Unidentifiable Stain. GIR thought it was an interesting stain--it looked a bit like Pig (if his head was all caved in) and had been perfectly happy sharing the kitchen with it peacefully--but Master insisted. It had to die.
GIR knew this because they'd had a Talk. One with lots of arm waving and CAPITAL LETTERS worked in, where Master explained that the Unidentifiable Stain was all a part of the enemy's scheme to foil their fiendish plans--nay, topple the EMPIRE. GIR stopped listening halfway through, but Master assured him that though he was too stupid to follow complicated Irken logic, they would find him a way to be useful.
Which was a fancy way of saying that GIR would be cleaning by himself, but he didn't mind. The meat was tasty, and Master wasn't paying attention.
Except when he was.
"GIR! Why are you not finished!" The little Irken demanded, stomping into the kitchen. He wasn't wearing his human-disguise, antennae waving impatiently as he paused to survey GIR's handiwork and frowned at the little stuffed animal tied to one of the kitchen chairs. "And what happened to your pig... thing?"
GIR snapped to attention, slamming his hand against the metal of his face plating as he replied, with all due capitals, "I MIGHT HAVE CRUSHED HIS HEAD. SIR."
"TO SEE IF IT WOULD SQUISH RIGHT," he said smartly, and then because he couldn't contain it added, "Dee doo!"
Master stared for a long moment, antennae drooping a bit before he seemed to decide it didn't matter and shook it off. "O-kay then. Carry on. And don't waste the meat. I need it to tackle the filthy Dib stink in the yard." He pumped a fist in the air as he gained momentum. "Lean meaty victory shall be mine!"
GIR quirked his head to the side, tongue lolling.
Master let his arms fall to his sides. "No?"
GIR shook his head. Hummed a little.
"Oh all right," Master huffed, flinging open the cabinets beneath the sink, digging around until he came up with a pair of goggles and a can of Lysol (with new, improved lemon scent!) and resumed the position. "Lemony fresh victory shall be mine once again!"
GIR clapped. Cheered a little when Master put the goggles on, and watched Master leave to tackle the epic battle waiting for him in the front yard, stuffing a piece of meat in his mouth. The fatty bits hit the Unidentifiable Stain with a plop.
It was all his now, wasn't it?