Stones

"I can juggle, you are aware."

No one replies – the accustomed antiphon when no one is around to hear, of course – but it was not infrequent for Mojo to communicate to himself. He picks up one stone, then another. He does this until he has eight amassed in his gloved palms, thence he commences. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. All eight curved beach pebbles circle elliptically in the air. He doesn't focus heavily, he just does it. There is nothing to be heard except the ebbing of the tide on the sand.

When he first started, it was difficult. His monkey mood flared when he dropped one, usually on his foot, or worse, his helmet. But he persisted. There was little else to do most evenings, except for television and his shipbuilding hobby, both of which grew tiresome when they were too frequent.

He wonders what the Powerpuff Girls would think of this if they knew. Laugh their heads off, probably. They had not so far, as he kept his eyes peeled for followers whenever he travelled to this beach in the evenings, always deserted at night. But what would they honestly say? Little practical came to mind.

Eight stones flew across the air. Eight stones fell back down. Eight stones landed in his hands. Eight stones were hurled back up again.

Stone one. Himself.

Stone two. Blossom.

Stone three. Bubbles.

Stone four. Buttercup.

Stone five. Fuzzy Lumpkins.

Stone six. Him.

Stone seven. The Rowdyruff Boys.

Stone eight. Princess Morbucks.

He let the eighth pebble plunge first, and pretends it was an accident. He still didn't like Princess. Maybe it was her calling his cranium empty in jail and telling him to move, but she still scraped him wrong. And she was a spoiled brat on both occasions that they had worked together. Only habit kept him from cutting the number permanently.

The Rowdyruff Boys' stone slumps next, and it is slightly not on purpose. They were his creation, indeed, but he had to remember that they didn't acknowledge him except when he was focused on them. Sharing the parentage was actually a good thing. They never helped with concocting him schemes (not that he ever expected them to) and only with performing them when it tailored to their (lazy) requirements. But it was little things that burned Mojo as time passed.

Managing six stones is trickier for him then any other number, so he instead tosses Him's stone over his helmet in a hesitant gesture before returning to his tempo. Him was a great villain, now that Mojo actually took the time to talk to him. Being the evilest being there is was no easy task, Mojo supposed, and indeed there were times, through the flamboyant laughs and convoluted plans, where he sees Him start to break around the edges. One week when Mojo took the Rowdyruff Boys back, he saw something in Him's eyes – something that made Mojo restless. Was it fear?

The five stones are his prime for a fair interval, but he eventually blunders, Fuzzy's making him wince as it bounces off his toe. He and Fuzzy were close comrades; they played poker games at least once a week, and sometimes collaborated in Townsville attacks, even. But there were times when Mojo would want Fuzzy to retreat to his shack. A lifetime of shouldering did that to a chimpanzee, he supposed; after years of space, it was hard to relinquish it. But Mojo was adept at communicating the message without setting Fuzzy off on his trademark tantrum, leaving Mojo to his thoughts and silence, except when penetrated by his own voice. It was better that way.

Four stones were left, and he kept them current. Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup. The stones arced in the air and tumbled down to his fingers before he tossed them up again, a past encounter popping into his head with each circle. Monkey See, Doggie Doo. Just Another Maniac Mojo. Los Dos Mojos. Slumbering With The Enemy. As much as he would never admit it, they were the reason he got up in the morning. They were his only obstacles to world domination, but they unknowingly challenged him to better himself, and he was grateful for that beyond words. As he leisurely tossed the four stones in a lazy circle, catching them with ease as his mind wandered, a smile began to dawn on his face.

"Hey, Banana-Brain!" Three voices chirped, and Mojo jolted. All four stones fell to the beach and rolled away. He turned and saw Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup sitting on a nearby boulder, rocking back and forth with smiles. "What are you up to, Mojo?"

"What?" While he stalled, Mojo racked his brains, and then remembered that they often patrolled the skies in the evenings. 'Nothing that concerns you, Powerpuff Girls." He started across the sand, but they stopped him, darting into his path.

"Maybe it doesn't," muttered Buttercup. They each picked up a pebble (the same pebbles that had previously represented them, coincidentally). They thrust them towards him, floating in front of him.

"That thing you were doing! Do it again!" said Blossom. He was ready to say no, but they were staring up at him with eyes bigger then dinner plates.

"Please?" Bubbles begged, and he couldn't help but relent.

"Alright, you've convinced me." He sighed in semi-mock defeat, sitting back on his reclusive rock as he took the pebbles from them delicately. "Pass onto my person five more," he asked, and all three of them did as told before sitting back on their boulder, watching in awe.

"Eight?" They asked as he commenced, mouths comically agape. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. All eight curved beach pebbles circle elliptically in the air. He doesn't focus heavily, he just does it. The girls sequel in joy and watch them all orbit in awe.

After a while, Mojo smiles.

"I can juggle, you are aware."

Prompt was 'No More Chemical X.'

The idea here was that, whenever Mojo feels like ending it all (and going back to being Jojo), he comes to a beach to practice his secret talent, and it helps remind him of what he does have. And this night he is reminded that his relationship to the girls does not always involve fighting.
I went on a four month-hiatus between this and the previous drabble. The community as a whole had long since dropped in entry popularity. And I had exams coming up at the time - this last drabble was something of stress relief more then anything. It was also another Mojo-type voice without being a direct Mojo-type voice, and is arguably more successful in that area then Tricks.
This fic is now finished. It was fun when the prompts came around, and the format allows for different stories then my feature-length fics I usually write in this fandom. So, another fic that was In-Progress for over two years complete... though unlike other fics of mine, the delay only came in late uploads, and not writing this thing. So, whoever reads this in the time after now, enjoy. This fic is a special little collection.

Oh, and for future readers... what order would you put the drabbles in? I would really appreciate it if you would say so in your reviews, giving grades and reasons only if you wish. Mine is as follows:
1. A Bubbly Christmas (A-)
2. That's Not Just Bonkers - That's Bananas! (A-)
3. Scam Of The Season (A-)
4. The Mexican, The Monkey, And The Banana (A-)
5. Routine (B+)
6. Joe (B+)
7. Uncertainty (B+)
8. A Lonely Silence (B)
9. Maria (B)
10. Stones (B)
11. The Plague (B)
12. Tricks (B-)
13. Relations (B-)
14. An Egg-Cellent Easter (C+)
15. Soaring (C+)

Peace out, people.