Chapter 4 — Welcome to the Misfits, Private Lucy

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The music eased into something calmer as the misfits regrouped at their favourite wobbly high-top table, still buzzing from the chaos of the dancefloor. Lucy was glowing—part happiness, part adrenaline, part “Salty just kissed me while WhizzAir Winky narrated it like a sports commentator.”

Sarah and Susan exchanged a knowing look.
Both stepped forward like two glamorous bouncers at the doorway of destiny.

“Lucy,” Sarah said, adjusting her hair with ceremony.

“Lucy,” Susan echoed, striking a dramatic pose.

Salty blinked. “Eh… what’s goin’ on here?”

Sarah announced,
“We would like to officially welcome Lucy…”

Susan finished,
“…to the Sisterhood of Sanity Preservation.”

Lucy giggled. “What’s that?”

Sarah leaned in.
“It’s the elite group of women who cope with that lot on a daily basis.”

Susan nodded.
“Comes with perks, free coffee, and emotional hazard pay.”

The group cheered.

Ye Olde Large Lad raised his drink like a toastmaster from the medieval era.
“To Lucy—may her patience never run dry!”

Funji Squallshy hugged her so enthusiastically she lifted off the ground for half a second.

McFinleyyy gave her a wink.
“Welcome to the club, gorgeous. Don’t worry—Salty’s chaos grows on you.”

Ron Beefmaster grunted.
“I still say this group needs breathalysers…”

Then The Govna stepped forward, clearing his throat like he was about to read the Constitution.

“This,” he proclaimed, handing Lucy a laminated card he clearly made in five minutes, “is your official rank: Private Lucy—Solider of the Misfit Brigade.”

Lucy burst out laughing.
“‘Solider’? Isn’t it ‘soldier’?”

WhizzAir Winky leaned over.
“No no no—Solider means you’re solid, like emotionally stable. There’s only one soldier… and that’s Salty.”

Salty puffed out his chest.
“Aye. I’m the original.”

Lucy held up her new card, smiling brightly.
“Well, I’m honoured. Proud to be a… Solider.”

Sarah pulled her in for a warm hug.
“You’ll fit right in.”

Susan added,
“And now that you’re one of us, you get to hear everything. The drama. The disasters. The weekly crisis meetings.”

Lucy grinned.
“Can’t wait.”

Salty slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“You sure you’re ready for the madness, Lucy?”

She looked up at him—confident, amused, and fully aware of what she was signing up for.

“I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

The misfits cheered again, sealing Lucy’s induction into the most chaotic, affectionate, disaster-prone family in existence.

And somewhere in the background, WhizzAir Winky raised his phone to take her “official Solider portrait” and accidentally took a picture of the ceiling.



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