To whom it may concern

May 9th is Lost Sock Memorial Day (no, really). Let's mark this solemn occasion with some Bureau of Lost-themed fanworks!

Syndi set the laundry basket down on a clear patch at the edge of the coffee table and began sorting through the socks her grandmother had sent her for her birthday. Thick and fleecy, long enough to go over her knees and in the sort of colours that made matched pairs both unnecessary and impossible, they had quickly become an essential part of her weekend wardr-

Her hands stilled. Her eyes narrowed.

Twelve knee-high woolly socks lay stretched over the edge of the empty basket. A thirteenth was in her hands. The last was nowhere to be seen.

She looked upwards, apparently addressing the ceiling cove of her parent's living room.

"The sock comes back now," she said. "If it does, no harm, no foul, we'll say no more about it. If it doesn't, I know about dryers seven and eight, and unlike Marshall, I know how to make people believe me."

She listened. All was silent in the empty house.

"Ten seconds," she said. "Nine. Eight. Seven."

Movement to her right, but she didn't turn to look. Instead, she glanced down at the end table.

The fourteenth sock lay crumpled before her.

"Good call," said Syndi, picking it up.

Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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May 9th is Lost Sock Memorial Day (no, really). Let's mark this solemn occasion with some Bureau of Lost-themed fanworks!