FissionMailed

[A lone beret sits in the middle of one of the hallways, cold and dirtied with a few creases too many, none of them for stylish reasons.  Normally when it is dropped, it's used to being picked right back up again, patted lovingly and canted at its favorite dashing angle. 

But not this time.  This time it lay crumpled, lost or forgotten, having waited Motherland knows how long to be picked up again.  It missed sitting atop nicely cropped blond hair, the wind caressing its fibers, the sun warming its colors. 

It hasn't seen any of its own kind in quite a while, devoted lesser berets that despite being not nearly as fashionable were always loyal.  One of the last things imprinted on its expertly knitted structure was the feeling of suddenly being very drafty, of an ugly, dirty green bandanna whipping about in the wind from some distance away, shooting him off the head on which he had guarded for so long.

That and much tinier, unpleasant little holes made by BEES.  Bees, little angry things with needles on their bottoms.  Though the ones he had dutifully suffered through in the line of duty seemed much angrier than bees, perhaps they were something else....

The fibers were loosening pitifully, having lost much hope of ever being on duty again....] 

(OOC: pick up, kick around, chew on, pass by, spit on, rescue, steal, etc?)