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motownfiction · 1 year ago

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caught up

When Emma comes home with news of a school dance, Will thinks fourth grade is a bit young for that. Dances are stressful and awkward enough when you’re fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Why subject a ten-year-old to the same pressure? Initially, Emma agrees with him, and it looks like the matter is resolved there. But that’s before Lucy gets involved.

And Lucy must always get involved.

To Will’s utter surprise, Lucy thinks Emma should go to the dance. If they’re having a dance for upper elementary school students, then they simply have to know what it’s like.

“I mean, I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Lucy says between bites of fried rice. “I’m dying to know what it would look like. Are they going to make you do the Hokey Pokey, or will you have to slow dance with some boy you’re still taller than?”

“Hopefully neither,” Emma says.

“I would have liked to slow dance in fourth grade,” Elenore muses, drumming her fork against the rim of her bowl. “I used to fantasize about it, actually. I would have danced with Aaron Spiers, and we would have danced to ‘Ordinary World.’ Duran Duran.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucy says. “The song that lost a thousand suburban virginities.”

“What?” Emma asks.

“After dinner.”

Emma nods. The table goes silent, and Will thinks this is the perfect time to get her back on his side about the dance.

“Em, you really don’t want to go to a dance,” he says. “People don’t act right there. If you think they’re dumb during your spelling tests, just think of how dumb they’ll be at night with a liter of Hawaiian Punch in their bloodstreams. It’s not good. Ask your mother.”

Emma looks at Lucy for validation, but Lucy stares daggers back at Will. It’s a good thing her daggers are so pretty.

“You don’t have to go to the dance if you don’t want to,” she says. “Daddy’s right that the kids will probably treat it as an excuse to act up, and I know how you feel about kids acting up.”

“I hate it,” Emma says. “Why can’t they just calm down like the rest of us?”

“Mom and Daddy fell in love at a dance,” Elenore says. “I always thought that was romantic.”

“I don’t want to fall in love at a dance,” Emma says. “I’m already in love with Phil from Phil of the Future. Don’t tell anyone.”

“A girl with excellent taste,” Lucy says. “Celebrities are always better than boys in school. They can’t break your heart. When I went to the spring dance, the night I kissed your father, I walked into that gym in love with Matt Dillon.”

“Yeah, and by the end of the night, you were in love with me,” Will says. “Dances have power. You know it, I know it, Elenore knows it.”

“Do I know it?” Emma asks.

“No,” Will says. “But if you go to that dance, you might find out. And it might be weird.”

“But I am weird. Mom says I should be. Being weird is a good thing.”

Will sighs. He wishes he could tap Emma on the arm and show her all the scary, stressful things that are coming her way, if she’s not feeling them already. Crushes, pop quizzes about math problems you don’t understand, running the mile in gym class, locker rooms, watching your friends go out on their first dates while you’re stuck at home with your sisters … it’s all real, and at ten, she shouldn’t have to know about it yet. She shouldn’t have to want it.

“Tell you what, Will,” Lucy says. “If you’re so worried about what might happen at Emma’s fourth-and-fifth-grade dance, why don’t you chaperone?”

Emma’s face lights up.

“Yeah, Daddy!” she says. “Why don’t you chaperone?”

Will sighs. He’ll do it, but that’s not the problem. His ten-year-old daughter is excited to have him as a chaperone at her very first school dance. She thinks that with an adult there – one whom she trusts to make good, enlightened conversation – she’ll have a better time. He doesn’t know what to do with that except worry and worry and worry until the night comes.

He stands at the back of the gym, watching little kids congregate in corners, talking about dancing more than actually doing it. Usher’s singing about being caught up over the DJ’s overloud speakers, and no one’s dancing at all. Emma, whose only friend is a mostly silent girl named Nia, stands in a corner, looking horrified. Will makes eye contact with her from across the gym floor. They can’t bail, but they can’t talk to each other, either. In the past two weeks, Emma’s cool gene has kicked in, and she knows better than to pretend like she likes her father in front of other ten-year-old children.

But Will knows he can’t just stand there and do nothing. His daughter is suffering, and she already had her allotted slice of pizza. So he walks up to the DJ and asks for a specific song – one the DJ wouldn’t have played otherwise. Not for this crowd. Not for most ten-year-old children. Just for Emma.

When Liberty Valance came to town / the womenfolk, they’d hide / they’d hide …

No one dances. The teachers are even too young to understand Gene Pitney, too. But not Emma. She doesn’t dance – in fairness, it’s not much of a dancing song – but her eyes light up.

Her eyes, which look just like Will’s.

They look at each other from across the gym floor again, and Will knows. For as much as he put up a fight about tonight, for as much as he loves the memories of that spring dance with Lucy back in ‘83, this is it. This is now his favorite school dance memory.

(part of @nosebleedclub july challenge -- day ix! yes, i am so horrifically behind that it’s almost a new month. but, hey, that just means there will be more writing from me in august)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: will o'connor #ch: emma o'connor #ch: lucy callaghan #ch: elenore o'connor #year: 2005

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themurphyzone · 4 years ago

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PatB Nova Ch 6

Ch 6: Eccentricity

AN: Loved some of the PatB shorts more than others (You know my eternal hatred for THAT one). But that’s a story for another day. I’m sticking to the 90s versions of these characters though. For now. I might have a gander at the reboot versions someday. You never know!

Ch 6 FFN Link

April 22, 2015! Narf! You’ll never guess what happened, Mickey Mouse. I met the Brain! Well, I’ve only known him for about four months, or less than two days, depending on how you wanna look at it, but if anything happened to him, I would make myself watch Shyamalan’s The Last Airbender!

Tomorrow, I’m going to the mall and buying a hat. Can’t root for Farfignetown (I have to ask her how she spells her name!) at the Derby without a super fancy hat!

Love,

Pinky.

PS: Tell Minnie I said hi!

o-o-o-o-o

Pinky stepped back to admire his handiwork, the tip of his blue glitter gel pen pressing under his chin as he leaned against it. He did his best to copy Brain’s messages, but he was probably gonna have to write only the first letters only in the future. He didn’t want to take up the entire calendar page again.

His ears twitched at a scraping sound behind him. The sparkly gel smeared against his fur as he turned around, leaving a blue streak across his chest. Egad, if he continued to cover himself in the stuff, he’d look just like one of the Blue Men!

Brain pushed a heavy textbook across the counter, finally stopping underneath a light panel on the ceiling. Then he flipped it open, climbed up, and began to read.

It wasn’t the same book he’d started reading after they’d shaken hands to seal their new friendship either.

“Whatcha reading, Brain?” Pinky asked, slinging the gel pen over his shoulder. “I thought you were reading about jeans! So, find anything good? I think I like the flare type best. Skinny jeans make me chafe.”

“I have no idea what you’re blathering about, Pinky,” Brain said, not looking up from the page he was on. His head shifted from side to side as he read on, and Pinky imagined a giant, fluffy marshmallow making the same movements.

His stomach growled, and a marshmallow dinner sounded heavenly. With cheese fondue and rainbow sprinkles and a light dollop of whipped cream on top…

Wait, no, no. The kitchen didn’t have Gruyere cheese! Processed American cheese wouldn’t provide that proper creamy texture at all.

What kind of host was he? Unable to serve proper cheese fondue to his alien guest?

Then Brain hopped off the book, growling to himself as he pushed up on the hard cover and the few pages he turned. The pages slid into place, but he wasn’t tall enough to get the cover to close the entire way.

“Do you need help, Brain?” Pinky asked. He dropped the gel pen and grasped the cover’s edge, but Brain smacked him sharply on the wrist, forcing Pinky to let go. Pinky flicked his wrist, and the sting quickly disappeared.

“Don’t patronize me! I can get it myself!” Brain snarled. He pushed on the cover again, and it rose a couple inches in the air, only to land against his fingertips. He growled and spread his feet, jumping as he pushed on the cover once more. This time, the cover slammed into the pages with a heavy thud. “Your sources of information are woefully lacking with your livable yet rudimentary conditions. Penumbra had a much better database, and it’s been dilapidated for a long time.”

Pinky had no idea what dilapidated was. Probably something to do with laps though.

“Oh, well if you need more reading material, I’ve got just the thing!” Pinky said, motioning for Brain to follow him over to a tiny side table where all the magazines were stacked. “Let’s see, we’ve got Vogue, National Geographic, Reader’s Digest…ah, here we are! This one’s my favorite out of all the Zoobooks! Lots of pretty horses to look at. Zort!”

Pinky thumbed through the magazine until he found his favorite page, which had gorgeous art of a white horse running on grassy hills. “This one’s my favorite,” he said as he pressed the magazine into Brain’s hands. Brain nearly went cross-eyed just trying to look at it, but he held out his hands and pushed the pages back until they weren’t so close to his face. “I named her Pharfignewton after Pharfignewton! Isn’t her mane just the flowiest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Including or excluding your mind in that comparison?” Brain asked. He closed the magazine and set it on top of the stack. “Your choice of reading material is peculiar, but I suppose brushing up on this planet’s ecology wouldn’t hurt.”

Pinky grinned. “If you think those are good, remind me to show you David Attenborough’s work sometime! His documentaries are amazing!”

Brain tilted his head, his antennae bobbing with the motion. “You’ve mentioned someone named Pharfignewton multiple times. An acquaintance of yours?”

“She’s not a quail, Brain. She’s a horse, of course!” Pinky laughed at his little rhyme. “Oh right, I’ve never showed you pictures of her, have I? Where are my manners? Anyway, I left them in the cage. It’s right this way! Or left this way. I can never tell which.”

Pinky ran back to the cage and squeezed through the bars, Brain trailing behind at a much slower pace. As Pinky slid his right leg through the bars, he realized just how dirty the cage was. There was a small puddle by the water bottle, and straw was scattered all over the place. Crumbs littered the floor around the food bowl, and his wheel had a stain shaped like a pomegranate.

It just wouldn’t do at all!

“Sorry for the mess!” Pinky called to Brain, who was watching him curiously from outside the cage. “I didn’t know I’d be having a visitor today!”

But Brain didn’t seem to care about the mess. Instead, he prodded the locked cage door.

“Nicholas and Mr. Button, you’ve gotta wake up and help me clean!” Pinky said, shaking them frantically from where they were tucked into the straw. “Narf, you two were up talking late again, weren’t you?”

They were too asleep to respond though.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you sleep for now, but tomorrow I’ll be going over proper cagesitting behavior with both of you,” Pinky sighed. He carefully rolled up the photo of Pharfignewton he kept near the straw bed, hugging it close to his body as he slipped through the bars again.

“Pinky, those are inanimate objects,” Brain said, bending a paper clip until it was completely straight. He poked one of the sharp ends and winced. “They won’t respond to you.”

“They’re real life objects, Brain. They’re not animated,” Pinky said. “Whatcha doing with that paper clip?”

Brain pressed his ear against the cage door, carefully maneuvering the paper clip into the lock. It slipped a quarter of the way in before Brain yanked it out again, his eyes darting around the room as if something would swoop down on them.

When nothing happened, he went back to inserting the paper clip. “Nothing to disable here. There’s no alarm system on the door,” Brain said, turning to Pinky. “I thought you were squeezing through the bars to avoid triggering it.”

“I’ve never had an alarm before. Do you think I should get one?” Pinky asked. “Just so nobody tries to burger my wheel or water bottle? Hmm, what would a burger with those ingredients even taste like? Not very appetizing, probably.”

Brain only stared at him, the paper clip almost slipping from his hand in surprise. “Don’t tell me the only reason you haven’t used the door is because you can’t unlock it.”

Pinky nodded. “Okay. I won’t tell you the only reason I haven’t used the door is because I cannot for the life of me figure out how to unlock it.”

Shaking his head in dismay, Brain reinserted the bent paper clip until it was halfway in, then turned it clockwise (or was it counterclockwise? Pinky always got them mixed up).

“There,” he said, letting the door swing open. “Now you can enter and exit as you please like a civilized mos.”

“Egad, that’s brilliant!” Pinky stepped inside the cage, then back out. In and out again, and again, and he almost started dancing the Hokey Pokey, which would’ve been a whole lot of fun, but Brain still hadn’t seen Pharfignewton’s photo!

Now that was a real tongue twister there!

“This is Pharfignewton, Brain! Isn’t she pretty?” Pinky asked, pressing the photo into Brain’s hands.

The photo had been taken two weeks ago, when her owner had hired a professional to photograph Pharfignewton as she sprinted around the field. Pharfignewton had given Pinky her personal favorite, one that showed her hooves flying through the air and her gorgeous mane streaming in the sunlight. She was having the time of her life, and she couldn’t have picked a better photo to give him.

“There’s certainly an uncanny resemblance,” Brain admitted. “And the size discrepancy between you and her is incredibly blatant. Not to mention the species difference.”

Pinky crossed his arms. “Oh, don’t be so intolerant, Brain. She’s big cause she’s a horse, and I’m small cause I’m a mouse. But we make it work.”

Pharfignewton would be gone for the next two months, possibly more when she achieved the Triple Crown. It would be lonely, but he could manage.

“You mentioned she was far away when I interrogated you.” Brain set the photo down, smoothing out a corner though it didn’t have any wrinkles.

“She’s still on the road to the Derby, I think. Can’t really get in touch with her though. Phones are kinda tricky with hooves, you know.” Pinky said. “She’s wanted the Triple Crown her entire life. So that’s why I gotta make a giant hat and root for her when she races!”

“I don’t understand how a hat factors into all this,” Brain said.

“Zort! I dunno,” Pinky shrugged. “You can’t have a Derby without horses, hats, and My Old Kentucky Home. Otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a Derby then, would it?”

Brain folded his arms. “I’m currently debating if I should take your words at face value or not. Your customs make no sense whatsoever.”

Pinky thought they made perfect sense, and cents, and all of the five senses really, but his stomach growled and that thought was soon forgotten. Brain never had Earth food before, had he?

Definitely a job for a genetically altered Earth mouse to show him the ropes!

But first, Pinky had to clean the gel off his fur. It was starting to clump into spikes, and that wouldn’t do at all.

o-o-o-o-o

Pinky rinsed himself in the sink, sticking out his tongue to lap up some of the cool water as it trickled out of the faucet. Thankfully, the gel hadn’t settled into his fur and was very easy to wash away. And flicking the water around the sink with his tail was loads of fun too!

Brain stayed on the outer rim, pulling on the stopper and handles by the sink out of curiosity. He edged closer to the stream of water, almost touching it with a gloved hand, but decided against it. But he wouldn’t stop staring at it either, like he’d never seen water in his life.

Maybe he hadn’t?

The moon was made of cheese and not water after all. Water would make the cheese all soggy and mushy and wash away the cheesy taste that made cheese so delicious.

“C’mon, Brain! Poit!” Pinky pushed his fingers together, trying to send a squirt of water up to Brain, though it missed his nose by a mile and landed on a small crumb on the slope of the sink instead. “The water’s just fine!”

“I’ll have to decline your offer, Pinky,” Brain said. “My information about water is rather lacking, and I’d rather not cover myself in a substance without knowing more.”

“I guess water would leave the moon cheese not very tasty to eat, huh?” Pinky asked. He braced himself and shot out of the tiny waterfall, and he was very glad for all the focus he’d put into leg exercises recently, because his running start was enough to get him over the rim on his first try. “Well, all you need to know is that water is wet, it splishy-splashes all over the place, and it’s fun to play Marco Polo in!”

Brain didn’t look convinced though. He removed one of his black gloves and touched a puddle, rubbing the water between his fingers curiously.

Pinky turned off the water, then dried himself off with a fluffy towel. He double checked his chest to make sure the gel was completely gone and patted down his fur.

“This way, Brain!” Pinky called, jumping off the counter and onto a spinny chair. The seat twirled around for a bit, making him slightly dizzy, but it was all in jolly good fun. Brain carefully climbed down, gripping the drawer handles and moving slowly. He slipped on the last handle and landed awkwardly on his right leg. He grimaced for a moment, his nose scrunching up rather adorably. “Blueberry bagels and cream cheese, here we come!”

“Your sustenance on Terra, I assume?” Brain asked. He followed Pinky through a corridor and into the kitchen, his large head turning every which way to take in all the sights of ACME Lab. Now that it was daytime, there were more colors than just shadowy blue. Pinky wondered if Brain would try to name the colors he saw. Pinky tried once, but there were just too many pretty colors streaming in from the window pane above.

“They aren’t consonants, Brain. They’re delicious and all, but they wouldn’t fit with the alphabet. A little bit of a mouthful, don’t you think? Poit!” Pinky climbed up the cherry-print towel hanging on the refrigerator door like he’d done a million times before. He braced himself against the fridge door, pressed his legs against the handle, and pushed with all his might, feeling that familiar strain of his stomach muscles.

The door opened with a satisfying pop. Breathing heavily, Pinky tumbled more than he climbed down the towel, landing on the cold floor of the refrigerator.

“S-surely there has to be a more e-efficient way to open a door than your method.�� Brain’s teeth chattered together, his ears flattening to avoid the sudden chill. He took a few steps away from the open fridge, his arms folded in front of his chest. “Is it a-always this cold?”

“Oh, I haven’t even opened up the freezer! If you think this is cold, you’ll really feel like a mousesicle in there! But it’s worth it if you wanna get to the strawberry ice cream with the cute little mini spoons! Maybe some other time though. Right now, it’s important to get a daily serving of cheese!” Pinky exclaimed as he pushed two small tubs of cream cheese from a middle shelf. They each landed on the floor with a thud, and Pinky jumped down and retrieved them, closing the fridge door behind him with his foot.

Brain sighed in relief as soon as the door was closed, his arms dropping to his sides.

“They keep the blueberry bagels by the bagel warmer,” Pinky said as he led Brain out of the kitchen and into a room that had been marked with a yellow and black caution sign. The bagels were so delicious they even had to warn everyone to take caution! “Oh, now that’s a tongue twister. Blueberry bagels by the bagel warmer. Boobelly beige by the baguette warmer...oh, that’s a toughie. I’ll work on it.”

The bagel warmer was an oddly shaped toaster, with lots of wires and bulbs sticking out along the sides and top. It even had a conveyor belt running through it, but Pinky thought it made this toaster really unique among toasters. Why, he’d even been toasted in this toaster himself! Though it wasn’t as much fun as crispy pieces of bread made it seem. He just remembered a lot of smoke and electricity. And there’d been a lot of narf inside too.

Pinky set the tubs of cream cheese on the floor, then climbed up to the conveyor belt, which was propped on metallic cylinders.

“This is so much easier with two mice!” Pinky crowed. He peered down at Brain, who curiously poked at a red wire on the floor. “I don’t mind eating bagels by themselves, but there’s something about toasty bagels that just warms the heart!”

“If they’re truly that delectable, I suppose there’s no harm in trying it,” Brain replied.

“Did your file thingies say anything about Earth food?” Pinky asked. Because Brain sure didn’t seem to know much about tasty things.

Brain shook his head. “The Selenians didn’t bother with information about the lifestyles or cuisine of Terrans. It was irrelevant to their cause.”

Oh. Pinky tried to imagine being an alien who didn’t know anything about cheese, but came up blank. He’d eaten cheese and food pellets his entire life. He couldn’t imagine a world without them.

“Pinky, are you aware that machine is also apparently a gene splicer?” Brain asked, pointing to the letters along the side.

ACME GENE SPLICER AND BAGEL WARMER, it said.

“So it does. But the only things that go in are bagels and lab mice. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone try to splice a pair of jeans. Oh, that reminds me!” Pinky snapped his fingers. How could he have forgotten something so very important? The silly machine was on the gene splicer setting! Pinky pressed a conveniently labeled button that said ‘press here for bagel warmer setting’. How nice of the scientists to label their stuff!

He was so glad he discovered that before sending the bagels through. The gene splicer setting would’ve made the bagels extra crispy, and while Pinky didn’t mind, extra crispy bagels were a taste one had to get used to first. Nope, it was better to start Brain off lightly!

“Can you please get two blueberry bagels from the bag, Brain?” Pinky pointed to a bottom cabinet where the bagels were kept, grinning at the new tongue twister he’d come with. Egad, he was good at this! “They’re the tan circles with a hole and blue specks in them! Kinda like a donut, except without the frosting and sprinkles. Zort, Brain! You’ve never eaten donuts, have you? Oh, I am definitely making a list of foods you need to try!”

Pinky hopped onto a tall table and neatly tore a paper towel off its roll, then laid it flat on the conveyor belt. Following Pinky’s instructions, Brain retrieved two bagels from the cabinet and passed them up to Pinky. Brain still seemed rather confused about the gene splicer and the bagel warmer being one and the same. Pinky carefully separated each bagel so that he had four half-bagels with the inside lying face-up and arranged them on the paper towel so they would all be nice and toasty.

Then Pinky realized he’d forgotten another thing. Namely, that he didn’t know how to turn the bagel warmer on.

He scratched his head.

That could be a real issue.

“Pinky, do you actually know how to work this machine?” Brain’s voice sounded oddly strained. Pinky turned around. Brain was hanging onto the side of the conveyor belt, his legs wrapped around one of the metal cylinders. He’d tried to climb up himself, but his arms were too short to get a proper grip, and if he leaned over anymore, he’d fall right on his chubby head.

Pinky reached over, grasping Brain’s wrists and trying to haul him up, only for Brain to be resistant to help. He wouldn’t budge, his wrists feeling oddly tense under Pinky’s hands. His pink eyes were wide and apprehensive, pointed ears flattening against his head.

“Brain?” Pinky said. “I’m just gonna haul you up. Could you relax a bit please? It’ll be much easier.”

Brain didn’t move for a second, searching Pinky’s eyes warily. Pinky just gave him an encouraging smile. Brain looked away, his brow furrowing, but some of the tension left his wrists.

Pinky pulled him onto the railing of the conveyor belt, Brain’s feet scrabbling in the air briefly before settling firmly on the metal.

“Thanks,” Brain muttered. He walked over to the various buttons and levers, examining each one curiously.

“You’re welcome, Brain!” Pinky brought one hand to his forehead in a salute, only to remember that Brain was an honest-to-goodness alien, and probably didn’t know that particular gesture. So Pinky tried to make the Vulcan salute instead, but it was kinda tricky with only four fingers instead of five.

“This is very intriguing,” Brain breathed, pressing his face against a small closed window that offered a look into the gears and wires within the bagel warmer. “Yes, pure lithium power source, proton accelerators, and automatic anti-inertia capabilities? The use of nanoplasmic charges leaves a lot to be desired of course, but to have the rest of these things in one machine at your fingertips…”

Pinky didn’t understand anything Brain just said, but the alien’s fingers were twitching in excitement, his nose smushed against the glass. It was the first genuine smile Pinky had seen from the alien since they first met, and Pinky thought it looked really good on him. Even nicer than the jumpsuit, which was already really fashionable. “If you figure out how to turn it on, that would be really great!” Pinky grinned. Brain pulled down on a nearby lever, and the conveyor belt began to move. “Egad, brilliant!”

“The lever was labeled, Pinky.” Brain waved him off, pointing to the word ‘on’ stenciled next to him. But his head tilted up and his chest puffed out too. He seemed to like that word a lot. “Wait, you figured out the machine was on the wrong setting, but you can’t turn it on?”

Pinky shrugged. “It’s not really my type, Brain.”

“Never mind,” Brain sighed, the tips of his ears turning as red as his nose. He turned back to the machine window. “I want to observe this process.”

“Me too!” Pinky exclaimed, and he hopped over to the window, smushing his nose against it just as the bagels were swept into the machine. Blue electricity sparked and jumped all around the metal structures inside, and the glass warmed beneath Pinky’s hands.

It was a beautiful sight, and Pinky licked his lips as the bagels crisped from the heat.

Beside him, Brain watched the electricity intently, murmuring a bunch of smart words Pinky didn’t understand, but definitely enjoying the show too.

Within several minutes, the bagels gained an extremely nice golden brown crisp, and the conveyor belt moved them out of the bagel warmer. Brain pulled the lever up and the conveyor belt stopped moving, the thrum of the machine beneath their feet slowly fading away.

They weaved around long, multicolored wires as they made their way to the other side, where the bagels awaited them.

“Troz! Looks positively dee-lish!” Pinky exclaimed, poking at one of the bagels. Firm and flaky, just how they were supposed to be. His mouth watered in anticipation.

“The scent alone is quite appealing,” Brain agreed, taking several sniffs of the bagels. “I’ve never smelled anything like this before.”

Pinky grinned at him. “Oh, just you wait, Brain! The real magic is just starting!”

Sliding down the cylinders, Pinky retrieved the two cream cheese tubs they’d left on the floor and passed them up to Brain one at a time. His lower leg strength had improved a lot in the past few months, and it was easy for him to hang on while he passed the tubs up.

“Show-off,” Brain grumbled as he took hold of the second tub.

Pinky just laughed as he fetched two plastic knives from a drawer and carted them back to Brain and the bagels.

“Here you go! Bon appetit!” Pinky said. He gave one of the plastic knives to Brain, who gingerly ran his finger across the toothed edge as he examined the flat, see-through handle. “Oh, be careful with those, Brain. You don’t wanna cut yourself.”

“Not to worry, Pinky,” Brain said. “We have knives on New Selene. But I’ve never seen one with this particular material before. And much duller too.”

Pinky peeled away the cover of a cream cheese tub, drooling over the gorgeous smooth white surface inside. Brain copied him with the other tub, pulling off the cover completely. The alien took off his gloves and sniffed the cream cheese a few times, swiping one fingertip through the cream cheese. Then he tasted it.

Brain’s eyes widened immediately, his antennae perking up. He licked cream cheese off his fingertip four more times before he realized Pinky was watching him. Brain ducked his head and fiddled with his sleeves.

“That was…even better than I anticipated,” Brain admitted, his voice full of wonder.

“Aw, you don’t have to be embarrassed if you like it, Brain. I’m glad you think so, cause blueberry bagels and cream cheese is my favorite. Well, so are food pellets. And marshmallows, especially the puffy kind. And smiley face lollipops and…poit! I have a lot of favorites, it’s so hard to choose just one! Zounds, mac n’cheese too! You really need to try mac’n cheese, Brain! That one’s definitely going on the list. Anyway, if you think the cream cheese alone is good, try this!”

Pinky dipped the knife into the cream cheese. Once he got a good coating, he spread it across the surface of the bagel, took the largest chomp of the combined food he could manage, then swallowed. It went down a little rough, but it was delicious all the same.

“Scrumptious!” Pinky exclaimed. “It’s like a party in your mouth!”

Brain copied his actions again, and while he preferred to rip off chunks of the bagel and slather cream cheese onto smaller pieces, his enjoyment of the food wasn’t any less than Pinky’s. He made some funny ‘mmm’ noises in the back of his throat, his eyes closed in bliss as he worked his way through the first half-bagel.

Pinky started on his second half, licking cream cheese off his lips. This was a nice way to spend the evening.

“Brain, you’re welcome to share my cage if you’d like,” Pinky offered. “Mi cage es tu cage, you know.”

“Are you sure, Pinky?” Brain swallowed, thumping his fist against his throat to make the bagel go down. “I know we’re in a mutual partnership, but I wouldn’t want to impose in your living space.”

“You’re not imposing,” Pinky said. “Besides, plenty of unmarried people share living spaces these days.”

Brain was silent. He continued spreading cream cheese across a small portion of bagel, even though it was completely slathered at this point.

“Snowball and I were in neighboring cages. Aisam had to be housed alone because of their inclination towards territorial aggression. We had separate quarters for the journey to Terra as well.” Brain nibbled on a corner of his bagel. “Point being, I’ve never shared a cage before.”

“Sharing is caring,” Pinky smiled, finishing the last of his bagel. “Besides, it’s one more new experience for both of us. Isn’t that just dandy? I just hope Mr. Button and Nicholas didn’t leave too much a mess.”

“Very well. But we’re moving that sponge bed I slept on last night into your cage. It was much less aggravating for my back than the usual fare,” Brain said. “So…thanks for that, Pinky.”

“You’re welcome, Brain,” Pinky replied, rubbing circles into his belly, his hunger satisfied.

Beside him, Brain seemed satisfied too. And there was nothing better in all the world than sharing blueberry bagels and cream cheese with a new alien friend.

AN: OK this one’s more of a breather chapter since the last 5 were like wham bam nonstop stuff for the characters. Sorry it took so long to get this one out. Next chapter will have Pinky finally getting his hat and Brain’s first mall excursion!

#pinky and the brain #patb nova #patb fanfiction

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thegodshavehorns · 4 years ago

Text

Capture the Wind (2/5)

Chapter 2: Prophylaxis

The next week, you meet the Seer again. You’ve taken the bus home from school, skipping the weekly church group. You open your door, and there she is, smiling at you from the couch.

“Good afternoon, John,” she says. “Come have a seat.”

“Oh, hi,” you reply. “You came back.”

She smiles, and lifts a can of cherry coke in the air, as if toasting. You walk over to sit on the reclining chair, and you both sit there for several long moments, her sipping a coke and occasionally flipping a coin, and you twiddling your thumbs.

“So-” you start to speak, but she interrupts.

“John, you have never had any martial training, correct? Of course that's correct. The reason I’m here today is to address this lamentable gap in your education.”

You blink. “Martial training? You mean martial arts? Fighting?”

“Yes, John, that is what I mean.”

Your eyes widen. “You mean like The Karate Kid? That’s so sweet, so you’re going to be like Mr. Miyagi to my Ralph Macchio?”

“Like that, except real.” The goddess stands up and makes a motion that you can’t quite make out, and then there is a large duffel bag in her arms. It looks like something you could get at REI.

She puts it down and unzips it, and you see a sharp-looking metal edge.

“Because you have absolutely zero previous experience, I have selected a variety of potential weapons for you to take up.” She removes a sword from the bag and lays it down on the floor, then takes out an axe. “Of course, I know what you are going to choose. But the impression of free will is important.” She takes out several knives, then a long spear, then a heavy, spiked club, laying each one next to the other. “But keep in mind: you can only choose one. Just pick a weapon up, and it will be yours.” She reaches back in for another item and-

Oh shit. That’s a gun.

You’re staring. “You uh, want me to choose? Why? How do I know which would be best for me? Maybe I should try out a few first, to see what fits?”

“No, John. That’s not how we're doing this. Consider it a test of your resolve and perseverance.” She finishes arranging the weapons, straightens up, and steps back. “Now, choose wisely.”

You stare down at the assortment of deadly armaments. She said she already knew which one you’re going to choose, so why is she doing this? But she also said last time that you sometimes did unexpected things, so…

“Okay,” you say, after thinking a moment. “So whatever I pick up will be my weapon forever?”

The Seer smiles. “Yes, that is correct.”

You look at the vicious implements spread out on the floor, and then your eyes wander over to your dad’s toolkit. He must have left it out, after hanging up the latest clown painting. You take a step towards it. When the Seer doesn’t stop you, you close the distance and, with a broad grin, pluck the hammer out from the box.

You hold it up proudly at the Seer. “Ta da! There! I followed your instructions! You were not expecting that, huh?”

The Seer’s expression is impassive. “Very well, you have chosen your weapon.” She nonchalantly kicks the deadly weapons on the floor away, clearing a space. Then, she makes that motion again, and there is a long, tapering, wooden cane in her hand. “Time to see if you can use it.”

------------

That night, you retire to your room early, avoiding your dad's questions and nursing the bruises on your back and sides. When you sit down at your computer, you wince.

That really smarts.

Land a hit on me, the Seer had said. Land a hit! As if you ever could, when she knows what you’re thinking of doing before you do it! By the end of the hour, you were absolutely sure that the Seer was attempting to sign her name onto your skin in bruises. Being taught martial arts by an ancient goddess isn’t nearly as awesome or non-painful as you would have expected.

You have a message on Pesterchum. It’s Anna.

-- harmoniusDithering [HD] began pestering ghostlyTrickster [GT] at 17:34 --

HD: sorry that you missed today's meeting, hope you're feeling well!

HD: and that you’re not sick or anything

HD: we signed up for the field trip today. I got a ticket! I’ll see if I can get the Sylph to autograph something for you.

HD: you like movies, right? I don’t have any movie posters, but if you bring me one at the next meeting I’ll see if she can autograph that!

HD: anyway I’ll see you next week. Take care.

You look at the messages for a long time, thinking of what to say.

-- ghostlyTrickster [GT] began pestering harmoniusDithering [HD] at 20:11 --

GT: i am sorry, but i can’t come to the youth group meetings anymore

GT: i told my dad about it and he said i can’t go at all

GT: i am grounded for life or something

You don’t feel good about this. This isn’t a joke. This is lying, to a friend, and you feel terrible.

She replies a few minutes later.

HD: oh that’s awful! I’m so sorry! Your dad is a jerk!

HD: you should call social services on him or something.

HD: I don’t know. I guess this isn’t illegal. But it’s so unfair.

HD: I can’t believe he’d do that.

GT: yes it is very dumb and lame

GT: i am not happy about it

HD: Well I’m angry about it!

GT: you don’t have to be angry

GT: he is my stupid dad

GT: i guess i will figure it out

GT: have a good time at the museum, i hope you meet lots of rad people

You sign off. You don’t like this at all, it makes you feel like you’re in the wrong. But you can’t be in the wrong if you’re doing what a goddess is telling you to do, right? Isn’t that kind of the definition of right and wrong?

You don’t know.

Bruises aching, you go to bed.

Next week, while practice-strifing in the living room, the Seer smacks your hand with her cane, and the hammer goes flying. You hear a crash, and you turn in horror to see pottery shards and Nanna’s ashes all over the mantelpiece and floor.

“Oh shit,” you say, and glance back at the goddess.

“John,” she says, and raises her cane. “Don’t turn your back on your opponent.”

“No, wait! Just wait,” you say. “Those are my Nanna’s ashes, I can’t just leave them there while we strife.”

And to your relief, she gives you a moment to get a dustpan and a broom and sweep up the ashes. Not knowing where else to put them, you get a mixing bowl from the kitchen and dump them in. “Augh,” you say. “How am I gonna explain this to my dad?”

The goddess takes a coin from nowhere and flips it. “You need to come clean and take responsibility.”

“But-”

“That is what is just, John. And if your father punishes you, that is also just.”

But it’s your fault, kind of, is what you want to say, but you don’t. You look at the bowl of ashes and pottery shards in your hands.

“John," she says again. “Learn from your mistakes. What have you learned?”

“Don’t strife inside the house?”

She smiles, and smacks her cane into her palm. “That, and protect your grip.”

------------

“Son, I am disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “It was an accident.” You do not look your dad in the face.

He sighs and adjusts his hat. “Sit and talk with me for a moment, Son.”

Oh gods, not a talk.

You sit, and your dad leans forward. “Is everything alright at school, Son?”

That’s not what you expected. “Huh? It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been getting into fights?”

You shoot a fearful glance in his direction. It hasn’t even been a month, this can’t be the reveal that the Seer mentioned…

“No.”

“Son,” your dad puts a very patriarchal hand on your shoulder, but you’re bruised there so you try not to wince. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, that was an accident,” you say, looking down at the swelling across your knuckles. Your dad would not be okay with ‘a living goddess hit me with a cane’ on several different levels.

You decide to go on the offensive. “It’s none of your business anyway, Dad. I’m fine.”

“Son, I only have your best interests at heart. You know that.”

“You don’t know what my best interests are! For, for all you know, I have some sort of destiny that’s completely different from what you think I should be!”

“Don’t give me that talkback, Son,” there is an edge to your dad’s voice now. “I can see you’ve been having a hard time lately, but don’t take it out on your old man!”

“You don’t see anything! You don’t know anything!” Your voice is rising high above your regular indoor volume. Your gambit at pretending to be angry has backfired, and you actually are angry now.

Your dad shakes his head. “I know some things, Son. Like the fact that you don’t actually go to bowling club after school.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you look away. “I- I quit.”

“Do you need more extracurriculars? I think piano lessons might not be enough.”

“Augh, gods, I can’t believe this!” you exclaim, and immediately regret it.

“Language, John,” says your dad, his voice low.

“Sorry, Dad, I’m fine,” you say, trying to calm down. You remember the breathing exercises you did in the youth group, and try to emulate those without the prayer part.

“Son,” your dad uses his patriarchal hand again. “I think more extracurricular activities would do you some good. Keep you out of trouble.” You are about to object, but he goes on.

“There are lots of good options, why don’t you look into it? Is there something you’d like to learn to do?”

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble.

“Good,” he continues. “Your chore load will also double for the next month.”

“Dad!”

He gives your shoulder a patriarchal squeeze, and you really do flinch this time. “You’ll survive, Son. What doesn’t kill you makes you a stronger man.”

You are not so sure you agree.

------------

HD: and you won’t believe it, but this high school kid was totally flirting with me.

HD: I mean it.

HD: he was like sixteen or something

HD: so awkward.

GT: ok

HD: I dunno though, maybe I should have gone out with him?

HD: he was kind of cute

GT: ok

HD: or maybe I should have painted my face green and done the hokey pokey

GT: ok

HD: are you okay, john?

GT: huh?

GT: i am fine.

GT: if you had to learn some totally new skill, what would it be?

HD: inuit throat singing

GT: ha ha ha what?

HD: no it’s amazing.

HD: the inuit people can sing with like, their throats.

GT: what else would they sing with? their eyeballs?

HD: oh shut up

HD: i mean like, with their throat and their mouth separately. Two tones at once!

HD: isn’t that just amazing? I wish I could do that.

HD: well

HD: either that or something useful. Like computer programming.

GT: those are two very different things.

HD: so? People are allowed to have diverse interests.

GT: i guess so

------------

“I would like to take a computer programming class,” you tell your dad. “And karate.”

------------

The Seer of Mind cracks you over the back with her cane. You sprawl onto your belly on the ground, but manage to roll away before the second blow comes. You could swear the canes she uses are slightly harder and heavier each time. Thank goodness she never goes for your head.

The cane’s coming again, and you try to swipe with your hammer, but it’s really too short.

Her cane has a longer reach, and she can knock you four ways to Saturn before you’re close enough to even poke her with the hammer.

So she goes and knocks you four ways to Saturn, and while you’re gasping for air she flips you onto your back and points the tip of the cane at your throat.

“You’re dead again.”

“Augh,” you respond. “Can’t you use a shorter cane?”

“Your enemies will not use shorter canes just because you want them to, John.”

You sit up and push the cane away. “What enemies? I don’t have enemies!”

“John,” she says, her voice dead serious. “You have enemies you don’t even know about.”

You get to your feet. “Who, then?”

Her face is inscrutable. “You’ll know them when you see them.”

“Augh, this is so frustrating!” You are on the verge of tearing your hair out. She’s the Seer, she knows everything, so why isn’t she telling you anything? “I don’t even know what my ‘Grand Destiny’ is! You said I was going to save comedy, but all you do is strife with me!”

“John.” Her voice is incredibly condescending. “This is all an important part of your training.”

“But what am I training for?”

“You are training for your destiny, John. You will need these skills I am teaching you, in order to succeed.”

“What, ‘how to get beaten up 101’?”

She nods. “Endurance in the face of pain and damage will serve you well.”

You really want to know what you’ll be doing that requires you to be beat up so much, but then the Seer is swinging her cane at you again, and you have to pick up the hammer to block before she thwacks you in the stomach again.

“You must become hard and unyielding,” she says, and takes another swipe. “When I am through with you, John, you will be like steel.”

You have no idea what that means, but it sounds cool.

------------

At school, in the gym’s locker room, the other boys notice your bruises. They whisper and gossip at the cane marks across your back and sides.

You’re a freak.

------------

-- harmoniusDithering [HD] began pestering ghostlyTrickster [GT] at 18:54 --

HD: hey! I haven’t heard from you in a while!

HD: i thought you would ask about the museum trip.

HD: because that is a thing that happened.

HD: it was pretty awesome.

HD: they didn’t have any movie posters for sale.

HD: but I did think of you.

GT: what do you mean?

HD: what do you think I mean? :)

GT: i do not know what you are talking about

HD: you can be really thick sometimes

GT: that’s what she said!

HD: that is not a proper thing to say to a lady

GT: bluh

HD: kidding!

HD: so are you still grounded?

HD: John?

-- ghostlyTrickster [GT] has signed off --

------------

It’s been a month now, and you think maybe you’re getting better. That you can maybe go 30 seconds now without getting whacked by the cane. You want to think it’s the karate lessons, but all your fellow students are like, eight, so it's not like you're a karate master yet.

The Seer has been coming more often, three times a week now at least. But at least her “lessons” are relatively short in duration.

“John,” she says, and her cane disappears into wherever the objects she carries always go. “Let’s take a break.”

You put down the hammer with a sigh of relief, then quickly shoot a look in the Seer’s direction to see if she heard you. But, of course she heard you.

She’s sitting down, and you wonder for a moment if you’re going to meditate, the way you did in Church. But instead, she takes out a chessboard.

“You know this game, John.” It’s not a question. “Play it with me.”

It’s less painful than the strife, but just as humiliating. She trounces you, then again and again. Of course she does. She can read your mind. This whole thing is an exercise in futility.

“Are you trying to teach me to give up?” you gripe, after the fifth defeat in a row. “This is not exactly great for my self-confidence.”

“You must learn to lose, before you can learn to win,” she says. “Learn when you are outclassed, and when you can turn your situation into an advantage.”

The Seer alternates your lessons between strifing and chess, and beats you every time. You play white. She plays black. After a few lessons this way, though, the playing gets… weird. The Seer seems to think that the pieces have their own personalities and motivations. She even names them.

“Watch out for the Black King, John. He is more powerful than you might think.”

“Take shelter in the castle, sure. But that rook is going to turn on you if you’re not careful.”

“This pawn is Jack. Don’t let him, or his allies, take your queen.”

The Seer changes the board up, when you play. Sometimes you play with nothing but queens and pawns, sometimes with nothing but rooks and knights. She sets up the board in specific arrangements, ahead of time, and makes you play.

“You can win,” she says. “But you must make no mistakes.”

You don’t know anything about chess. You look up strategies online. You still lose.

You can’t strategize against her, you can’t plan. So you move your pieces erratically, and lose every time.

------------

About two months after meeting the Seer, you get a package in the mail. For you. You never get packages, unless you order something online. You don’t recognize the return address, but your name is on it. Handwritten.

It’s a long, skinny tube. Maybe it has a golf club in it or something. You wouldn’t put it past your dad, getting you a golf club even though you don’t play golf.

You open the tube, and there’s a paper roll. A poster. As you unroll it, you can see it’s some kind of abstract artsy print, with streaks of red and yellow paint over light brown. On the bottom, white text reads “Northwest Museum of Art and Culture.” You can only imagine that it’s some kind of famous painting, but you don’t recognize it.

And as you finish unrolling, you see in the upper corner, written in jade green ink:

To John,

Keep The Faith. We Are Here For You.

Kanaya Maryam

The Sylph of Space. You have the autograph of the Sylph of Space. Her true name and everything.

There’s a letter.

Dear John,

Surprise! Sorry it’s not a movie poster, they only had art prints for sale in the museum gift shop. This piece is called “Welcome to Denmother,” and it’s by an Enfleífrit artist from the Norma Arm of the Milky Way. I have no idea what it’s supposed to represent, but I think it's a really important piece in Enfleífrit culture? Like the Mona Lisa or something. Go figure. There’s more info about the picture on the back of the poster.

And I’m sure you’ve seen the signature already! She was really nice, said “what’s your friend’s name” and signed it! There were like a BAZILLION people, I was waiting in line for hours!

Did you know the Sylph really glows? You can’t see it so clearly in the daytime, but it makes Her shadows very weird.

Anyway, I hope you get un-grounded soon. I miss you seeing you in person! Let me know, and maybe we can hang out sometime? Like, not in church, I mean.

Best wishes, and Gods bless!

-Anna

Aw, crap.

You can’t keep this. If your dad found out, he’d FREAK. And if the Seer found it? She’d freak too. You have to throw it away.

It’ll be easy, just go up to the trash can and throw it out.

Just go.

John. Go.

You don’t go. You can’t. You look at the letter again.

Everyone else in the youth group forgot about you, but Anna still cares. Even though you barely talk to her anymore. You have a friend. You can’t just throw that away.

You don’t hang up the poster, but you don’t throw it away, either. You fold it up and tuck it, with the letter, under your mattress. It’s a perfect hiding place. No one will ever find it.

#revision #john egbert #dad egbert #terezi pyrope #godstuck #godstuck fic #capture the wind #homestuck #homestuck fanfiction #tw: abuse

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