#zorille's frederick the frog

[zorilleerrant]

this is the frog I've named Frederick btw

[zorilleerrant]

Frederick the Frog: Apple

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away," Chris says, tapping his chin. He's got a wide ranging vertigo pulse on his helmet today, so if anything goes wrong, he can grab Frederick and book it. No one's going to come after them while they're falling over and puking their guts out, and Chris tested it to make sure it was actually an effective weapon. (Well. His dad did.)

Frederick is doing fine, though. His eyes are a little red and bugged out, and he seems to be squeaking out laughter every time he takes someone down, but he's going at it pretty well, with the kind of bam pow one two punch Chris has been working on with him. He even throws in a few kicks for good measure, and Chris hasn't even taught him about kicks yet!

"You're just saying aphorisms now," Richard tells him, stroking his beard anyway. Yeah, right? Chris is right, and it does sound good, even if frogs don't have much to do with apples, because, it's like a theme or something, they can always change his costume. They should ask if Frederick wants to change his costume or they can change to matching costumes. Maybe all three of them. Apples and honey, or something, ew, he thought of honey again.

"I don't know what an aphorism is," Chris tells him, which is fine, because he's not a dictionary or anything. He doesn't know any superhero who's a dictionary - oh, wait, his bad. Zatanna does that, actually. But he has to come up with a slogan for Snowfrog anyway. Not that Zatanna does that. Does she doe that? If Zatanna will make a slogan for him he should totally ask her. How does he get in touch with Zatanna.

Someone swats Snowfrog out of the air, which is fine, because he only tumbles back about a foot then does three loop-de-loops and heads straight up someone else's nose, exploding their face off, but it's still... well, Chris is here to protect his frog, so he's going to protect his frog! He starts stomping forward, and then pauses to turn back to Richard.

Richard is in the middle of trying to explain to him, well, probably whatever the apple a day was, not that it matters at the moment whether an apple is a fruit or a vegetable or whatever, and Chris can make it up to him later by letting him lecture on bees, because he likes that. Or maybe crochet, which is like, gay knitting? Or something. Anyway, Chris doesn't know what he's saying and interrupts, because it's a little time sensitive.

"Is that guy white?" Chris asks, pointing at the guy who slapped his frog. Richard looks confused, like it's that weird of a question, so Chris sighs and clarifies for him, "I promised a friend I'd kill more white people, so this is, like, his last respects or something." Because if he's not even white Chris is just going to use his puke beam and take Frederick home early.

"It's hard to tell from here, but judging by his tattoo, I'd say it's likely," Richard tells him, even though Chris can't see which tattoo he means. All of these guys have lots of tattoos, except Frederick, which is good, because if he tried to rebel and get a tattoo, Chris doesn't even know what he would do. What's the age of majority for frogs, anyway? And would Frederick wait until then?

"Which tattoo?" Chris asks, watching Snowfrog take out yet another one of these chumps, this time with a jab cross in perfect rhythm, just like Chris taught him, and he can't help but pump a fist in the air. Then Frederick stumbles a little, but doesn't fall out of the sky. Should Chris get in there? Does Snowfrog need a little boost, because he has more cocaine in his pocket.

Richard points at the probably white guy, "his tattoo. The 88. That usually means someone is a nazi, which in turn usually means that they're white, so it's an educated guess, but I think it's very likely overall." Which also explains all the faces that Richard was making at these guys. Richard hates nazis, probably because they killed all his friends in WWII and stuff.

"Whoa, that has got to suck for all the people born in 1988," Chris says, not that he'd get a tattoo of a year, because who does that? Maybe someone might get someone else's birthday, but probably not their own birthday, but what about some, like, nice mom who just had twins in 1988 or whatever and she just wants to celebrate their birthday, and then people called her a nazi and she had to get the whole thing tattooed over with marigolds or something.

Actually, come to think of it, a bunch of his dad's friends used to have tattoos like that, and Chris is pretty sure most of them didn't have kids, or else they had more than just one kid, and he doesn't think all of them could've only liked one of their kids. "Holy shit, Richard, I think my dad's friends were nazis," Chris says, and then gets ready to kill some white people in memory of his good friend that one guy who told him to kill more white people that one time.

[zorilleerrant]

Frederick the Frog: Star

Chris is trying, but the bag is so heavy, and his dad won't let up. His hands feel wet even under the wraps, and he's not sure if it's sweat or blood, but the bag swing less and less each time. He can't see anything soaking through the cloth, so it's not like they're slick enough to slip, but he feels them skidding across the bag anyway as his shots go wide.

"Go on, Frederick, reach for the stars," Chris says, trying to keep the punching bag still as the frog slams into it. He's only making one shot in three, but one shot in three is up from one shot in five, and Chris has to be more prepared than ever to keep the bag from rocking him backwards whenever Frederick lands a hit. "Keep it up, buddy, you're doing so good." He braces his legs and doesn't fall.

Chris thinks he's going to throw up, even though he skipped lunch so he wouldn't. His stomach hurts and he can't tell if it's the muscle or his insides doing it, the way he can when his arms and legs are sore. His eyes are sore, too, but he's pretty sure that's from crying. He wonders if you can throw up your stomach if it doesn't have enough food in it when it hurts this bad. He does another situp, and his dad grunts, clenching his shoes harder.

"Do it just the way Uncle Richard said," Chris tells him, even though he can't keep track of the instructions. A frog is going to need different guidelines than a human, so it stands to reason, and obviously Richard's got a lot more experience in that sort of thing than he does, but it's still weird. He's not completely sure frogs even have stomach muscles, but he's got to get his core strength from somewhere, or he wouldn't be able to punch all those guys out. Frederick struggles into a somewhat upright position, and possibly grins at him. "That's my little superstar."

Chris hates the way the costume feels, like molasses weighing him down, but he has to get used to dragging it around if he wants to actually fight, not that someone like him would probably be any good at it. He's not used to it yet, but he wasn't used to dragging his own useless carcass around until he got used to it, so he perseveres. It's better to take instruction from people who know more than you, if you want to make big differences.

"You're going to look like a rock star when I'm finished with this," Chris says, with a snort, wondering if he should invest in a little froggy sized guitar, not that Frederick's superpowerd would probably help with playing that. Or at least he's never met anyone whose superpowers make them play guitar good, only people who learned by themselves. And he's never seen a regular frog play guitar, either, which he figures probably would've shown up on the Discovery channel at some point, if it happened. Frederick keeps prodding at the material, looking curious to try it on. "Yeah? You like that, little man? I'll add some more glitter ribbons." Chris picks up his needle again, and gets to work.

Chris's dad keeps reminding him that the world has gone to filth, that he's the only one who can clean it up. That some people are just beyond redemption, some people just can't be saved, some people are just too mired in the muck to be worth it. That the more of these vermin he can put down like rabid dogs, the more peaceful the world will be. A purer, more wholesome world for his children.

"He's calling himself Snowfrog," Chris tells Richard, dubiously. It's a hell of a name, and he wouldn't have picked it, but Frederick's got to make his own choices. Richard seems to be trying not to make the same face Chris is, and it's nice he's trying to be polite to the frog, when he knows Richard didn't think it was a great idea for him to take on a sidekick in the first place. Frederick poses in his little cape and hat, ribbiting proudly. "I don't get it, either, but you know what, it's his show, so let's let him star in it."

[zorilleerrant]

Frederick the Frog: Spooky

"Are you teaching him that?" Richard asks, as Frederick disappears again, somewhere in the back of the building. It was his idea to go training in abandoned warehouses anyway, so Chris isn't sure why he sounds so surprised by it.

Frederick tumbles forward in some kind of somersault in midair, and Chris tries to catch him before he dives headfirst into the giant pile of cocaine that Chris has managed to procure, because he isn't sure it's good for Frederick to be topping up that soon. Which. Wait.

"Am I going to get in trouble for all the cocaine?" Chris asks, wringing his hands just a little bit. It's not like he wants to violate parole or anything! Just, you know, extenuating circumstances.

"I've been pretending it's a big fluffy blanket, or perhaps a ghost costume," Richard says, in that wierd dry tone of his, and, to be fair, when he comes back up for air, Frederick does look kind of like a ghost, or at least a powdered donut. "Really, I don't want to know where you got. Let's just pretend it was through legitimate means, and then never talk about it."

"Oh, yeah, pretty legit, I talked to The Wall and she let me have it," Chris says, watching Frederick carefully, trying to figure out if he has the power to turn invisible, or camouflage himself, or if he's just fast enough to hide. Or small enough to hide. "I was just in there, all, hey can I - and she was nodding all leaderly like she does and 'say no more! I can tell you're going to do good things with this!'"

"She said that?" Richard says, skeptically for some reason, which, okay, it's not exactly the kind of thing that The Wall says most of the time, but Chris can't remember exactly what she said anyway, so it's not like it matters.

"I mean, she said she was done with the conversation and then she left, I don't know," Chris tells him, trying not to flinch as Frederick zooms at him out of nowhere and looks him dead in the eye, because the frog probably wasn't trying to be spooky about it. "She didn't tell me I couldn't have the stuff from evidence lockup. She would've taken it from me if I wasn't allowed to have it."

Richard doesn't say anything, just disappears almost as fast as Frederick, behind a pillar where he tries to get Frederick to follow him. Which makes sense, because he used to be a spy or something, so he can probably teach. Stealth? Or whatever.

Chris never used to be any good at stealth, but who needs it when you've got a freeze ray or a goo gun or a fuck beam? His dad helped him play into his strengths, which is, like, being a presence or something, and he's going to help Frederick do the same.

Except maybe Richard's going to help him more, because the little guy sure is small, and Richard's probably the best at helping him hone his spooky little fucker instincts. Although maybe there should be less cocaine. Maybe Chris didn't need to pour all three kilos on the floor at once, since Frederick only uses a little at a time.

Eh, he can always ask The Wall for more.

[zorilleerrant]

Frederick the Frog: Telescope

"This is a telescope," Chris says, slowly, holding out the item to the frog, who looks curiously at it, then grabs it and zips away. "Okay, I should've expected that."

"Why are you giving a frog a telescope?" Richard asks, watching after Frederick, who takes the telescope and bashes it over the nearest goon's head. "Not to call into question your mentoring abilities, because I understand the difficulties there, but Chris. I don't think a frog needs a telescope."

"Look, I don't know, he really liked the moon the other day," Chris says, with a sigh, dropping his helmeted head against Richard, who barely winces. "I thought, like. That's a kind of bonding, right, if you look up at the stars together? I figured I could teach him some constellations and stuff."

"That's a fantastic idea with one caveat," Richard says, lightly shoving Chris away, just in time for him to clap as Frederick flies past again, telescope nowhere to be seen, and instead some kind of ray gun in either hand. "Do you know any constellations?"

"I googled some," Chris admits, accepting the ray guns as Frederick hands them over before flying back into the fray, straight into someone's eye socket. "It's getting hard to tell which are, like, real. Have you ever heard of the Cheese Wheel and Archimedes' Gravy, because I hadn't, but I'm not much into, like, philosophers."

"I'm definitely sure that's not a real one," Richard says, pausing to swing around and kick someone in the middle for trying to grab at Frederick. "Have you looked for the little dipper?"

"Alright, alright, I'll get him," Chris says, and shoves his way through the crowd. It takes freeze beaming a few of the goons, but he makes his way to his froggy sidekick and asks, "hey, little buddy, you doing okay there?"

Frederick pauses to land on his shoulder, looking up at him with big froggy eyes he could swear are full of affection and respect, and then using him as a launching point to backflip into the crowd, taking out three people. One of which proceeds to shoot a blowtorch at him, the jet of fire narrowly missing both Frederick and Chris.

"Hey!" Chris punches the villain right in the jaw without even having to use his helmet. "You stay the fuck away from my frog!" At a skeptical look on Frederick's part, though, he steps back to let the frog take over the mission again.

"I meant the constellation, the little dipper," Richard says, only missing another beat and a half once Chris fights his way back to his side. "I wasn't calling Frederick that, I - I don't - what would that even mean, Chris?"

"I don't know what the hell a dipper is," Chris says, confidently, nodding praise to Frederick as he sails past. "It sounded kind of offensive, but I figured you couldn't be trying to hurt his feelings, so I let it go. It wasn't offensive, was it?"

"What? No, I don't - never mind, I'm going to get you a book on constellations when we get back to my place," Richard says, sighing into his hands for reasons Chris suspects are unreasonable but isn't going to call him out on.

"That sounds great," Chris says, and calls over the crowd, "hey, wrap it up, little buddy, Uncle Richard's going to lend you a book about stars so you can learn the constellations!"

Frederick, much to Richard's consternation, finishes the fight, dusts off his hands, and hops back over to them. But he still follows Chris's lead in offering some approving applause and congratulating the little guy. "You did well out there. Bravo."

"Hey, now, Frederick, don't you forget your telescope," Chris says, with a waggling hand, hoping he doesn't sound too much like his father. Frederick seems okay hopping back over to pick the thing up and toss it back to him, though. "Thanks, buddy."

[zorilleerrant]

Frederick the Frog: Tea

"I really feel like I should check on the little dude," Chris says, glancing involuntarily at his helmet when he should be looking at his cup.

"Drink your tea," Richard says, pouring for Chris. "We all have to let our loved ones leave the nest sometime."

"Um, I don't think he's ready to leave the nest yet? Only he's practically a baby and that guy was huge," Chris says, but he obediently drinks his tea. "I think little dude might be fucked."

"Nonsense. Frederick's a superhero just the same as you are. Let him test his wings." Richard sounds calm when he says it, like he always does, but he still flinches at the loud crash behind them

"I just wish I knew where he was." Chris yanks his hand away when Richard almost spills tea on it, pouring directly onto the table as he looks over his shoulder, but the fight is too far away to see. "In case he needs, I don't know, backup or something?"

"Of course, Chris, you're excellent backup," Richard says, mopping at the table with a cheerful checkered towel. He continues to wipe a little longer than it takes to get the table dry, and it squeaks.

"Oh, there he is," Chris says, waving. Frederick flies into the air again, sweeping right into that chiseled jawline, and knocks eight feet of villain to the ground. It only stuns him for a moment, and Frederick taking the time to jump repeatedly onto his chest doesn't do as much damage as the frog hoped. "Use your poison! Oh, he's gone again." A single tree sways as the crashes move into the distance.

"So, you see, he's doing excellently well, far better than I did this early in the game," Richard smiles tensely at Chris. "I'm sure you had many an early mishap as well. We all make mistakes."

"Oh, god, I hope he doesn't make any mistakes," Chris says, clutching his cup of tea the way he'd clutch a mug of coffee, and possibly snapping off the handle, although you can't tell if he keeps holding it, "mistakes could get him killed. That guy looked mean."

"I was talking about you. Your unfortunate youth," Richard explains, to Chris's blank look. "Ah, well, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Lets just enjoy our tea. The honey is mine, you know."

"Dude, ew, you made this honey?" Chris says, holding the cup at arm's length, which unfortunately reveals the two pieces it happens to be in, "that's gross man, warn a guy."

"No, not - my bees. My bees made the honey," Richard says, rubbing his forehead. He stares as the villain comes stumbling backwards out of the woods again, swatting at the air, missing the superspeeding frog by miles every time. Frederick pauses to hover and make what sounds very much like a frog imitating a cackle.

"Still gross, my guy," Chris says, but takes a tentative sip of the tea again, managing not to pull a face. "What were we talking about?" He winces in sympathy when Frederick slams the villain through a tree, even though that's a Bad Guy.

"Your terrible childhood," Richard deadpans, solemnly drinking his tea. He pauses to look Chris right in the eye as he swirls more honey into it, then sips it again.

"Man, no, that's nothing like this, my dad didn't even let me go to the arcade without looking over my shoulder and telling me when to jump and stuff, then telling me I sucked at gaming and just doing it himself," Chris says, looking at Frederick, who finally appears to be winning, or at least no longer barely hanging on. "He'd never have let me have a frog. Or do drugs."

"And look how that turned out," Richard mutters, shaking his head gently, almost standing up at one point and resettling himself.

"What?" Chris says, finally putting his helmet back on, even though it also finally looks like Frederick doesn't need him to.

"I said, I think it's turning out fine," Richard tells him, and shoves him back into his seat.

He pours a tiny cup of tea for Frederick, too.

[zorilleerrant]

It takes a while for Frederick to come down from that first high. Chris tries to look him over for injuries, but what is he, a vet? A zoologist? If he'd been smart enough to be a zoologist in the first place, there'd probably be peace on earth right now and his dad wouldn't be so embarrassed by him, but all he knows is that he's got to wear gloves when handling Frederick, for the poison. He's not sure it matters what frogs-can-absorb-through-their-skin-when if Frederick is as invulnerable as he looks, at least when his powers are active.

"Hey little buddy," Chris says, trying to cuddle something about the size of a pog. Gently, because frogs have barely any bones, and he's not entirely sure they like cuddling anyway.

But Frederick doesn't hop away. He doesn't start signing and dancing either, which is the only other experience Chris has with superpowered frogs, so it's hard to know where to go from there.

Chris wishes he'd never destroyed that Disney princess helmet in a fit of pique. Not that his dad ever would've called it that, but that's what it felt like to Chris, and so what was he supposed to do, not have a reaction? But he could sing and dance back at Frederick right now if that was what it took, so he asks Frederick the one thing he wishes someone would've asked him. "Do you want to do this?"

Frederick doesn't answer because he's, well, a frog, and his superpowers are going away already. Or maybe he could never talk; he didn't so there's no real way for Chris to know. He just keeps staring at the bright night sky, full moon overhead, not even making peeps or chirps or croaks like all the frogs Chris has seen people keep as pets.

Not that Frederick is a pet. He's a sidekick. If he wants to be.

"When I was your age," Chris starts, "well, when I was just a brand new baby superhero, anyway, I had my doubts. Like. What if I couldn't kill people good enough? Not you, Frederick, you sure showed them, but like - you know, superheroes get in trouble sometimes. They can die, just, absolutely horrifically. And I don't want that to happen to you. So you don't have to be a superhero if you don't want to. Just say the word."

Frederick doesn't say the word. He doesn't say any words. So Chris keeps talking for the both of them. "You were fantastic out there. And I'm proud of you. And you could still do good work, but you don't have to, you know? You'd still have worth as a, um, a frog." And he tries to smile like on the sitcoms where people give that speech, about how the kid did good in school, not usually with the murder and the maiming, which he can't exactly put up on the fridge. But Frederick deserves to hear something, anyway.

He's going to be up all night, probably. But Chris will stay up with him. It's the least he can do.

Frederick perches on the shoulder of his jacket, and Chris sits real still so they don't acidentaly brush against each other, and they stare up at the clouds, watching them drift past the moon together. It's a nice night. Peaceful.