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Kitty in a half-shell; Turtle Power Quest
Topic Started: Apr 12 2009, 07:54 PM (52 Views)
falstaff
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Bumblebwy had a hell of a time managing the escape routine from the submerged changeling craft. Sure, he was a wizard, but wizards weren't always the best magicians. Magicians were all about sleight of hand, dazzling dumb passerby's with a couple of cool tricks, but nothing that consisted of any real magic. He could create life with a few simple words. (A few simple words consisted of performing three dozen hours of weight training, fifteen hours of community service, reading four text books as thick as the Earth's crust, taking a virgin's eye, a gambler's tongue, and Ryan's innocence, baby teeth from a yardratian, and then an hour long ritual that involved sweat, blood, the eye, tongue, teeth, and innocence, combined with a pail full of bubble gum mixed with sweet and sour sauce.) He was a wizard.

But first and foremost, he was a cat. And cats hated water with every fiber of their being. All those years of practice casually tossed out of a ten story window.

Hissing as the front view panel cracked and water began to seep through the hairline fractures, Bwy realized only too late that he was sinking to the bottom of the frigging ocean and standing atop the back of the pilot's chair was decidedly not going to save him from a fate of drowning. When the water came rushing through full force, he managed to take in a deep breath, one that was expelled in a plume of bubbles as soon as he felt how cold the salt water was. Sodium chloride, dam you to hell! He did not get paid well enough for this. His was going to have a serious talk with his agent regarding renegotiations of his contract at the end of the saga.

Fighting the current that would have dragged him back to the engine room where escaping from the sinking ship that wanted to be his tomb would become next to impossible, he managed barely to get his claws in the fabric of one of the other seats, waiting for the ship to fill. Which was another bad idea, as it continued to sink as time ticked by.

"Welp, I had a good run. Should I check out here and now, let it be known that I did everything I ever wanted.” Pause. “Almost everything.” A beat. “Page one of the bucket list.” Thinking over how much he had managed to get done was disheartening. “I can at least say there was nothing in this life that I regret. Except that one time with the Thai hooker. Would have known she was a man if I hadn't had all that catnip, Lord, you have to believe me. Something told me that was a wide back for a gal to have, you know what I mean? Mercy be unto me for my mistakes, and give me the peace of mind . . ." The rest of the goodbye would have to wait until he crossed over to the other side, no longer was his head above the raging water.

Swim, swim, kick those little legs! As his cape, what served as his cape was made from an old bandana from a man called Pent that happened to be several sizes too big to be used as normal for a cat, caught on a jagged metal edge of the ship’s hull, Bwy thought it was over.

Bite, bite, use those crooked teeth!

While he contemplated how far he'd get toward the surface before his lungs gave out, Bwy realized there was one last piece of business that needed attending to. No, not Rosencrantz. The android had his orders, and when the cat and the monkey met as one was given new life and the other had his snuffed out in his prime, Bumblebwy would ask Vega to kindly restore him through use of the Dragon ball. What he hoped was that the android had listened to his orders, had acquired it from whomever had been unlucky enough to have found it in the first place, and that ‘crantz could make the wish in time. Should Bumblebwy, for some reason, be assigned to purgatory or even Heaven while Vega was coming back from the Down There place, he might never be granted the chance to pass the message along.

Damn his perfect life and never doing anything immoral or unjust. ONCE AGAIN, he thought, realizing this had become the story of his life, I lose because of common decency. I knew I should have killed the Thai hooker when I noticed his package. You can tuck it all you want, but eventually, I always see it. This serves me right. Goodbye, cruel world, hello glorious afterlife.

This was going to be long and painful. Where were the quick deaths when he needed them? Crap.

The last thing he needed to do was get in touch with Falstaff. Oh, poor Falstaff. The cat was the majin’s whole world. He was going to be crushed. Not crushed ten thousand leagues under the sea-crushed, but emotionally stunted for the rest of his days. He almost didn’t want to say goodbye. Almost.

Closing his eyes was a bad idea, but it was mostly dark anyway, so it didn’t matter as long as he kept swimming. Kick, kick, kick. Croc made this shit look easy.

“Falstaff,” his voice would project for miles and miles across the globe to wherever fatty happened to be. “Falstaff, are you there? It’s me, God.”

“God!?”

“. . . sorry, wrong number.” He dialed again. “Falstaff, is this you?”

Nothing but static. For some reason, Bwy thought he had the right line and kept going. “It’s me. Listen, uh,” quick, he needed to lie, something he was good at when he wasn’t about to die. He couldn’t tell Falstaff he was going away, not when they might have been able to bring him back. To toy with his emotions like that was cruel. Oh, but the expression on his face, that would almost make up for it.
Edited by falstaff, Apr 12 2009, 08:02 PM.
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falstaff
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“Listen, I got held up at customs. They want to do a cavity search, but they have to find someone with small enough fingers, you know? It’s a pain, and in more ways than one. You okay, big guy? Yeah, I’m sure you’re doing fine.

“Look, I wanted to let you know that I’m not harboring any hard feelings towards what you did to me on Frieza. You didn’t want to do the bank job and I tried to force you. I understand why you left. It went south, anyway. Something about the mob owning it, I don’t know, I was too busy dodging buckshot and ki blasts. Anyway, I will get in touch with you as soon as I’m able, okay? Okay. Take care of yourself.”

If you would like to make a call, please hang up and dial again. Maybe Falstaff was sleeping, in which case, he would get the message when he woke up. Maybe the water was messing with his connection. Too many what if’s, not enough to go on, he kept swimming. Kick, tail lash, doggy paddle, breast stroke! At this rate, he was going to have a stroke ‘fore he broke the surface of the water.

Then, when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, the top of his furry little head connected with something metallic, and things got darker than they ever were previously. He wouldn’t know it, but when the ship crashed, it had turned around, the front of the spacecraft facing the bottom of the deep, blue sea. And when the water had first rushed in and caused him to lose his breath, nearly dragging him into the bowels of the rapidly sinking vessel, he had somehow gotten turned around, moved to face and swim in the direction he did not want to go. Bwy had gotten all the way back to the cargo hold before smashing his skull into something hard.

Was this the end for our plucky hero? What would happen to Falstaff without him? Find out the answers to these questions and more on our next episode of Dragon Ba– oh, we’re ready now? Hang on, hang on. Ahem. Previously on Dragon Ball: Mythic.

When Bumblebwy next awoke, he was cruising along the surface of the ocean, laying on something hard – but thankfully not whatever he had banged his head against in what will now be referred to as The Tomb – and facing the bright blue, cloudless sky. The sun blaring down immediately made him wince, and he reached for his cape to pull across his face only to realize it was missing. What the hell? He never left home without it. Two wet paws reached out to feel the surface of what it was under him.

No trees, no clouds, just the sun and water and . . . what was it? Not anything he had ever felt before. “H-hello?” Oh, his voice, it felt like someone forced him to swallow razor blades with a full mouthfuls of yardratian booze, and not the good shit. No, this felt more like the cheap crap that could strip paint. Wood alcohol or the like. “Ugh,” his groans made things worse. The only person sick enough to torture him with liquor from a two-bit distillery on Yardrat was Vega, who was, far as he knew, still very much of the dead. “What . . . where? What?”

“Three very good questions,” a voice above him said. It wasn’t above in the sense that it came from the angels coming down to take him to the world above the clouds, but above in that he was laying on his back and it came from the direction he would have been facing if looking ahead. The sound of water moving and a slow, gentle rocking rhythm told him he was moving. “How’s your head?”

“It feels terrible, thanks for asking. What happened?”

“Found you in The Tomb.”

“Tomb?”

“Tomb.”

“What Tomb?”

“Your Tomb.”

“I’m dead?”

“Not unless I’m dead, too.”

“Then what Tomb?”

“I said, your Tomb.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

This was doing wonders for his sore throat. He tried to roll over, but a blinding, searing pain at the crown of his head kept him still. Oh, shit, his crown! Son of a bitch, it was probably still down there.

“It makes sense to me.”

“We’re in the middle of the ocean. Tombs are in cemeteries. How does that make sense?”

“Not a tomb. The Tomb.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.”

“No problem.”

“We are still in the ocean, yeah?” He forced his eyes shut, the small of the salt air making him sick to his stomach. Cats and water. They were never to mix.

“We’re still in the ocean.”

“You could have said yes.”

“Could have.”

“Where are we going?”

“Kame House.”

“What’s a Kame House?”

“Not a Kame House. The Kame House.”

“. . . this is going to be a long trip, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How did you know to save me?”

“I heard the meow.”

“I don’t meow.”

“You did.”

“No I didn’t.”

“It was a joke.”

“You got a name, Chuckles?”

“Name is Charles.”

One eyelid slid open, and he would have glared daggers at his new pal if he could have. “Rosencrantz?”

“No, not Rosencrantz. Charles. Who is Rosencrantz?”

“Not you.”

“This is going to be a long trip, isn’t it?”

“I can kill you with my mind, you know.”

“Really?”

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Bumblebwy.”

“Funny name.”

“Not as funny as you, Charles.”

“Charles isn’t my real name.”

“I hate you.”

“My real name is Turtle.”

“I hate you, Turtle.”

“That’s not nice.”

“But it’s true.”

“No it isn’t. I save your life.”

“Really wish you hadn’t.”

“But then you’d be dead, Charles.”

“My name isn’t Charles, knucklehead, cut it out!”

“What is your name, again?”

“Bumblebwy. Wilburforce Elsmore Bumblebwy the Third, Esquire, Jr.”

“I can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Just can’t. I’m going to call you George.”

“Stick with Bumblebwy.”

“That’s what I meant. Can’t say it.”

“Can’t say what, Charles?”

“. . .”

“Turtle,” he corrected himself.

“I can’t say Bumblebwy, George.”

“Someone. Anyone. Help . . . me,” Bwy squeaked, sobbing there on Turtle’s shell as he was ferried across the ocean toward The Kame House leaving from The Tomb.
Edited by falstaff, Apr 12 2009, 09:52 PM.
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Biito
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Falstaff
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[ + 400 EXP // + 100 Zenni ]
Reward: Turtle Shell // 200 Zenni
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