It was a beautiful day at New York City's Central Park Zoo. The sun was shining, the alligator was singing, the lemurs were jumping on their air bounce, and inside the penguins' headquarters, faint whiffs of smoke squeezed beneath the thin line between the laboratory door and its threshold, curling lightly as it floated in the air. Neither its scent nor its color was bold enough to catch the attention of three penguins sitting around a table, straight-backed and fully immersed in a made-up card game.
"Let's see…" pondered Private, the youngest and shortest penguin of the group. He paused to consider each of the cards he held in his wing, trying to determine his next move.
"I'll bet… the Two of Hearts against your King of Spades, Skippah," he announced with a British accent, looking expectedly at the penguin sitting across from him.
Although 'Skippah' wasn't his real name, Skipper had grown accustomed and rather fond of Private's slight mispronunciation, and acknowledged it all the same.
"That's a bold wager, young Private," the leader of the group said with a wise-cracking smirk. "But I think you forgot that a measly little two doesn't stand a chance against the king."
Private immediately placed his wings to his beak, unable to silence his suppressed giggles.
"That sounds like something Julien would say," Private admitted when Skipper gave him a confused look.
Skipper's brows furrowed. Julien was a ring-tailed lemur and the self-proclaimed king of the Central Park Zoo. He was a party animal in every sense of the word, blasting obnoxious music for hours on end as the penguins desperately tried to sleep, and acting as though he was superior to everyone else. To Skipper, Julien was an unbearable nuisance, being responsible for many of the zoo's problems which was often a result of his short-sighted and selfish ways. Fixing the "king's" mistakes was as much of a ritual as Skipper's morning fish coffee.
Any resemblance made between Julien and himself then, was understandably resented, but Skipper chose to dismiss Private's comment, knowing he meant no harm…The young penguin never did.
"I don't care if I sound like a gargling platypus," Skipper retaliated, his smile telling a relieved Private that he had taken no offense to the rookie's comment. "Why would you think the King of Spades could be defeated by a weakling like the Two of Hearts?"
"Because it has…heart?" Private offered hopefully.
The third penguin at the table, who had ruffled tufts of small feathers sticking out on his head, as well as a red, thin, jagged scar running through his beak, gave a grunt of distaste.
"Quarantine that lovey-dovey talk Private," Skipper ordered. "You know how Rico gets when he hears that mush."
Rico groaned and clutched his stomach to voice his discomfort.
"Sorry Rico," Private apologized, looking on worriedly as the sound of Rico's moans became louder. "Are you okay?"
Rico suddenly began gagging, opening his beak as wide as possible. For one crazy moment, Private and Skipper thought he was going to spew fish chunks, but instead, the now grinning penguin coughed out a card and slammed it triumphantly on the table's surface.
"Aha!" Rico shouted.
"A baseball card!" Skipper exclaimed as he looked at the card in awe. "Rico, you madman!"
Rico laughed in mock evil fashion, daring his two comrades to challenge him.
"Don't worry Skippah. I know just the card to defeat it!" Private proclaimed bravely. Lifting up his left foot, he revealed a card sticking to its bottom, a blue diamond design decorating its backside. The other two watched in excited anticipation as Private raised the card above his head, his face firm and determined.
"Prepare to meet…Self-Respectra!"
Private flipped the card over and placed it gently on the table. Skipper and Rico leaned forward to get a better look, gazing at the card in disbelief and exasperation. It was a picture card, one that illustrated a green unicorn handing out ice cream to bunny rabbits. This abomination belonged to a franchise known as the Loonacorns, a series of television shows and merchandise that Private adored to the extent of a slightly unhealthy obsession.
This time, Rico really did throw- up, though thankfully he had made it to the garbage can before succumbing to his nausea. While Rico's horrified whimpers echoed in the can, Skipper had rested his forehead on the table, the rocky gray color consuming his vision and thankfully preventing him from looking at Private.
"Private? Just…why?"
"The power of imagination can defeat all odds," Private explained proudly. "Plus, it makes for an excellent distraction."
Skipper's head popped up at this, his eyes widening as Private quickly took Rico's baseball card off the table and hid it underneath the vomiting penguin's chair. Skipper slowly shook his head in amazement, unable to prevent the proud smile that appeared on his face while Private shrugged timidly and watched Rico with concern.
"I didn't want him to get sick though," Private admitted shamefully. "I'd better apologize."
Skipper didn't stop him, agreeing that an apology was indeed in order, but also knowing Rico never held a grudge and would take it in stride. Perhaps he would understand what Private's actions ultimately meant, and would feel the same way as Skipper did at that moment:
Private had taken advantage of his opponent's weakness, and used the distraction to eliminate the chief threat in one silent swipe of his flipper. Their game didn't have any rules, as they would forget the ones they made up, so he had also taken advantage of that disorderly circumstance, a necessary act in real life-or-death situations.
The boy was learning.
Skipper watched as Private put his wing on Rico's back, guiding him to the metal rungs of the ladder that led to the outside world, saying something about fresh air. The leader beamed when he saw Rico give the young penguin a small, reassuring smile, not looking angry in the slightest. In fact, his eyes contained a gleam that strangely resembled pride as he watched Private ramble and stutter through his apologies.
It was a small step, but as far as Skipper was concerned, this not only showed Private's progress, but confirmed his own leadership skills, which, he smugly believed, was top notch and better than ever.
That was when he noticed the smoke.
The metal cylinders of the machine pumped harder, causing the soundless accordions to stretch up and down, up and down in an increasingly rapid rhythm. Plastic see-through wires connected the used instruments to a strong, fire-proof orb, a trapezoid platform rooted beneath so that it stayed in place. The platform also offered the only opening for some highly intelligent penguin to, oh I don't know, perhaps insert the end of a gas lighter into?
Gripping the igniter firmly and taking a deep breath, the tall and skinny penguin pressed the trigger.
Orange flames were instantly propelled into the orb, encircling the interior until the inside was completely consumed by a roaring inferno.
"C'mon…c'mon…," the penguin mumbled, the light of the flame reflected on his protective goggles as he stared intently at the invention.
In moments, the tips of the flame became tinged with blue.
"That's it!" the penguin cheered. "Sci-ence, Koomby-yay!"
His smile faltered when the blue color disappeared as quickly as it had come, the fire beginning to lose momentum and shrinking in size.
"No, no,no,no," the penguin pleaded, checking the wires to see that the mechanisms and doo-dads were still connected. For a moment, he was at a complete loss, not knowing what was wrong. He gripped his head painfully and emitted a panicked whimper, then immediately slapped himself hard across the cheek.
"Get it together Kowalski!" the scientist commanded himself, grabbing a nearby wrench and twirling it in his fin. "This can still work!"
Kowalski approached the cylinders, finding solace in the pocketa-pocketa sound it was emitting. After a quick scan of his invention, the scientist began rerouting wires and fiddling with the machine's bolts and knobs.
"Perhaps a few more adjustments will…there!" he exclaimed, tightening a screw until it moved no further. Rushing back to the orb, Kowalski again took the gas lighter and inserted the tip into the platform's opening, giving the trigger a few more clicks before the fading flames were rejuvenated with fresh power.
"C'mon baby…Daddy needs you to break the laws of thermodynamics!"
Nothing changed however, causing Kowalski to frown deeply, his arctic blue eyes regarding the orb with confusion. Then, after a quick glance at the lab door to make sure no one was watching, Kowalski spoke quietly to the ball of flame.
"I understand that breaking the law sounds like the wrong thing to do, but sometimes you just have to…"
He rolled the tips of his flippers in circles, unable to come up with a good reason.
"Okay, listen," he relented, bending down slightly and speaking in a secretive undertone. "If you do this, I'll give you a raise in your allowance. Just don't tell your mother," he whispered loudly.
At this, a blue light suddenly appeared at the core of the blaze, its color expanding and overwhelming the orange and red of the transforming fire. In a matter of seconds, the orb was filled with sapphire flames, flecked with purple and white.
"Meta-arch!" Kowalski shouted, pumping his fin in triumph. "I did it! I have invented the world's first self-sufficient generator! I finally did it!"
He jumped up and down about the lab in giant skips, whooping and dancing in delight and performing cartwheels across the length of the room. After a few high backward flips, he placed his wings on the side of his head to quell his excitement, panting and laughing with the effort.
"This is incredible," he said in an awe-struck tone, his eyes wide and bright. "Think of all the good this can do for the world. Think of the gloating rights!" he said even louder, seeming more thrilled at the prospect of being able to brag instead of helping the planet.
Kowalski was so absorbed in the joy of his success that he failed to notice the racing whirs of the machine behind him, as well as the ominous glow the flames emitted with growing intensity.
At the very moment Skipper saw the odorless smoke, Kowalski noticed the thick cloud wrapping around his feet and turned toward his invention.
BOOM!
The lab door broke off its hinges and flew towards Skipper, Private and Rico. All three of them ducked automatically, not having been close enough to the lab to render this defense as worthless. The former door slammed against the wall behind them with tremendous force, falling over and revealing newly-formed cracks in the concrete wall.
Skipper instantly got back on his feet, bracing himself for a fight as he narrowed his eyes to see through the smoke, searching for the enemy. Rico and Private were shakier in their rebound, but they mimicked Skipper and assumed their battle stances, their composure becoming more intimating as they saw someone appear.
The smoke prevented them from seeing the features of their unknown foe, cloaking the approaching figure as if he were a solid shadow. Skipper nodded at Rico, who coughed up a rocket launcher in response and aimed it at the stranger.
The figure suddenly halted and, to the others surprise, sighed loudly in exasperation before succumbing to a coughing fit.
"Identify yourself!" Skipper demanded.
The shadow began walking toward them again, his arms raising in surrender as he recovered enough strength to speak.
"I don't need to see you guys to know that Rico is pointing a rocket launcher at me, Skipper wants to try his new bone- breaking karate move, and Private is checking to see that his stuffed unicorn is safe."
Rico and Skipper looked toward Private, whose eyes were fixed anxiously on the toy lying underneath his bed blanket. He tried looking ferocious again when he saw the other two staring at him.
"Is that you Kowalski?" asked Skipper suspiciously, turning his attention back to the lab entrance.
Sure enough, the scientist finally emerged from the smoke, swooning drunkenly in a daze while his face gave an occasional twitch of pain. Most of his feathers had been coated with smoke and soot, the white of his chest and face now a dark grey. Taking a hold of the door frame for support, Kowalski lifted his head and smiled feebly at his leader.
"M-maybe I should have used trumpets instead of accordions, huh?"
"Maybe you should have used some common sense instead of blowing yourself up," Skipper retorted angrily, crossing his flippers as Rico lowered his weapon and Private's shoulders slumped in relief.
"I know, I know," Kowalski shook his head in despair. "I don't understand it…I've worked on this for months until I was absolutely certain I had perfected its design; that its performance would be flawless! I thought it was all meta-arch before—"
"Meta-what?" questioned Skipper.
"Meta-arch," Kowalski replied, releasing his grip on the doorframe. "It's a combination of Greek prefix and suffix that I meshed together just a few minutes ago."
"Wycome?" asked Rico.
"Uh…"
Kowalski hesitated then, looking at his comrades rather sheepishly.
"Well, not many people can say they've invented a self-sufficient power generator and a new word at the same time. I thought that seemed pretty cool," Kowalski shrugged, a tinge of embarrassment lacing his smile.
Skipper pinched his beak in exasperation, shaking his head slightly in an effort to remain calm. "I'd tell you to stick to the science-inventing Kowalski, but it almost blew our heads off."
Kowalski rubbed the length of his left wing, adopting a tone of uncomfortable defense.
"I admit the door was blown off its hinges with considerable thrust, but it didn't have the proper momentum or angle to actually decapitate you."
The three penguins glared at him disapprovingly. Kowalski's head drooped slightly as he emitted a defeated sigh.
"I'll go get the solar-powered broom…" he said gloomily, retreating back into his lab. The three watched him disappear into the haze until Private voiced a sudden thought.
" 'Solar-powered?' ", Private questioned, confusion clearly evident in his tone as he looked up at the ceiling. "How can it work though if the sun can't come through the roof-"
The last word barely escaped Private's beak before something flew out of the lab, soaring like a missile in a blur of brown and yellow. The object struck the fresh cracks in the wall before exploding in a burst of wood and straw. As the pieces landed on the broken door, a small fountain of water began to leak from the cracks, slopping onto the remains of Kowalski's solar powered broom.
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A/N: I know this chapter doesn't really advance the plot, but I wanted to establish the emotional environment so the transition doesn't seem rushed or out of place. Basically, Skipper hates it when his team is endangered, and becomes easily frustrated with Kowalski when his inventions puts them at risk, perceiving the creations as an unnecessary hazard. This in turn makes Kowalski feel underappreciated and desperate to prove his worth, and becomes isolated from the team as a result of spending hours in the lab.
I don't know if this circumstance actually exists in the show as it is a relatively light-hearted cartoon, but I can't help but notice that Skipper doesn't seem as close to Kowalski as he is to the rest of his comrades. It could be because of the reason described above, or that Kowalski can be rather smug about his intelligence. It could even be because Kowalski is second-in-command, and Skipper offers less support so that if the scientist ever is made leader, he'll be able to stand on his own two feet.
Whatever the reason, I would like to see their bond of friendship become visibly stronger, and I sincerely hope this story can accomplish that.
To that effect, I also hope that the odorless smoke and Skipper's delay in noticing it could be interpreted as foreshadowing.
As for "Meta-arch", in Greek meta can mean beyond, and arch means one who rules…Basically, Kowalski is saying he rocks so hard lol.
I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again as I am overwhelmed with homework at the moment, so your patience would be greatly appreciated.
Until then, reviews and helpful criticism are welcome; flames are not. Feel free to express your thoughts on the Skipper-Kowalski dynamic; it would be fun to hear your ideas on the matter :)
I do not own The Penguins of Madagascar, and I'm pretty sure the "pocketa-pocketa" is borrowed from "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" by James Thurber. Gotta give credit where credit is due lol.