Author's Note: inspired by the music video "The Weird Weird West" by Professor Elemental, featuring Steam Powered Giraffe. Yay! *flails like Kermit the Frog*
vworp vworp vworp vworp vworp SHTUNK
Into the empty area alongside a white clapboard church a small brown cabinet faded gently into view. The smooth walls of the cabinet shifted and cracked into a perfect imitation of the church building. Moments later the cabinet door opened just wide enough to permit a face to peer out. The owner of that broad, brown-eyed face frowned and called back over his shoulder, "Hey, Peaches! I thought you wanted Jim and me to get out of the nineteenth century!"
The next moment a middle-aged woman with a shock of white-blonde hair shoved into the doorway by his side. "Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, this is the right place, Dad. Exactly what I was aiming for." She grinned up at him.
His look was still askance. "You sure about that, Peaches? Because all I'm seeing out there," and he waved an arm at the collection of weathered old buildings, along with a beautiful well-tended steam locomotive some little distance from a burnt-out husk of what looked far too uncomfortably like their own varnish car, "all of that looks very much like where — or should I say, when — we just came from. Jim?"
He turned to look back inside the TARDIS to where his partner James West stood checking the monitor on the central console. "According to this, Artie, we're in 2015," Jim replied.
"Twenty fif… Seriously?" Artemus Gordon frowned at Jim, then turned again to scowl at the view outside. "So where are we, Peaches?"
"Place called Old Tucson," she replied. "Come on! Let's go take a look all around!" She tugged at Artie's arm, dragging him out of the TARDIS. Jim followed, pausing just long enough to lock up behind them before striding after his partner and his honorary niece.
No doubt about it, the place looked amazingly familiar to President Grant's two best Secret Service agents. Not a thing about the buildings lining the wide dusty street was a bit out of place.
But then they started running into the people. And that's when things got…
"Different," said Artie suddenly, the frown deepening on his face. "Definitely a, well… a different kind of West. If not a… peculiar kind of West even. In fact, kind of… off-kilter, wouldn't you say, Jim?"
"Different is the word that comes to my mind, yes," Jim agreed.
"Exactly! It's… it's not normal… A sort of odd West…" Artie mused. "Maybe even a wacky one… For example, Peaches," and Artie stopped dead in the middle of the street to address her, "why is it that practically everyone we see is wearing goggles?"
This was true. Not that very many of them were actually wearing the goggles over their eyes, though. No, while a few of the folks had their goggles dangling around their necks by means of the headstraps, the vast majority were wearing the pairs of round brass eyegear…
"On their hats?" Artie continued. "Why put your goggles on your hat? I mean, if you wear something that's supposed to go over your eyes around the crown of your hat above the brim instead, you're going to have to take off the goggles and take off the hat to strap the goggles on around your head where they properly belong. Right?" He looked at his daughter, then appealed to his partner. "Am I right, Jim?"
"That's not the only thing," put in Jim.
"I hear that!" Artie agreed. "You mean the odd contraptions some folks have strapped to their backs? Or those strange things that seem to be weapons? Or maybe the…"
"The fact that a hefty percentage of the women are running around in their underwear," said Jim.
Both men looked at Artie's daughter again, who had the grace to blush. "Well…" she said slowly, "it is Victorian style underwear. So even if it does make for something of a boob fest, at least the time period is right."
The men exchanged a glance. "Time period?" said Artie. "I thought we were in 2015!"
"Is this how everyone dresses in the future then?" added Jim. "A kind of throwback to the late 1800's, where we come from?"
"Oh, not exactly," Peaches explained. "This is a specific subculture that's called steampunk, and it…"
"Steam what?"
"Punk, Dad. The idea is to reimagine the Victorian era with tons of modern-style gadgetry that's run by steam, you see. Well, there's a lot more to it than just gluing gears onto everything, of course, but that's the basic gist of it."
Again the agents looked around. "You know, Artie," Jim murmured, "it's a good thing Lily didn't come along."
Artie gave a snort of laughter. "No kidding! As jealous as she gets, she'd take a gander at all this, then snatch up, say, that lady's walking stick over there and bash me over the head with it!"
The owner of the walking stick in question, who was strolling their way, was something of an oddity amongst the rest. Unlike so many of the women present, she was wearing almost too much clothing, being dressed in a long-sleeved shirt with a distinctly non-corsetlike vest over a full — and far from diaphanous — ankle-length peasant skirt, as well as sporting a broad-brimmed hat that had seen far better days. On the whole she gave the impression she was bucking the tide by hiding as much of herself as possible from the strong desert sunshine.
The companion by her side, however, was a member of the corseted majority. As the pair of them drew closer to Our Heroes and Peaches, the three of them could hear the sun-shunning woman drawl in an accent that spoke of Kentucky (if not points further south), "Oh my, yes! I like to think of it as my sonic walking stick, in fact."
"Sonic?" the woman of more abbreviated attire asked, eying the crooked length of tree branch dubiously.
"Mm-hmm! I took a leaf from Jackson Lake in 'The Next Doctor,' you see: if you bash it against something, it's gonna make a sound — therefore it's sonic!"
She laughed heartily; the other not at all. In fact, with a glance at the delicate gold watch she wore pinned to her lacy corset, the second woman exclaimed, "Oh, look at the time! I have to meet, er, Geoffrey for tea. So nice making your acquaintance!" And she fled.
The woman with the sonic walking stick gaped after her erstwhile companion for a moment, then gave a philosophical shrug and turned to stroll on — only to spot the trio from the TARDIS watching her.
"Why, hello there!" she called out and stumped closer. "Don't believe I've met you three. Welcome to the Weird Weird West!" She beamed and stuck out a hand.
Peaches took it and shook it firmly. "Hello," she replied. "Nice to meet you. My friends call me the Gadfly, and these two are… Sorry?"
For the woman had given a badly suppressed snort. "Your friends call you what? But if that's the case, what on earth do your enemies call you then?"
"Worse," said Artie's daughter airily. "Believe me, far worse. Anyway, as I was saying, these two here are, um…" She paused for a second, then broke out into a beatific smile before finishing brightly with, "Starsky and Hutch!"
Their new acquaintance cocked a skeptical eyebrow towards her even as Artie muttered, "C'mon, Peaches…"
"Ok, ok," said the Gadfly, another twinkle in her eye. "Don't like those names? Then he's Dickens and he's Fenster," and she pointed first at Jim, then at her dad, and shot them both a teasing grin.
The woman was still regarding her bemusedly. "Ah? Well, it's nice to meet you gentlemen, whoever you are. Though I was about to say that if you're really aiming for Starsky and Hutch, you need to seriously reconsideryour outfits! The ones you are wearing, though, are very nice. Yes, very nice indeed," she added, nodding at them appreciatively. She shook hands with them both. "As for me, you all can just call me Mrs… Oh now, will you look at that!" She was staring beyond the time travelers now, and they all turned to see what had caught her attention.
With a happy twitter in her voice, Mrs Oh-Now-Will-You-Look-At-That whispered, "Land sakes, it's them! Stea… er, um, uh… I mean, it's the Brothers Gang!"
Brothers Gang? Jim, Artie, and Peaches found themselves watching a trio ambling along the dusty street that would certainly have looked out of place anywhere else but here. The shortest member was particularly normal for the circumstances in his black hat and red vest, with a bandanna tied round his neck and a watch chain snaking out of one vest pocket. The only thing remotely odd about him was his carrot-red hair, including his cookie-duster mustache.
The next fellow might have been a mite clean for the Wild West, what with his pristine white hat and shirt and gloves…
No, make that one white glove. His right hand swinging along over his gun holster was thus clad, but on his other hand was some contraption made of brass and leather that would have looked more at home combined with a suit of armor.
And then there was the final member of the Brothers Gang, who definitely stood out here on dry land. This one wore a white shirt and close-fitting trousers bound about the waist with a bright red sash under a fine naval greatcoat. Piratical black boots, a bicorned hat, and — last but not least — a sword in its scabbard dangling at the amazing vision's side completed this extraordinary ensemble.
In silence the time travelers and their new friend watched the three saunter past. "Oo, just wait till my girls hear about this!" murmured the lady with the walking stick.
"So who are the Brothers Gang? Outlaws? Wanted men?" asked Jim briskly.
"Hmm? Oh, well… you'll find out, you'll find out," said Mrs Oh-Now evasively. "It's supposed to be a surprise, you see. What I will say, though, is that there's no love lost between those three and the members of Big Jake's crew." And she nodded toward the building the Brothers were heading for. Sticking out from the front of the building was a slapdash porch around which stood a small collection of tables and chairs, a sort of Old West version of an alfresco patio. Parked in those chairs were a trio of tough-looking hombres: one old, one young, and one female.
"Mr Evil, Mr Rude, and Miss Mean," Mrs Oh-Now identified each in turn.
The members of Big Jake's crew glared aggressively as the Brothers drew closer. Finding their path to the only remaining seat blocked, the Brothers chose to lounge with nonchalant belligerence against the half wall along the front of the porch. And as the two gangs continued to glower at each other from their respective sides of the porch area, a big man lumbered up to take the final seat at the final table.
"Is that Big Jake?" Artie asked softly.
Mrs Oh-Now regarded the man skeptically. "Him? Actually, I'm, uh, not really sure… Oh wait, I remember now! I saw Big Jake earlier. He has a pair of the curliest waxed mustaches I have ever seen. Rose-colored glasses. Goatee. Some sort of… I don't know, a small skull perhaps? on his hat brim. Oh, and an amazing collection of weaponry hanging from his belt: everything from a bullwhip to some sort of blunderbuss that looks like it could fire grapefruits. That fellow, though — that's not him at all."
"He looks a bit like Boba Fett, I would say," put in Peaches a bit dubiously.
Mrs Oh-Now whirled to look her. "Mercy, do you think so? Well… maybe the hat, what with it being green with the red trim… I'll tell you, though, I definitely saw a Boba Fett earlier, and I'm sure it wasn't him." She tapped her chin with the top of her walking stick. "But then, Boba Fett is an exceedingly popular cosplay…"
From within the building the porch belonged to stepped a willowy lace-corseted blonde bearing two filled shot glasses. As she set the glasses down onto the table, Boba Fett wrapped an arm round her waist.
Wham! The blonde punched him with a balled-up fist, knocking him clean off his seat. And as he lay spread-eagled in the dust, she followed up the punch with a kick in his side, then planted her dainty foot on his belly, stepped on him, and stormed off out of sight.
At the same time something else came into sight.
He looked like a Britisher fresh from safari, all dressed in tan: short-sleeved jacket, short pants, narrow pith helmet — topped off with the ubiquitous goggles, of course. And he was skipping, of all things, with his hands held out before him!
They all stared, but Artie recovered himself first. "I say, James old boy," he intoned, his accent suddenly becoming veddy veddy British, "but I do believe that fellow has managed to lose his horse!"
They watched as the Brit skipped up to one knot of people after another all up and down the street. From a pocket he produced a well-wrinkled bit of paper which he showed to each group of people in turn — and wherever he went, each woman would throw a hand to her brow and collapse in a faint into the nearest gentleman's arms.
The travelers glanced at each other. What was that all about?
At length the Brit reached Our Heroes and thrust forth the paper. "I say, dear chaps, sorry to bother you and all that," he said, "but have any of you seen my ape?"
The Gadfly leaned forward and got a brief glimpse of the drawing on the paper: a gorilla dressed up in a fine suit with — she wasn't sure — a monocle? and a periwig? She didn't have time to take a closer look, for at the sight of the curious creature on the page, Mrs Oh-Now threw the back of one hand to her brow and fainted right into Artie's arms.
"Ah. Yes. Quite," said the Brit and off he skipped.
"Did that page say MISSING?" Artie asked Jim.
"And LOST SOMEWHERE IN TIME as well, yes," Jim replied.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Thanks, by the way, Peaches, for not fainting as well. I barely reacted in time to catch Mrs Oh-Now. You would have had to faint into Jim's arms."
"What? And let Uncle Jim drop me?" said Peaches with a sparkle in her eye.
"I've never dropped you yet, kid," said Jim.
"Ha! You'd have let me bite the dust and you know it!" she teased him mercilessly.
"Yes, and in this case literal biting of literal dust," Jim teased back. "In fact — wait, what's going on over there?"
The Brit had skip-rode his invisible horse over to the bar patio and downed the contents of one of the two shot glasses. He shuddered all over, apparently not noticing how the bar had fallen quiet as a big man rounded the corner and headed his way. The Brit reached for the second drink…
"That newcomer look like someone we've been told of, Jim?" murmured Artie.
"Curly waxed mustaches, rose-colored glasses, a goatee, and bristling with weapons," Jim replied.
"Exactly," said Artie. "Looks like Big Jake has arrived."
The fainting woman in his arms started at his words, took a quick look, and fainted anew.
"We'd better get over there," said Jim.
"Right," said Artie. "Here, Peaches, you take her," he added and transferred Mrs Oh-Now to his daughter's arms, then strode off after Jim.
Mrs Oh-Now stirred again. "Oh, what a pity! That was such a lovely place to rest. But they really shouldn't get too close though. Big Jake likes lots of room," she quavered.
Big Jake had blocked the Brit from picking up the second drink and let the stranger know in no uncertain terms that what he'd been drinking had been poured expressly for Big Jake's consumption. And as the Brit sputtered and ventured to explain, Big Jake swung up that blunderbuss that could fire grapefruits and shoved its muzzle into the Brit's belly.
Everyone in town stopped to stare at them.
Nervously the Brit stammered out a proposal that he and Big Jake play a game of cards with the loser to buy the winner dinner. Jake laughed as big as his name — and agreed.
Every eye in town continued to stay locked on Big Jake and the Brit as the hands were dealt and then the men started slamming cards down onto the table. All seemed to be going well.
Until from the Brit's sleeve three Aces of Spades fell out upon the table!
And that tore it! Big Jake grabbed the Brit by the collar, swung him around and shoved him into the Brothers Gang, then aimed a big roundhouse punch at the Brit's chin.
Which was no longer there by the time the blow landed — squarely on the nautical Brother's jaw.
What was already torn was now torn anew! The three Brothers crowded in towards Jake, who promptly whistled up his crew as well. Someone yelled, "Fight!" and as the Brit crawled out of sight behind the half wall, the all-out melee of a bar fight was on!
And Jim, of course, waded right into it, heading for the Brit. Artie rolled his eyes and charged after his partner.
"Oh my, no, they mustn't do that!" Mrs Oh-Now exclaimed, struggling upright to lean on her walking stick. "There's a no-fighting rule here; everybody knows that!"
"Yeah, really? Because Big Jake and the Brothers don't seem to care about that rule!" the Gadfly retorted.
"Well, that's different," said Mrs Oh-Now. "That's the surprise I couldn't talk about. They're the entertainment, you see."
The Gadfly turned to look at her. "Entertainment? A fight as entertainment?"
"But of course! What would the Wild West be without a good ol' rousing bar fight? But Mr Starsky and Mr Hutch shouldn't…"
"You mean Dickens and Fenster," put in the Gadfly.
"Oh my, yes! I beg your pardon. Mr Dickens and Mr Fenster ought not to be in there. They weren't part of the rehearsal. And mercy! Those guns they have — I don't believe they're peace-tied!"
"Big Jake's got a gun. So does the White Knight," the Gadfly pointed out.
"White Knight?"
"The guy with the gauntlet. One of the Brothers Gang."
Mrs Oh-Now gasped with understanding. "Oh, you mean Rex! Yes, yes, he has a gun, but notice he's not using it. His weapon's peace-tied. I mean, literally tied down in its holster so he can't draw it. And if you'll notice, Big Jake's not using that grapefruit gun of his either; he's using his fists."
That he was. Somehow Jake had wound up squared up against the fellow the bartender had punched out earlier. Carrots was fighting the gray-breaded Mr Evil, the nautical Brother was mixing it up with feisty little Miss Mean.
And Rex? Right in the middle of trying to clobber black-hatted Mr Rude, the White Knight found himself under attack from another quarter. Specifically, he was being smacked over the head by an umbrella being wielded by a prim-looking young lady with red curls and a feathered hat.
"Shouldn't her umbrella be peace-tied?" the Gadfly inquired with a perfectly straight face.
"Oh no, she's fine. She was part of the rehearsal too. Wherever've Messieurs Dickens and Fenster gotten off too, though?"
That was a good question. The last the Gadfly had seen of Uncle Jim, he was disappearing behind the half wall in pursuit of the Brit. She peered at that section of the patio.
Oh, there they were! The Brit had just popped up over the half wall, with Jim gripping him in a half Nelson. The Brit squealed and flailed.
And Umbrella Lady smacked Jim over the head. With the momentary distraction, Jim's grip slackened and the Brit squirted free. Jim spun to see who had attacked him, scowled and shook a finger at the impertinent woman, then took off after the Brit again.
"What about the guy with the sword?" said the Gadfly. "He's using it against Miss Mean over there. Is that allowed too?"
"It was in rehears…" Suddenly Mrs Oh-Now stopped and stared at her companion. "What guy with a sword?" she exclaimed.
"The sailor guy there," said the Gadfly. "See? Miss Mean is holding that chair over her head to block his sword from getting at her. She could get hurt pretty bad if he cuts her."
The woman shook her head. "No, no, no. For one thing, that sword isn't even sharp; Captain Alexander wouldn't be using it if it was a danger to anyone. And for another thing, there is no guy with a sword in that fight. Don't you know anything about the Brothers Gang? Captain Alexander is Rex's twin si… Yikes!"
The umbrella lady, having gotten a bit turned around, suddenly took a swipe at Mrs Oh-Now with her parasol. Mrs Oh-Now parried the blow with her walking stick, then rather brusquely directed her opponent back into the bar fight where she belonged.
Meanwhile, Artie stepped up behind Captain Alexander and tapped the sailor on the shoulder. "Excuse me, young fellow," said Artie, "I may be a bit behind the times, but in the Old West, a man would never fight a woman."
Both the captain and Miss Mean froze, then turned to stare at Artie before turning again to stare at each other once more. "You don't suppose he thinks I'm a guy, do you?" said Miss Mean.
"No," said the captain, "which means he must think that I'm… Get him!"
Both girls launched themselves at Artie, knocking him to the ground. The captain aimed a cut with her sword at the interloper, only to see the man roll away and grab a loose table as a shield. "Thought you said a man wouldn't fight a woman!" Captain Alexander crowed, then doubled over as her regular opponent got in a punch to her gut.
Artie surged to his feet, shook his head, and hurried off to help Jim with the annoying Brit who had started the whole mess.
The fight raged on, Jake against Boba, Rex against Rude, Carrots against Evil, Alexander against Mean, and Umbrella Lady against anyone and everyone at hand. Artie barely managed to get away from her, then lurched into Jim. "Oh hi, buddy. Where's the mad Englishman?"
"Due any time now," said Jim. He planted himself at the corner of the building and waited. Sure enough, five seconds later the silly Brit came racing around the corner, arms flailing, and ran right into Jim's grasp.
"No! No! Help! Mercy! Let me go! Do let me go! I must go and find my ape!"
"First," said Jim, shoving the man up against the side of the building, "you're going to settle up your debts with everyone involved here. You started this fight, and without a doubt, you are going to end it!"
"All right, all right!" the Brit gabbled. "Whatever you say. Only don't hurt me and… Look out!"
He pointed over Jim's shoulder, his eyes wide with trepidation. But Jim only shook him again. "Oh, don't you try to pull that one on me. That's the oldest trick in the book! You think I'm gonna fall for…"
"Jim, look out!" cried Artie, who had in fact looked on his partner's behalf. A second later Big Jake and his opponent both crashed into all three men by the side of the building, knocking them all to the ground.
And by the time they all got untangled again, the Brit was gone.
The fight was now over anyway. Jake and Boba were groaning on the ground where they lay, all three Brothers were piled up against each other along the half wall, while the members of Big Jake's crew were sprawled all over the patio. Only Jim and Artie were in any shape to get to their feet anymore — and Umbrella Lady had vanished.
A man with friendly muttonchops, an impressive mohawk, and a star pinned on the bandanna at his throat strode up and surveyed the mess. "What a sight!" he exclaimed. "Big Jake, all three Brothers, and Jake's crew as well, all of 'em down for the count! There's a bounty on everyone of 'em, and here they are, ready for me to arrest 'em! Who did all this? I sure could use a good deputy!"
Jim and Artie looked at each other. Softly Artie murmured, "Oh, he shouldn't have said that! If he were offering us the reward for the capture of all these Bad Guys, that would be tempting…"
"Yeah, but stay on here as deputies?" Jim shook his head.
"Right, no dice," Artie agreed.
"Sorry, Sheriff," Jim spoke up, "but the man you're looking for took off."
"Yeah, little British guy, looking for his missing ape," added Artie. "He went, uh, thataway," and picked a direction at random.
"Oh, that British feller, huh?" The sheriff looked around. "Yeah, I heard tell about him! Spookin' all the ladies with that picture of some big ol' monkey." He frowned and pulled at his whiskers. "You sure the Brit did all this? I got me a mess o' angry women down to the jailhouse callin' for his hide. Which way'd he go again now?"
Artie glanced at Jim and was about to try to remember which way he'd just pointed, when each of the Brothers raised an arm and helpfully pointed off in three different directions. "He rode off…" said Rex weakly.
"…on a quesadilla," put in Carrots.
"You cain't ride no quesadilla!" hollered the sheriff.
"Naw, that's not right," said the captain. "He was riding a pegacorn. I saw it. It had a golden horn and wings!"
"No, it was Sleipnir," Rex insisted. "Six-hoofed Sleip…"
"Eight!"
"Eight-hoofed Sleipnir," said Rex. "Just like I said."
The sheriff snorted in disgust. "You Brothers ain't bein' no help a tall. Now you jus' go on an' sing your piece then, an' I'll arrest you like we rehearsed it. So go on! Sing!"
Obligingly from where they lay stacked against each other by the half wall, the trio launched into song as the sheriff set about arresting Big Jake and crew.
Shaking their heads, Jim and Artie returned to Peaches and Mrs Oh-Now.
"There's one thing I don't understand, Jim," said Artie.
"What's that?"
"Well, when I came over and asked where the Brit was, you said he was due any second. And then here he came, scampering round the corner! How'd you know to expect him?"
"Because it was the fifth lap he'd made running around that building like a chicken with its head cut off, and the first four times I'd been right behind him. This time instead of going after him, I let him come to me."
Artie gaped at him. "And that worked?" At Jim's shrug and nod, Artie thumped a forefinger under his nose. "Well…" he said, "what can I say to that but that it was… interesting. Definitely… interesting."
"Wonder where that British fellow really got off to," said Jim, scanning as much of the horizon as he could see.
"I dunno," Artie replied. "But what I wonder is: what really did become of his ape?"
"Mercy!" gasped Mrs Oh-Now, and throwing the back of her hand across her forehead, she fainted into Artie's arms once again.
Mind, she had to take five steps to do so, and finished off by flinging herself sideways when Artie tried to dodge at the last second. But there was no evading that really determined fainting woman.
Especially when she brandished that walking stick of hers and exclaimed, "Now you just better catch me, Mr Fenster, or we'll see how sonic this thing is on your head, you handsome devil!"
FIN