Characters intellectual property of Warner Brothers, blah blah blah…
Musul and Marriage – Miercoles Insomniazzz
Koyangi Quest -Episode 00
INT. Inn- Day
A relatively packed restaurant setting. Various patrons mingle at their tables enjoying their food and each other's company. A group of rough-looking dingoes sit in silence at one end of the establishment, watching the other patrons as they swiftly consume their meal. A cricket lands on their table and chirps a few times. The largest of the dingoes glances at the cricket and stands up. The others follow suit and the manager, a short, stocky raccoon runs up to them.
MANAGER
No charge of course, Mr. Bledding. We're just happy to have
your business.
The dingo snorts at the raccoon and shoves a large gold coin into the manager's paws before the group exits the inn, a bit hastily.
MANAGER
Thank you, Mr. Bledding!
Clear on the other side of the restaurant, a blue cat, dining alone, snaps a chopstick over his soba.
Exaggerated, boisterous laughter fills the inn as a squad of unsavory canines enters the restaurant. The manager is visibly shaken as he rushes to help his busboy clean a table. The disheveled wolf-like creature at the head of the group raises his paw.
EMBEZZLER
That won't be necessary. Your food's terrible.
We're only here for your donations.
MANAGER
But I just paid the dingoes today! Just now!
EMBEZZLER
Do we look like dingoes to you?
A coyote in the group produces a huge mallet and flattens the table the busboy is cleaning, crushing the young ferret's hand in the process. The manager rushes to his employee, fearing his lie about the dingoes may have provoked the attack. The other patrons continue their meals in silence, as if this were routine. All, but the blue cat in the corner. He snaps his remaining chopstick, staring a hole in the coyote. A couple members notice this and wander over to his table.
CANNON FODDER #1
Hey kitty. Gotta problem with us?
CANNON FODDER #2
Watch out, Joshi. 'E looks like a mean ol' cat.
What happened to your ear, pussy?
CANNON FODDER #1
Yeah! And what's with the bandage?
Life's been pretty hard for ya, hasn't it?
The blue cat says nothing, but grabs another pair of chopsticks from the next table and continues to eat his noodles. The others are offended at this to say the least.
CANNON FODDER #1
It's about to get a lot harder if you don't answer us!
The cat puts down his chopsticks and tosses a few coins at the manager. Rising to his feet, he stretches slowly, cracking his knuckles and neck bones loudly.
EXT. Inn- cont.
Cannon Fodder #1 flies out the door, landing in the dirt. Cannon Fodder #2 soon follows, landing on his partner. Suddenly, the cat appears in the threshold of the inn, finally revealed indeed as Furrball. His glamour shot is prematurely ruined by the remainder of the gang filing out behind him.
Taking a knee outside, Furrball sizes up the competition. One on six. The cat smiles, apparently liking those odds. Retracting his claws, Furrball initiates the fight scene which inevitably ends in him pouncing the wolf, knocking him out and swiping his wallet. Tossing the wallet to the manager, the cat walks off, down the road, disappearing over the horizon.
. . . . . . . . .
Life back in the spotlight.
Bittersweet at best. Putting the time in the studio was definitely tougher than Furrball remembered. Of course, this was his first time being the principle character of an entire series. He hadn't been too crazy about the content, either. Studio execs had said something to the effect of Usagi Yojimbo meets Desperado. There was no originality left anymore. None that sells, anyway.
Furrball sighed as he got off the bus. None of that mattered, actually. He wasn't doing the show because he liked it. It was a necessary evil. The cat knew nothing about having parents except he knew that if he was going to be a decent parent, he'd have to make sacrifices.
Two blocks from his home, Furrball started wondering about "normal problems" for once. He'd just finished shooting the pilot episode, but what if it didn't take? How was he supposed to support his household? His skill sets were limited and references miniscule. He'd overheard the teamsters talking on the set earlier that day. Of the 98 pilots shot last season only four made it to the first season and only one actually made it to the end of the season before it was canceled.
Furrball gritted his teeth as he stepped onto his own street. He had to make it. There was no question about that. He would, too. Wouldn't he?
Papa!
Furrball's eyes raced around before he noticed a streak to his right. Bracing himself, he caught the pint-sized ninja just in time to prevent himself from being decapitated. Furrball grinned wide, cradling young Sparkz in his arms. He wasn't much in stature himself, and could easily be mistaken for the young cat's older brother, rather than adopted father. Any other parent might have discouraged Sparkz's violent playfulness, but Furrball understood. Most observers will think cats are playing, when they're actually sharpening their hunting and basic survival skills. Ferals, especially.
Hiya kiddo! I missed you today.
It felt so refreshing to be able to speak his native language with someone other than an antagonizing freak, who actually responded back in Catonese.
She's upset now. A little.
Furrball smiled. He was a decent teacher after all. Though Sparkz's syntax was far from perfect, at least he wasn't speaking backwards anymore.
Yeah? Let's go see her then, okay?
Yep!
Furrball let his young charge down and the two of them raced for their townhouse. Fifi was sitting at the coffee table, jotting down some notes. Sparkz gave her a quick hug and escaped into his room. Furrball approached cautiously, unsure of what to expect. Fifi's face was calm, but her eyes told a different story.
"Welcome home," she announced, putting down her pencil. Furrball smiled and took a seat next to her, his eyes inquiring about her mood.
"That truant officer came by again today."
The feline's ears flattened at these words.
"He's not r-r-ready yet."
"I know, I know. But he said that there would be other cats in the ESL classes. Things have changed since we were in school, ya know."
"The overall p-p-purpose hasn't, though. They'll t-t-teach him just enough to c-c-control him."
Fifi looked at Furrball, but said nothing. She tried to turn her attention back to her notes, scribbling nonsense into her pad. He reached across the table, stopping just shy of her paw. Fifi sighed, looking at his paw. Looking up into his dark eyes, her frown dissipated and she accepted his hand, squeezing it gently.
"J-just give h-him…"
Fifi hushed the cat, placing her finger on his lips. He smiled, kissing it gently before standing up. She rose to her feet as well and they walked over to Sparkz's room. They could hear him snore. The kitten spent the majority of the day drifting in and out of sleep; force of habit from street life. It was going to be difficult to wean him into a diurnal cycle. Furrball grimaced at the thought of wanting to "civilize" his young charge. There were so many more steps they'd have to take before Sparkz could lead a normal life. He felt Fifi stroke his back empathetically. He was glad to have her with him. And yet she'd never had to…
Furrball shook his head. That was the old him. He wasn't bitter anymore. He wasn't angry at everyone. It no longer served him to harbor ill feelings or embrace loneliness as his only companion.
"You'd better get started on dinner."
The cat blinked, turning to his girlfriend.
"It's Friday. Your turn, silly," Fifi smirked, brushing her tail across his shirt. Furrball looked at the door to the kitchen, gulping. Cooking had never been his forte. Needless to say he was relieved to find a cuttlefish swimming in a cooler on the kitchen floor. He turned to thank Fifi, but she was already out of sight. Furrball grabbed a couple of knives, the glint of his teeth reflecting on the blades. This was one of his specialties. Grinning as he began sharpening the knives, the feline surveyed his prey. Preparing sashimi wasn't technically cooking.
"I'm going out for wasabi," he heard Fifi call as the front door opened. A bead of sweat inched across his brow as he prepared to make the first cut.
Tonight. Perfect dinner. Perfect atmosphere. Perfect time.
Furrball was almost surprised by his own sentiments. Waiting until the verdict on the pilot was out was a safer move. More considerate.
Love's about the chances you take, he reminded himself. It was better to be impractical. That would make it all the more sweeter in the end. Invigorated, Furrball turned his attention to his immediate concern, swimming around in the cooler.
"How in the world did you get so great at making Sashimi?"
Furrball grinned at Fifi as he dipped another piece in the wasabi rolling it gently. He offered it to Fifi who reluctantly accepted, not being as huge a fan of the green condiment as him.
"Ch-chew it s-s-slowly, but keep moving it around," he advised. "The p-p-pain is only t-temporary."
Fifi smiled at this before her sinuses started clearing at an alarming rate. The cat noticed this and softly batted her paw away before she could grab a drink of water.
"F-fear only makes p-pain h-harder to sw-swallow."
Her initial frown melted as she willfully relaxed her facial muscles which gradually resulted in a smile as she swallowed.
Fifi.
Furrball shuddered, relishing the feeling he got from just her name alone. The feeling was comparable to dipping one's toe in a pool of distress, allowing the resulting ripples to wash all worries away.
Fifi.
The cat grinned ear to ear at the fact that the result was exactly the same as-
"What are you thinking about over there?" Fifi inquired.
"You," he answered immediately before he had a chance to lie.
"…"
"…"
No adverse consequences to the truth this time. A cat could get used to this.
I smell fishies!
All eyes turned to the doorway.
"Well, look who's up," Fifi announced, walking over to Sparkz. Furrball tried to mask his frustration, having just missed the segway to popping the-
Papa?
He immediately straightened up, flashing a smile at his young charge.
Have a seat, kiddo. Dig in!
Young Sparkz's innate ability to read mixed signals was fortunately dulled by his love for fish and he sprinted to the table next to his pops.
-End Part 1-
Kinda taking my time on this one for various reasons… Just don't wanna rush it this time around. Never posted an in-progress chapter before. Thought it might be a nice change of pace for once.
