BRONX'S NIGHT OUT
By: Niamh at niamhgold@hotmail.com
What's a gargdog to do when no one wants to play? This little
story is taken from a totally different point of view--beware, it may
get a little confusing at times. I guess this can be considered my
version of the TGC episode "A Bronx Tail." Bronx decides, when the rest
of the castle's inhabitants are too busy to play, to stir up a little
excitement of his own. A bit of caution, there's some profanity in here,
and maybe one innuendo (don't get too excited, it's nothing big), but that
mainly circulates around the drive-thru scene.
DISCLAIMER: You know the drill. Gargoyles and all Gargoyles
characters from the show are property of Buena Vista and Disney. I make no
claim to them, I'm not making any money off this; I'm only displaying my
love for the series. All other characters herein (not pertaining to the
show) are my creations (such as Andy and Hudson's mentor), and I would be
most pleased if you would not use them without my permission.
BRONX'S NIGHT OUT
"He lines up for the pitch, the crowd goes wild, and whammo!"
Brooklyn pulled back in pirouette fashion, released the Norf football,
and watched it spiral through the air.
"And Lexington intercepts!" the bespoken gargoyle cried as he dove
down from the above parapet and caught the ball. He hit the ground with a
roll, bounced to his feet, and spiked the pigskin. Then he looked behind
him to where Angela was crossing her arms.
"Lex, that's the third time tonight!" she scolded. "How am I supposed
to learn about football if you never let me...receive?"
"It's an aggressive game, Angela," Brooklyn replied. "You're supposed
to force your way into a play. You can't just stand there!"
"Ha!" she shrilled, then turned toward the doorway. "This game is
completely ludicrous. I'm going to help Broadway cook breakfast."
"Aw, give me a break," Brooklyn moaned as the purple female disappeared into
the castle depths.
"Ooh, that's got to hurt," Lex laughed.
Brooklyn picked up the football and threw it past his smart-ass brother.
"Let's just get back to the game," he said sourly.
Lexington went to retrieve the ball, but something blue burst out of
the doorway and slammed him in the back, knocking him over. Lexington
yanked his face off the ground and rubbed the back of his head. "Hey!"
Bronx licked Lex's face and then picked up the football. He growled
through his mouthful and shook the ball violently, sending droplets of
gargoyle saliva all over the place.
"Eww, Bronx!" Brooklyn groaned, coming over. He grabbed the exposed
portion of the ball and tried to yank it free. Bronx just growled and
jerked back, happy to play a game of tug-a-war. "Come on, let me have it!"
The ball popped. Bronx immediately released the busted football,
backed up, and sat on his flanks. Brooklyn and Lex looked at the now-limp
piece of leather.
"Bad dog!" Brooklyn yelled, waving a finger at the pooch. He turned
to Lex. "Get the Frisbee, bro. We're taking this to the air."
The pigskin discarded, the two gargoyles spread their wings and made
to fly off. Bronx whined as they glided away, unable to follow due to his
lack of wings.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"This is much more fun than football," Angela decided as she put
a spoonful of Broadway's minestrone in her mouth. She smacked her lips.
"I think it needs more basil."
"Go right ahead," Broadway offered with a pleased smile. He went back to
kneading the bread. "These Italian cook books are great! I had no idea that
Xanatos had these hidden away in the library!"
Bronx was drawn into the kitchen by the wafting scent of meat, pasta,
and rich spices. He looked up from the ground's point of view at a big blue
male, then at a purple female, whose scent reminded the pup vaguely of his
similarly-colored clan leader.
He nudged Purple's leg and she rubbed the bridge of his snout,
murmuring a string of dog-intelligible baby words. He did not understand
that mortal custom, but was very thankful when she followed the ritual with
the giving of a piece of cheese.
He gobbled it up and then went to see if he could be as lucky with
the blue one. He tugged at the large gargoyle's apron.
"Go away, Bronx," Big Blue said, trying to stir the soup and read a
book at the same time. "I'm busy at the moment. Angela, do you have the
celery?"
Purple nodded and Big Blue left his boiling pot to collect the
green-stalked vegetables. The unwatched soup bubbled over one side of the pot
and dribbled onto the floor. Bronx tasted it with his tongue, and finding it
quite delicious, jumped up onto the stove to get a bigger portion.
He mistakenly placed his paw on a reddened coil of metal, and the
burning from it quickly made him regret that action. He pulled back, catching
the edge of the brimming pot with his jaw. The stew spilled upon the
floor in a waterfall of flavors, and the now-empty pot fell and helmeted Bronx's
head.
"BRONX!!" Big Blue and Purple yelled at the same time. Bronx immediately
shook the container off his skull. Purple went to grab some paper towels
while Big Blue poked the dog with a wooden spoon.
"Look what you've done!" he scolded, and Bronx cringed. "You'd
better get out before Owen finds out what you did!"
Purple pushed on Bronx's shoulders. "Bronx, you're gonna hafta move
so I can clean this up." The dog, seeing that there was no fun in this
room, went for the kitchen door.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ah! Old Brown! The gargdog trotted over to his best friend, who was
reclining in a leather chair in front of the amusing picture-box. The dog
picked up a rubber ball and dropped it in the gray-bearded gargoyle's lap.
"Och, boy, do you want to play?" he husked in that friendly voice.
Old Brown always wanted to play, even when they had lived in this same castle,
when it had been in a gargoyle-teeming land.
Old Brown tossed the toy across the room, and Bronx skidded after it
as it bounced off the stoned walls. He retrieved it and brought it back to
his master with an excited yip.
Old Brown was about to throw it again, but a new scent entered the room.
Purple Leader, standing to his fullest height, ducked through the doorway.
"Hello, Hudson," he stated in that ominous voice.
"Good morning te ye." Old Brown turned down the volume to the picture
box and sat up in his chair. To Bronx's dismay, he put down the ball.
"Would you feel up to patrol, old friend?" Purple Leader asked.
"Lexington and Brooklyn have...made themselves scarce, and Angela and Broadway
have pledged to patrol the other side of the city. I would enjoy some company."
Old Brown stroked his beard. "Are ye sure it's wise to go out in this
tense time?"
"Yes, old friend. As you have many times told me, 'a gargoyle can
no more--"
"--Aye, lad, I'm aware of that saying. And, aye, I'll come with ye."
Bronx licked Old Brown's hand and pushed the ball suggestively back
toward him. The elder just swatted it away with his tail. "No, boy, no
time for that."
Purple Leader looked down at the dog. "Bronx, you stay at the castle.
It's too dangerous to have you running around, when the city resents us so."
"Do ye think he'll be all right here, by himself?" Old Brown asked.
"I do not believe there's too much he can get away with here. This
building is very secure."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx sniffed at the doorway of the room and nudged it open with
his snout, entering the overly-decorated quarters. The aroma here was of
talcum powder and of human youth, which was tinged with magic. Bronx padded
over to something that looked like a cage with a baby inside.
"Doggy!" the golden-haired child exclaimed, and reached his hands
through the bars to pet the animal.
Before Bronx could lick that hand, though, two arms wrapped around
his neck and pulled him back. The dog looked up into a very stern, pale face.
"No, Bronx. Young Alexander needs his rest. He has got a lesson in a few
hours." Blond Servant pointed to the nursery door. "Out."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx was walking down the lower level halls when he noticed the dark haired,
once-enemy of his masters. The tall man was standing by a doorway with his
arms crossed. He turned when he saw Bronx cautiously approaching him.
"Well, look who's up and about," Dark Hair said, giving him an
uncharacteristic smile. "Aren't getting in too much trouble, are you?"
Bronx arfed a response, and was about to ask to play, but the doorway
ahead of him chimed and opened. Red Fox emerged from within and Dark Hair
immediately took her arm.
"How was the rehearsal?" he asked, kissing his mate's hand.
"Just fine," Red Fox replied. "They're going to let me direct it."
"Was there ever any doubt?" Dark Hair replied, and they both chuckled.
The two walked further down the hall, out of sight, leaving Bronx
alone. The doorway from which Red Fox has appeared was still open, and
the gargpup contemplated it. He knew, from past experiences, that the doors
would soon chime again and close. He also knew that when people went inside,
they weren't there when the doors opened again.
Well, curiosity may have killed the cat, but it never said anything
about gargoyle watch dogs. With a snort he jumped through the doors, just
as they were about to close, and landed on the plush carpeting inside.
Bronx looked around and noticed the panel of round buttons just above
his head. From observation, he also knew what purpose they served. He reared,
jumped forward, and hit one with the tip of his nose.
"You have selected the Lobby," the elevator chimed. Judging by the
disoriented feeling in his stomach, he realized that he was moving downward.
A few short moments later, the moving box hissed and came to a halt.
The doors opened to reveal a beautifully decorated room, complete with
a shiny marble floor and crystal lights hanging from the ceiling. With an
inhale of wonder, Bronx exited his transporter (it chimed and the doors
closed as soon as he was gone) and looked around. There were a set of
automatic glass doors, behind which he could see the hustling and bustling
of the humans beyond. There were many who would play with him out there!
He noticed the two door sentries, one preoccupied with the telephone,
and the other just stepping out for a cup of coffee. Seeing nothing to hinder
his departure, Bronx lifted his head proudly, waited for the automatic doors
to swing open, and walked out.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There weren't many people out tonight, Bronx noted as he strutted
down the sidewalk. And to those that were, he had politely introduced himself,
but they had just backed away. And then there were the strange garbed humans,
who had offered him an array of strange-smelling substances. Bronx had declined.
He had not even walked a long way before nature called. Bronx found
a car (which was parked outside of an intoxicatingly fragranced coffee shop), and
sniffed it a few times. Then, settling astride of it, he lifted his leg.
A curly blond haired woman, scented with mocha, walked out
of the tiny cafe with a tray of beverages. She balanced the container
on her left hand as she dug for her keys, found them, and when she went
to unlock her car...
"BRENDAN!!!" she wailed.
Bronx looked at her, dig a dog-like shrug, and quickly finished his duty.
He shook and began to wash his front paws.
Her wail got the attention of the customers and employees in the
shop. Soon they were all crowding the front windows, and although they were too
cowardly to come out into the open, they eagerly pressed their faces to the
glass.
Bronx went up to her and sniffed her feet. She tensed and screamed,
and the noise from that was so brutal that Bronx howled right along
with her. A tall brown-haired man quickly ran out to see what was the matter.
"Margot, are you--Yikes!"
The man skidded to halt at the sight of the dog wailing at his wife,
and on reflex he chucked his hot cup of coffee at it.
"Arrffff!" Bronx screeched at the scalding liquid, and growled at his
attacker.
Who quickly jumped behind his wife and shielded himself with her body.
Bronx backed up, growling in a warning tone. The sound of sirens
approached in the distance. Two policemen, street beaters, ran down the
sidewalk and pushed through the group of gathered onlookers. One pulled out
his gun, and it trembled
"Okay, doggy, let's get you back to the zoo..."
Now this wasn't a friendly cop, like Red Jacket, Bronx reflected.
He narrowed his eyes, chomped down on the pistol, and broke it into two without
even a struggle from the policeman. He found a gap in the crowd and quickly
made use of it, scampering into an alley. Gratefully, no one dared follow him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"You have got to be kidding me," Matt groaned, wiping a hand over
his face. "A gargoyle _dog_ destroyed city property? Attacked a policeman?
Oh, cripes. Are you sure...no, no. I know it's my job. Yes, I'm heading
out right now."
Elisa, who had been walking by with a stack of papers, came to a
halt. She turned on her heels and retraced her steps, to where Matt was
hanging up a telephone.
He turned to a stout rookie. "Well, Michaels, since you wanted your
first assignment, and since I'm a little short on help...I guess that makes
you the newest member of the GTF." The detective sighed as his charge
displayed a needless amount of enthusiasm at the promotion. "_Now_ we've got
cleanup duty."
Matt grabbed his trench coat and hustled his momentarily new partner
out the door. Before he himself could depart, Elisa caught his arm.
"Gargoyle dog?" she fearfully repeated.
"Blue, about three and a half feet tall, and kind of puppyish?"
Matt shook his head. "Elisa, you've got to tell the guys to get a titanium-
steel leash for that thing."
She frowned. "Matt, I know I can't come with you, but, please..."
"You'll be the first to know where he is."
Elisa sighed. "Thanks. I mean, if anyone ever caught him...well,
he's not as resourceful as the other gargoyles."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Just give me one more week, and I promise I'll have it," he
stuttered.
Pal Joey gave his two thugs a signal and they dropped the sable-haired
guy onto the floor. He grunted and rubbed his temples.
"I'm trying to get a new job, I swear I'll have the money. I just need
time!"
"Vincent, Vincent, Vincent." Joey donned a pair of brass knuckles.
"Dracon has a very important trial coming up. A very _expensive_ trial.
And I'm sure he'd appreciate it if he had all his loans repaid by that time.
It seems that the only way to make you understand this is with force."
The two bodyguards laughed and picked Vinnie up by either arm. Pal
Joey drew back his brass-adorned fist and smiled.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx's keen ears picked up the sounds of a struggle, and he followed
his senses to the alley door of a desolate-looking shop. The outside
lights were off, but fluorescence radiated from a small storage room window
by the cellar.
Bronx growled as he sniffed the glass. Inside, a thin looking man was
being held still by two humans, while a larger, suited man was beating upon
him with an armored fist. The victim's scent was vaguely familiar, and
Bronx was able to trace it back to when Goliath had been shot with a banana-
cream pie. Despite that fact, however, Bronx realized that this fellow was
in need of help.
With a howl, the hefty animal jumped through the glass window, landing
on all fours inside the room. Brass Hand stopped short of his task and quickly
drew his gun. His associates, one a built Italian and the other thin with
purple-dyed hair, dropped their prey. The released man sucked in a deep breath
and spat up blood, while his attackers pulled out their pieces.
"It's one of _them_!" Brass Hand yelled, and all three took a shot
at Bronx.
But the dog was quick. With eyes aglow, he pounced amiss of the lasers
that flew from the weapons and hurtled himself right into the two bodyguards.
They buckled under his weight and struggled. Bronx got a mouthful of Armani
at one point, and drew a small amount of blood, but he eventually got off them
before causing any severe damage. He snarled menacingly. Brass Hand motioned
to his followers, and they slowly got to their feet.
Bronx barked. "Let's get outta here!" one cried, and they all turned
to the exit.
"We'll be back for you, Vinnie!" Brass Hand pointed at his victim, and
was then pulled out by his two protectors.
Bronx went over to his protectorate, who drew back a bit. He relaxed,
though, when the creature only licked his face. Pie Thrower laughed
with a snort as he wiped the mix of blood and saliva from his split lip.
"Ain't this funny!" he chuckled. Looking at the quizzical expression
on the dog's face, he explained. "Every time I's ever seen one of you, you've
only been a thorn in my ass. I suppose it's about time you've actually done
something good for me."
Bronx licked the blood from Pie Thrower's forehead and barked, spinning
in a circle. The Italian unsteadily got to his feet and went out the exit, then
turned back to the dog, who stood awkwardly in the middle of the bemessed room.
Pie Thrower snapped his fingers. "Well, are you coming, or not?"
Bronx yipped and gratefully followed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"So you say that the perpetrator approached you, violated your tray
of coffee..."
"Cappuccino, young man," Margot corrected. "There's a difference."
"...Cappuccino, and attacked Sergeant Kelso, here?"
Matt pushed through to Jemmy Michaels, who, with his notepad, black
suit, and slicked back hair, was trying to make a very bad impression of
Clark Kent. He grabbed the rookie by his shoulders and pushed him aside.
"Easy, there, Michaels. This is the Task Force, not your movie
debut. Why don't you go over there and put the gun in the evidence bag."
"Yes, sir!" he responded, gathering chuckles from the two officers
who had arrived at the scene.
Matt turned toward Margot Yale, the over-dramatic Assistant D.A.
"You claimed destruction of property," Matt recalled, tapped his chin.
"Namely your car. And, yet, I see nothing wrong with it." He motioned to
the unmarred Mustang.
"The creature decided to violate it."
"How so?"
"Why, he urinated on it! It's going to ruin the paint."
Matt sighed. "Fine, whatever. You can go. I'll file your reports
at the station." He turned to the other two officers. "Okay, boys, just go
back to your precinct. Your Cap'n wants to talk with you."
They shot him two glares. "You'd better take this seriously, Bluestone,"
one said. "That thing was dangerous."
"See you in the funny pages, Kelso," he returned with a sardonic wave.
That officer just narrowed his eyes and walked on. Matt turned and
watched incredulously as Michaels gathered a urine sample from the Mustang, and,
shaking his head, went to go call Elisa. It was going to be a long night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Well, after you guys got me fired from my last job, and after I used
the rest of my money to get Mr. C made, well, I haven't been able to pay
Dracon back for anything. So I kept borrowin', cause Grandma was gettin'
worse, and I guess I dug myself into a hole."
Bronx whimpered in sympathy.
"I guess I could find a job, but I wants a real good one, one I
won't get fired from. That way I can pay Pal Joey, get Grandma her treatment,
and get us both a real nice place. Cancer is tough on the budget, ya know?"
Pie Thrower stopped in front of a crummy-looking apartment building,
which smelled of smoke, age, and illness. Bronx rubbed against his new
friend's heels.
"I'm sure you've gots your own family to get back to," Pie Thrower
said, and blushed. "I hope that big one doesn't hold a grudge about the pie."
Bronx barked as if to reassure him that Purple Leader didn't, and then
Pie Thrower smiled and entered his home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Welcome to Bunch O' Burgers. Can I take your order?"
The machine crackled. "Yeah. Uh, can I have two strawberry colas,
two orders of fries, a blueberry pie, a fish burger, and a spicy bacon
bit burger?"
Andy finished writing that down and pressed the button. "Yeah. Just
drive around to the--"
There was whispering from the other side of the intercom, a grumble,
and then, "Uh, hold on. Make that one fry and the other potato rounds, and
change the fishburger to a lobster roll." He paused. "And put in another
blueberry pie. My wife's picky." Then there was giggling and a "Honey, cut
it out."
"Listen, sir, I really don't wanna hear you and your slutty wife get
it on," the kid snapped. "Just drive around to the damn window and pick up
your food. It'll be nineteen seventy-five."
"Oh, you little asshole!" The guy returned. "You'd better get my
order right if you don't want your face ripped off!"
Andrew sighed and put the ordered contents in the Bunch O' Burgers
blue bag. He placed that on the window sill and went to fill the drinks.
"Just one more week of social services," he whispered. Then the
courts would stop pestering him, his mother would lay off, and he could be
back with the gang.
But when he went back to the window sill to put down the drinks, the
baggy of food was gone. "Oh, fuck," Andy swore, right into the face of his
unfortunately muscled customer, who had decided to pull up. Seeing that
the food wasn't yet ready, the guy growled.
"That's it, you little prick," that monster man said, and opened the
door to his car.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The other cars in the drive through honked and beeped, and their
human contents quickly locked the doors and screamed as Bronx waltzed by.
The scent from the blue bag he had snatched was intoxicating, and his mouth
watered. In a matter of moments he had settled himself in Central Park, ready
to chow down. It had been a while since he had eaten the crispy fried potatoes,
which greased his lips.
As he started to tear through the burger wrappers, the sound of someone
choking on a severe cough pricked his ears. Grabbing his bag of food, he pushed
through the bushes that shielded him from the park paths.
A human man, an elder like Old Brown, was lying on a park bench,
covered only with a thin newspaper. Next to him was an overturned trash can,
from which he had taken a can of half-eaten tuna. Between chews, he coughed,
wheezing from the depths of his lungs. He seemed heedless of the snow that
had begun to fall.
Bronx, sensing no immediate danger from this sickened man, walked up
to him, dropped the bag of fast food, and barked.
"Aghh, what..." he looked at the dog. "Ack! You must be one of them
gargo-whatsits." The elder looked down at the bag. "Hey, thanks, sport."
Bronx smiled in his gargoyle way and trotted on.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Matt put down the cell phone. "It sounds like this 'dog' has
struck again," he said, trying to sound skeptical. "I hope you're hungry,
'cause we're heading for a drive thru."
"Yes, sir. We can...eat like that on assignment?"
"We've gotta eat. Besides, I don't even think that this 'gargoyle dog'
is real--there's no evidence." Matt hit the ignition. "And even if it
was, I don't think it would know how to work a drive-thru."
"I don't know, sir. They seem real enough to me...and odd enough
to try."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"How could you have let him leave like that, Xanatos?" Goliath
demanded, grabbing the billionaire by his suit.
Xanatos pried away from giant's grasp and went back to his security console.
"I was not aware that Bronx knew how to use an elevator."
Fox crossed her arms and turned to the lavender clan leader. "Besides,
isn't he your dog? _Someone_ should have been watching him." She was quickly
drawn aside by her husband when Goliath's expression hardened.
"We shouldn't argue about this, lads and lassies," Hudson intercepted.
"'Tis no matter how it happened, but how we get him back."
"Especially when the whole city's ready to bolt at the sight of him,"
Brooklyn needlessly added.
"I'm going to have a talk with my security guards," Xanatos decided,
and picked up the line. Goliath directed Brooklyn and Lex to go out as a
search party, while Hudson caped his wings and watched the replay of Bronx's
departure.
*****************************************************************************
*****************************************************************************
Castle Wyvern, 960
His mate pressed against his side, clutching at him with
melancholy necessity. It had been twenty solstices since the laying of
the clan eggs, and the clan mothers and fathers were busy readying the
three-week-old hatchlings for life outside the rookery walls. The straw was
being swept out, while the young ones were being weaned off the glowing-green
moss that had sustained them during their first few weeks of life. The progeny
ahead of the newborns was busy dressing their new clan sisters and brothers for
their introduction to Prince Malcolm. Leader watched and let a chuckle
escape him at the sight of a butterfly-winged female trying to pry a pudgy
blue bairn away from a patch of moss, for which he had developed a
great liking.
"Coming, sister?" a pine-green, web-winged rookery brother called to
Leader's mate.
His angel pulled away from where her face was pressed to his side,
and looked sadly into his eyes. "My love?"
He stroked his beard, then nuzzled her horned skull-plate with his
lips. "Go on, lass," he whispered to her. "There is still the entire
posterity to be mothered, and the heavens know that it is you who can do that best.
You need not feel ashamed to mingle with our kin."
She hugged him tightly. "Oh, love, if only..."
He pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh. Go with our brother."
She managed a smile--what a brave mate he had!--and caught up
with her sky-blue sibling. Was it just him, or was even his bald-headed
brother beginning to look older?
Leader fingered the hilt of his sword, unconsciously, and turned to
look over the massive, empty rookery that had been left behind. In the
midst of all this mess stood one meager, sickly-spotted egg. The egg that
they had hoped might hatch, despite the complications of its birth.
He turned at the sound of footfalls behind him, and noticed
that his predecessing leader, now his second-in-command, had entered
the rookery. She was beautiful and quite strong, despite her
years, but when her lavender form beheld the unhatched egg, some of the life
fled from her kindly face.
"'Tis a shame, my leader," she commented. She came up beside
him and brushed back her silky gray locks, which had once been a
vibrant rosy-gold. "It is hard to believe, in this prosperous time, that
even one of ouir own would not survive the breeding." She paused and
turned toward him. "It is the duty of the leader to tend to this situation,
as tradition calls, but I will not ask you to do it if--"
He held up his hand. "No more, mentor. I cannot abandon me
responsibilities on the behalf of me own selfish problems. I will
deal with this...still birth."
He bent down and scooped up the egg. His old leader placed a
gnarly violet hand on his shoulder. "I am...sorry about you and youir
mate. I know that you had been looking forward to the last breeding
season. Fate was cruel to her."
Leader shook it off. "It is of no concern to anyone but ouirselves.
Besides, we have plenty of hatchlings to attend--I just pray that 'tis
enough te keep my angel from depression."
His mentor watched him leave. "I just pray," she added quietly,
"That 'tis enough te keep ye from puttin' the blame on youirself. "The cliffs were windy, he noted grimly, as he scaled downward toward
the churning sea. It was bad enough that he was here to commit this
mournful act, but the night and sea had to be stormy, as well. Stormy,
just like the sorrow he now bore.
Leader paused on a projection of rock before carrying out his task.
He squatted and regarded the pink, underdeveloped egg that was tucked
in the crook of his arm.
His responsibility as leader of the clan forced him to dispose of
this dead-within-the shell child, to prevent the spread of disease. He
remembered the watch dog that had given birth to this egg, and three others,
and he remembered how the strain of that labor had killed that gentle beast.
That washed back-burner memories of what would have been his
own egg to the front of his mind, and tears stung his eyes. He and his mate
had been able to enjoy the fruits of the last breeding season, and it had even
gone as far as her being fattened with egg.
He blamed himself--he had let her convince him to let her go on a
scouting mission for a rogue band of Vikings. But it had been a trap.
His poor mate, along with the other scouts, were badly mauled by a vicious
surprise attack. They had managed to bear their injuries until dawn, but a
cruel sword stroke to his angel's stomach had destroyed their egg and rendered
her hopelessly barren.
The pain of their loss had subsided over the waiting period
of twenty years, during which he had been promoted as leader. But watching
the hatching of the eggs, and the happiness on their kin's faces, had renewed
the horrible grief. And even though it was not tradition to favor one child
over another, he would have felt pride in the fact that his seed had produced
a new gargoyle. It could have had his gray-blue love's face, her wings, and
his strength.
Now he stood here, ready to throw yet another failure into the
darkness of the beyond. He looked down at the tiny thing, which was small
enough to fit in the palm of his paw, and sighed. It would probably have
been too weak to survive, anyway.
"Forgive me, little bairn."
As if on a perfectly prearranged cue, the spotted shell of the
embryo trembled. Leader's breathing stopped; had he just heard the
sounds of life from within? The wind howled loudly, making him
shake his head in disbelief. No. Impossible.
A muffled whimper. This time, it was definite, and this time the
shell shuddered, bulged, and cracked. A little snout poked out of a small
hole and tried to take its first breath. It whimpered again.
The disbelief settling, Leader quickly peeled the rest of the
hindering casing away from the birthing creature. Brushing it aside, he
beheld a small, Indigo-skinned gargpup with little fans for ears, which
stretched as Leader picked it up and wiped the wet goo from its body.
The little beast opened a pair of pupiless eyes, saw that this towering
figure meant no harm, nuzzled Leader's nose, and, finally, licked him.
"Why, ye little miracle!" the faded-brown gargoyle huffed, although
his face melted into an expression of relief and admiration. The tiny life
buried itself in its savior's warmth as he wrapped his wings around it.
Leader looked down into the sea, and almost laughed. It seemed that
the afterlife would not see any service from him, not on this day! He turned
to climb the cliff that towered above him, ready to face his life, his clan,
and his mate again.
*****************************************************************************
*****************************************************************************
Present Day
Goliath came over to him. "Don't worry, Hudson. Bronx knows what
he's doing."
The old gargoyle shook off his reflection. "I sure hope so."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Please, please!" the woman begged, filling out the last of the papers
and thrusting the clipboard back at Elisa. "I'm really not a bad parent,
really! I just turned around, and my Nessa was gone! You've got
to help me find her! It was just the mall! Where could she have gone?!"
Elisa put a hand on the mother's shoulder. "I promise you, we'll
find her. But we have to wait before she's gone for twenty-four hours
before we can legally call her missing."
Mrs. Bernard just buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God..."
Elisa stood up and took a swig of coffee. Great, one of her
friends was lost in the city and she was assigned to the Missing Persons
Department. Too bad it didn't cover missing gargoyles.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx was having fun with all the parked cars. Big ones, small
ones, long ones, short ones, rickety ones, and clean ones. Talk about
a field day! He crunched around in the newly-fallen snow, like a kid in
a candy factory.
He was just about to taste what the tires of a '85 Camaro were like
when someone peeked around the side of the car. "Mommy?" it asked.
Bronx turned to regard at a small human girl, who clutched a doll at
her side. She was dressed in a thick winter coat, and looked extremely lost.
She looked at him and her eyes widened. Bronx backed up, expecting
a scream, but the girl instead settled herself in a pile of snow and burst
into tears.
"I...want...my...MOMMY!!" she sobbed, gripping her doll. Bronx
whinnied at her mourning sounds and nuzzled her neck placatingly.
She stopped for a moment and sniffled. "Doggy hungry?" she asked,
and pulled a melted chocolate bar from her pocket. She waved it at the
blue pup and he quickly sucked it down. Then he licked her face.
"Hee-hee," she giggled, and pet it. "I lost my mommy in the mall."
She pointed at the huge building in front of the parking lot. "Do you
know where she is?"
"Arf!" Bronx yipped, sniffing the girl. She got on his back, as if
she understood dog, and the two went scurrying down the street.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx sniffed the air one last time. The scent of this child's mother,
which enveloped the doll, had led him to a small house on the outskirts
of town. He helped the girl reach the doorbell and then deposited her on the
front porch.
An aging woman came to the door, took one look at the bedraggled
child in front of her, and screamed with delight. "Nessa!" she cried, lifting'
the kid and pressing her close. "Oh, Nessa, I was so worried when I left
and you weren't there! But how did you get back?"
Nessa turned and pointed at Bronx. "Doggy helped me, mommy! Can
we keep it?"
"Ahhh!" the mother screamed as Bronx raised his paw in greeting. She
ran inside and shut the door, while Nessa waved him sadly goodbye.
Bronx exhaled and stretched. His senses told him that the night was
a few hours close to ending, which meant he should start back. An open sewer
grate decided his path home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"No, Goliath, I haven't seen him yet. I've checked. Yeah, I'll keep
my eyes open. Good luck." Red Jacket switched her communicator off and
dejectedly walked down the steps of the precinct.
"Come on, Bronx," she whispered to herself. "Be a good dog and..."
"RAAWRFF!" Bronx poked his head out from underneath her car and
greeted her with a bark.
"Bronx!!" she cried, then looked around quickly to see if anyone
had seen him. She quickly unlocked her car and pushed him inside.
Bronx gratefully jumped in, quickly locating a bag of Milkbones that
had been purchased in the event of his return.
"God!" Red Jacket exclaimed, jumping in the driver's side and punching
the gas. "You've had us all so worried. What have you been up to?" She wrinkled
her nose and looked into the rearview mirror. "And why on Earth do you
smell so foul?"
He just snorted, finding it crazy that she expected him to reply.
"Hey, Goliath?" Red Jacket turned her earpiece back on. "Uh, have
Xanatos clear out his lobby, okay?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The elevator chimed and everyone tensed. Bronx bounded forth from
the oversized dumbwaiter, smelling of this, that, and covered in whatnot, and
landed right in Hudson's outstretched arms. Everyone quickly formed a circle
around the returned animal, and threw their questions at a recently-arrived
Elisa.
"Where'd you find him?"
"What happened?"
"Did anyone hurt him?"
She held up her hands and shrugged. "All I did was find him under
my car. I don't know anything more except that Margot Yale claims she saw
him. And someone at a drive-thru at Bunch O' Burgers."
Brooklyn pulled out an oblong object from behind his back. "Look,
Bronx!" he cried, waving it in front of the indulged gargdog. "A dog-proof
football." Suddenly, Angela flew from nowhere and socked Brooklyn in the
abdomen. He gasped and the ball slipped from of his hands like a
bar of soap, tumbling right into Angela's waiting arms.
"Come on, Brooklyn!" she giggled, running towards the door. "It's
an aggressive game, remember?"
"Yeah," he huffed. "Right." he turned back toward Bronx. "Come
on, boy. Let's show her some real football."
Broadway smiled. "Tomorrow I'm going to let him help me make a big
treat for after the game. What's he think about roast beef?"
Xanatos smiled as Fox walked in with Alex. "And I know this little
tyke wants Bronx to save him a horse-back ride."
Bronx wagged his tail and went to follow Brooklyn out the door, but
paused and turned back to Hudson. He licked the elder's foot and tried to lead
him out the door.
"Ye want me te play foot-ball?" the old gargoyle laughed disbelievingly.
"Ack, I don't know..." But when the big blue mutt whined and tugged on his
scabbard, Hudson sighed. "Ah, all right. _Ye've_ had _yerself_ a busy night,
I might as well be part of it!"
With that, Bronx bolted toward the tower stairs, with a laughing
Hudson in pursuit.
"Bronx makes him look young again," Elisa noted quietly to Goliath.
"Aye. I cannot remember a time when the two were not together,"
the lavender giant recalled. "It relieves me to see that this is so. I
was afraid that perhaps this new time would have a negative effect on my
mentor." He paused. "I am also relieved that this night has returned Bronx
without harm. It proves to all of us how important each and every
gargoyle is to a clan."
"Every dog has his day, but I sure hope he didn't use his to just
cause havoc in the city. I can't help thinking that Bronx spent the whole night
causing people trouble." Elisa averted her eyes from Goliath, withdrew from
his side, and quickly headed toward the door. "I should get back to the station.
I have to find out if Mrs. Bernard's found any leads on her missing kid."
THE END
This is a fic I just had to get
out of my system. So what do
you think? E-mail constructive
flames, comments, and suggestions
to KH at niamhgold@hotmail.com
Next up: A couple of gargoyle
bounty hunters show up at
Manhattan's door. An old
friend of Xanatos visits.
And a certain double agent
is in for the surprise of his life.
By: Niamh at niamhgold@hotmail.com
What's a gargdog to do when no one wants to play? This little
story is taken from a totally different point of view--beware, it may
get a little confusing at times. I guess this can be considered my
version of the TGC episode "A Bronx Tail." Bronx decides, when the rest
of the castle's inhabitants are too busy to play, to stir up a little
excitement of his own. A bit of caution, there's some profanity in here,
and maybe one innuendo (don't get too excited, it's nothing big), but that
mainly circulates around the drive-thru scene.
DISCLAIMER: You know the drill. Gargoyles and all Gargoyles
characters from the show are property of Buena Vista and Disney. I make no
claim to them, I'm not making any money off this; I'm only displaying my
love for the series. All other characters herein (not pertaining to the
show) are my creations (such as Andy and Hudson's mentor), and I would be
most pleased if you would not use them without my permission.
BRONX'S NIGHT OUT
"He lines up for the pitch, the crowd goes wild, and whammo!"
Brooklyn pulled back in pirouette fashion, released the Norf football,
and watched it spiral through the air.
"And Lexington intercepts!" the bespoken gargoyle cried as he dove
down from the above parapet and caught the ball. He hit the ground with a
roll, bounced to his feet, and spiked the pigskin. Then he looked behind
him to where Angela was crossing her arms.
"Lex, that's the third time tonight!" she scolded. "How am I supposed
to learn about football if you never let me...receive?"
"It's an aggressive game, Angela," Brooklyn replied. "You're supposed
to force your way into a play. You can't just stand there!"
"Ha!" she shrilled, then turned toward the doorway. "This game is
completely ludicrous. I'm going to help Broadway cook breakfast."
"Aw, give me a break," Brooklyn moaned as the purple female disappeared into
the castle depths.
"Ooh, that's got to hurt," Lex laughed.
Brooklyn picked up the football and threw it past his smart-ass brother.
"Let's just get back to the game," he said sourly.
Lexington went to retrieve the ball, but something blue burst out of
the doorway and slammed him in the back, knocking him over. Lexington
yanked his face off the ground and rubbed the back of his head. "Hey!"
Bronx licked Lex's face and then picked up the football. He growled
through his mouthful and shook the ball violently, sending droplets of
gargoyle saliva all over the place.
"Eww, Bronx!" Brooklyn groaned, coming over. He grabbed the exposed
portion of the ball and tried to yank it free. Bronx just growled and
jerked back, happy to play a game of tug-a-war. "Come on, let me have it!"
The ball popped. Bronx immediately released the busted football,
backed up, and sat on his flanks. Brooklyn and Lex looked at the now-limp
piece of leather.
"Bad dog!" Brooklyn yelled, waving a finger at the pooch. He turned
to Lex. "Get the Frisbee, bro. We're taking this to the air."
The pigskin discarded, the two gargoyles spread their wings and made
to fly off. Bronx whined as they glided away, unable to follow due to his
lack of wings.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"This is much more fun than football," Angela decided as she put
a spoonful of Broadway's minestrone in her mouth. She smacked her lips.
"I think it needs more basil."
"Go right ahead," Broadway offered with a pleased smile. He went back to
kneading the bread. "These Italian cook books are great! I had no idea that
Xanatos had these hidden away in the library!"
Bronx was drawn into the kitchen by the wafting scent of meat, pasta,
and rich spices. He looked up from the ground's point of view at a big blue
male, then at a purple female, whose scent reminded the pup vaguely of his
similarly-colored clan leader.
He nudged Purple's leg and she rubbed the bridge of his snout,
murmuring a string of dog-intelligible baby words. He did not understand
that mortal custom, but was very thankful when she followed the ritual with
the giving of a piece of cheese.
He gobbled it up and then went to see if he could be as lucky with
the blue one. He tugged at the large gargoyle's apron.
"Go away, Bronx," Big Blue said, trying to stir the soup and read a
book at the same time. "I'm busy at the moment. Angela, do you have the
celery?"
Purple nodded and Big Blue left his boiling pot to collect the
green-stalked vegetables. The unwatched soup bubbled over one side of the pot
and dribbled onto the floor. Bronx tasted it with his tongue, and finding it
quite delicious, jumped up onto the stove to get a bigger portion.
He mistakenly placed his paw on a reddened coil of metal, and the
burning from it quickly made him regret that action. He pulled back, catching
the edge of the brimming pot with his jaw. The stew spilled upon the
floor in a waterfall of flavors, and the now-empty pot fell and helmeted Bronx's
head.
"BRONX!!" Big Blue and Purple yelled at the same time. Bronx immediately
shook the container off his skull. Purple went to grab some paper towels
while Big Blue poked the dog with a wooden spoon.
"Look what you've done!" he scolded, and Bronx cringed. "You'd
better get out before Owen finds out what you did!"
Purple pushed on Bronx's shoulders. "Bronx, you're gonna hafta move
so I can clean this up." The dog, seeing that there was no fun in this
room, went for the kitchen door.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ah! Old Brown! The gargdog trotted over to his best friend, who was
reclining in a leather chair in front of the amusing picture-box. The dog
picked up a rubber ball and dropped it in the gray-bearded gargoyle's lap.
"Och, boy, do you want to play?" he husked in that friendly voice.
Old Brown always wanted to play, even when they had lived in this same castle,
when it had been in a gargoyle-teeming land.
Old Brown tossed the toy across the room, and Bronx skidded after it
as it bounced off the stoned walls. He retrieved it and brought it back to
his master with an excited yip.
Old Brown was about to throw it again, but a new scent entered the room.
Purple Leader, standing to his fullest height, ducked through the doorway.
"Hello, Hudson," he stated in that ominous voice.
"Good morning te ye." Old Brown turned down the volume to the picture
box and sat up in his chair. To Bronx's dismay, he put down the ball.
"Would you feel up to patrol, old friend?" Purple Leader asked.
"Lexington and Brooklyn have...made themselves scarce, and Angela and Broadway
have pledged to patrol the other side of the city. I would enjoy some company."
Old Brown stroked his beard. "Are ye sure it's wise to go out in this
tense time?"
"Yes, old friend. As you have many times told me, 'a gargoyle can
no more--"
"--Aye, lad, I'm aware of that saying. And, aye, I'll come with ye."
Bronx licked Old Brown's hand and pushed the ball suggestively back
toward him. The elder just swatted it away with his tail. "No, boy, no
time for that."
Purple Leader looked down at the dog. "Bronx, you stay at the castle.
It's too dangerous to have you running around, when the city resents us so."
"Do ye think he'll be all right here, by himself?" Old Brown asked.
"I do not believe there's too much he can get away with here. This
building is very secure."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx sniffed at the doorway of the room and nudged it open with
his snout, entering the overly-decorated quarters. The aroma here was of
talcum powder and of human youth, which was tinged with magic. Bronx padded
over to something that looked like a cage with a baby inside.
"Doggy!" the golden-haired child exclaimed, and reached his hands
through the bars to pet the animal.
Before Bronx could lick that hand, though, two arms wrapped around
his neck and pulled him back. The dog looked up into a very stern, pale face.
"No, Bronx. Young Alexander needs his rest. He has got a lesson in a few
hours." Blond Servant pointed to the nursery door. "Out."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx was walking down the lower level halls when he noticed the dark haired,
once-enemy of his masters. The tall man was standing by a doorway with his
arms crossed. He turned when he saw Bronx cautiously approaching him.
"Well, look who's up and about," Dark Hair said, giving him an
uncharacteristic smile. "Aren't getting in too much trouble, are you?"
Bronx arfed a response, and was about to ask to play, but the doorway
ahead of him chimed and opened. Red Fox emerged from within and Dark Hair
immediately took her arm.
"How was the rehearsal?" he asked, kissing his mate's hand.
"Just fine," Red Fox replied. "They're going to let me direct it."
"Was there ever any doubt?" Dark Hair replied, and they both chuckled.
The two walked further down the hall, out of sight, leaving Bronx
alone. The doorway from which Red Fox has appeared was still open, and
the gargpup contemplated it. He knew, from past experiences, that the doors
would soon chime again and close. He also knew that when people went inside,
they weren't there when the doors opened again.
Well, curiosity may have killed the cat, but it never said anything
about gargoyle watch dogs. With a snort he jumped through the doors, just
as they were about to close, and landed on the plush carpeting inside.
Bronx looked around and noticed the panel of round buttons just above
his head. From observation, he also knew what purpose they served. He reared,
jumped forward, and hit one with the tip of his nose.
"You have selected the Lobby," the elevator chimed. Judging by the
disoriented feeling in his stomach, he realized that he was moving downward.
A few short moments later, the moving box hissed and came to a halt.
The doors opened to reveal a beautifully decorated room, complete with
a shiny marble floor and crystal lights hanging from the ceiling. With an
inhale of wonder, Bronx exited his transporter (it chimed and the doors
closed as soon as he was gone) and looked around. There were a set of
automatic glass doors, behind which he could see the hustling and bustling
of the humans beyond. There were many who would play with him out there!
He noticed the two door sentries, one preoccupied with the telephone,
and the other just stepping out for a cup of coffee. Seeing nothing to hinder
his departure, Bronx lifted his head proudly, waited for the automatic doors
to swing open, and walked out.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There weren't many people out tonight, Bronx noted as he strutted
down the sidewalk. And to those that were, he had politely introduced himself,
but they had just backed away. And then there were the strange garbed humans,
who had offered him an array of strange-smelling substances. Bronx had declined.
He had not even walked a long way before nature called. Bronx found
a car (which was parked outside of an intoxicatingly fragranced coffee shop), and
sniffed it a few times. Then, settling astride of it, he lifted his leg.
A curly blond haired woman, scented with mocha, walked out
of the tiny cafe with a tray of beverages. She balanced the container
on her left hand as she dug for her keys, found them, and when she went
to unlock her car...
"BRENDAN!!!" she wailed.
Bronx looked at her, dig a dog-like shrug, and quickly finished his duty.
He shook and began to wash his front paws.
Her wail got the attention of the customers and employees in the
shop. Soon they were all crowding the front windows, and although they were too
cowardly to come out into the open, they eagerly pressed their faces to the
glass.
Bronx went up to her and sniffed her feet. She tensed and screamed,
and the noise from that was so brutal that Bronx howled right along
with her. A tall brown-haired man quickly ran out to see what was the matter.
"Margot, are you--Yikes!"
The man skidded to halt at the sight of the dog wailing at his wife,
and on reflex he chucked his hot cup of coffee at it.
"Arrffff!" Bronx screeched at the scalding liquid, and growled at his
attacker.
Who quickly jumped behind his wife and shielded himself with her body.
Bronx backed up, growling in a warning tone. The sound of sirens
approached in the distance. Two policemen, street beaters, ran down the
sidewalk and pushed through the group of gathered onlookers. One pulled out
his gun, and it trembled
"Okay, doggy, let's get you back to the zoo..."
Now this wasn't a friendly cop, like Red Jacket, Bronx reflected.
He narrowed his eyes, chomped down on the pistol, and broke it into two without
even a struggle from the policeman. He found a gap in the crowd and quickly
made use of it, scampering into an alley. Gratefully, no one dared follow him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"You have got to be kidding me," Matt groaned, wiping a hand over
his face. "A gargoyle _dog_ destroyed city property? Attacked a policeman?
Oh, cripes. Are you sure...no, no. I know it's my job. Yes, I'm heading
out right now."
Elisa, who had been walking by with a stack of papers, came to a
halt. She turned on her heels and retraced her steps, to where Matt was
hanging up a telephone.
He turned to a stout rookie. "Well, Michaels, since you wanted your
first assignment, and since I'm a little short on help...I guess that makes
you the newest member of the GTF." The detective sighed as his charge
displayed a needless amount of enthusiasm at the promotion. "_Now_ we've got
cleanup duty."
Matt grabbed his trench coat and hustled his momentarily new partner
out the door. Before he himself could depart, Elisa caught his arm.
"Gargoyle dog?" she fearfully repeated.
"Blue, about three and a half feet tall, and kind of puppyish?"
Matt shook his head. "Elisa, you've got to tell the guys to get a titanium-
steel leash for that thing."
She frowned. "Matt, I know I can't come with you, but, please..."
"You'll be the first to know where he is."
Elisa sighed. "Thanks. I mean, if anyone ever caught him...well,
he's not as resourceful as the other gargoyles."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Just give me one more week, and I promise I'll have it," he
stuttered.
Pal Joey gave his two thugs a signal and they dropped the sable-haired
guy onto the floor. He grunted and rubbed his temples.
"I'm trying to get a new job, I swear I'll have the money. I just need
time!"
"Vincent, Vincent, Vincent." Joey donned a pair of brass knuckles.
"Dracon has a very important trial coming up. A very _expensive_ trial.
And I'm sure he'd appreciate it if he had all his loans repaid by that time.
It seems that the only way to make you understand this is with force."
The two bodyguards laughed and picked Vinnie up by either arm. Pal
Joey drew back his brass-adorned fist and smiled.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx's keen ears picked up the sounds of a struggle, and he followed
his senses to the alley door of a desolate-looking shop. The outside
lights were off, but fluorescence radiated from a small storage room window
by the cellar.
Bronx growled as he sniffed the glass. Inside, a thin looking man was
being held still by two humans, while a larger, suited man was beating upon
him with an armored fist. The victim's scent was vaguely familiar, and
Bronx was able to trace it back to when Goliath had been shot with a banana-
cream pie. Despite that fact, however, Bronx realized that this fellow was
in need of help.
With a howl, the hefty animal jumped through the glass window, landing
on all fours inside the room. Brass Hand stopped short of his task and quickly
drew his gun. His associates, one a built Italian and the other thin with
purple-dyed hair, dropped their prey. The released man sucked in a deep breath
and spat up blood, while his attackers pulled out their pieces.
"It's one of _them_!" Brass Hand yelled, and all three took a shot
at Bronx.
But the dog was quick. With eyes aglow, he pounced amiss of the lasers
that flew from the weapons and hurtled himself right into the two bodyguards.
They buckled under his weight and struggled. Bronx got a mouthful of Armani
at one point, and drew a small amount of blood, but he eventually got off them
before causing any severe damage. He snarled menacingly. Brass Hand motioned
to his followers, and they slowly got to their feet.
Bronx barked. "Let's get outta here!" one cried, and they all turned
to the exit.
"We'll be back for you, Vinnie!" Brass Hand pointed at his victim, and
was then pulled out by his two protectors.
Bronx went over to his protectorate, who drew back a bit. He relaxed,
though, when the creature only licked his face. Pie Thrower laughed
with a snort as he wiped the mix of blood and saliva from his split lip.
"Ain't this funny!" he chuckled. Looking at the quizzical expression
on the dog's face, he explained. "Every time I's ever seen one of you, you've
only been a thorn in my ass. I suppose it's about time you've actually done
something good for me."
Bronx licked the blood from Pie Thrower's forehead and barked, spinning
in a circle. The Italian unsteadily got to his feet and went out the exit, then
turned back to the dog, who stood awkwardly in the middle of the bemessed room.
Pie Thrower snapped his fingers. "Well, are you coming, or not?"
Bronx yipped and gratefully followed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"So you say that the perpetrator approached you, violated your tray
of coffee..."
"Cappuccino, young man," Margot corrected. "There's a difference."
"...Cappuccino, and attacked Sergeant Kelso, here?"
Matt pushed through to Jemmy Michaels, who, with his notepad, black
suit, and slicked back hair, was trying to make a very bad impression of
Clark Kent. He grabbed the rookie by his shoulders and pushed him aside.
"Easy, there, Michaels. This is the Task Force, not your movie
debut. Why don't you go over there and put the gun in the evidence bag."
"Yes, sir!" he responded, gathering chuckles from the two officers
who had arrived at the scene.
Matt turned toward Margot Yale, the over-dramatic Assistant D.A.
"You claimed destruction of property," Matt recalled, tapped his chin.
"Namely your car. And, yet, I see nothing wrong with it." He motioned to
the unmarred Mustang.
"The creature decided to violate it."
"How so?"
"Why, he urinated on it! It's going to ruin the paint."
Matt sighed. "Fine, whatever. You can go. I'll file your reports
at the station." He turned to the other two officers. "Okay, boys, just go
back to your precinct. Your Cap'n wants to talk with you."
They shot him two glares. "You'd better take this seriously, Bluestone,"
one said. "That thing was dangerous."
"See you in the funny pages, Kelso," he returned with a sardonic wave.
That officer just narrowed his eyes and walked on. Matt turned and
watched incredulously as Michaels gathered a urine sample from the Mustang, and,
shaking his head, went to go call Elisa. It was going to be a long night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Well, after you guys got me fired from my last job, and after I used
the rest of my money to get Mr. C made, well, I haven't been able to pay
Dracon back for anything. So I kept borrowin', cause Grandma was gettin'
worse, and I guess I dug myself into a hole."
Bronx whimpered in sympathy.
"I guess I could find a job, but I wants a real good one, one I
won't get fired from. That way I can pay Pal Joey, get Grandma her treatment,
and get us both a real nice place. Cancer is tough on the budget, ya know?"
Pie Thrower stopped in front of a crummy-looking apartment building,
which smelled of smoke, age, and illness. Bronx rubbed against his new
friend's heels.
"I'm sure you've gots your own family to get back to," Pie Thrower
said, and blushed. "I hope that big one doesn't hold a grudge about the pie."
Bronx barked as if to reassure him that Purple Leader didn't, and then
Pie Thrower smiled and entered his home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Welcome to Bunch O' Burgers. Can I take your order?"
The machine crackled. "Yeah. Uh, can I have two strawberry colas,
two orders of fries, a blueberry pie, a fish burger, and a spicy bacon
bit burger?"
Andy finished writing that down and pressed the button. "Yeah. Just
drive around to the--"
There was whispering from the other side of the intercom, a grumble,
and then, "Uh, hold on. Make that one fry and the other potato rounds, and
change the fishburger to a lobster roll." He paused. "And put in another
blueberry pie. My wife's picky." Then there was giggling and a "Honey, cut
it out."
"Listen, sir, I really don't wanna hear you and your slutty wife get
it on," the kid snapped. "Just drive around to the damn window and pick up
your food. It'll be nineteen seventy-five."
"Oh, you little asshole!" The guy returned. "You'd better get my
order right if you don't want your face ripped off!"
Andrew sighed and put the ordered contents in the Bunch O' Burgers
blue bag. He placed that on the window sill and went to fill the drinks.
"Just one more week of social services," he whispered. Then the
courts would stop pestering him, his mother would lay off, and he could be
back with the gang.
But when he went back to the window sill to put down the drinks, the
baggy of food was gone. "Oh, fuck," Andy swore, right into the face of his
unfortunately muscled customer, who had decided to pull up. Seeing that
the food wasn't yet ready, the guy growled.
"That's it, you little prick," that monster man said, and opened the
door to his car.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The other cars in the drive through honked and beeped, and their
human contents quickly locked the doors and screamed as Bronx waltzed by.
The scent from the blue bag he had snatched was intoxicating, and his mouth
watered. In a matter of moments he had settled himself in Central Park, ready
to chow down. It had been a while since he had eaten the crispy fried potatoes,
which greased his lips.
As he started to tear through the burger wrappers, the sound of someone
choking on a severe cough pricked his ears. Grabbing his bag of food, he pushed
through the bushes that shielded him from the park paths.
A human man, an elder like Old Brown, was lying on a park bench,
covered only with a thin newspaper. Next to him was an overturned trash can,
from which he had taken a can of half-eaten tuna. Between chews, he coughed,
wheezing from the depths of his lungs. He seemed heedless of the snow that
had begun to fall.
Bronx, sensing no immediate danger from this sickened man, walked up
to him, dropped the bag of fast food, and barked.
"Aghh, what..." he looked at the dog. "Ack! You must be one of them
gargo-whatsits." The elder looked down at the bag. "Hey, thanks, sport."
Bronx smiled in his gargoyle way and trotted on.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Matt put down the cell phone. "It sounds like this 'dog' has
struck again," he said, trying to sound skeptical. "I hope you're hungry,
'cause we're heading for a drive thru."
"Yes, sir. We can...eat like that on assignment?"
"We've gotta eat. Besides, I don't even think that this 'gargoyle dog'
is real--there's no evidence." Matt hit the ignition. "And even if it
was, I don't think it would know how to work a drive-thru."
"I don't know, sir. They seem real enough to me...and odd enough
to try."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"How could you have let him leave like that, Xanatos?" Goliath
demanded, grabbing the billionaire by his suit.
Xanatos pried away from giant's grasp and went back to his security console.
"I was not aware that Bronx knew how to use an elevator."
Fox crossed her arms and turned to the lavender clan leader. "Besides,
isn't he your dog? _Someone_ should have been watching him." She was quickly
drawn aside by her husband when Goliath's expression hardened.
"We shouldn't argue about this, lads and lassies," Hudson intercepted.
"'Tis no matter how it happened, but how we get him back."
"Especially when the whole city's ready to bolt at the sight of him,"
Brooklyn needlessly added.
"I'm going to have a talk with my security guards," Xanatos decided,
and picked up the line. Goliath directed Brooklyn and Lex to go out as a
search party, while Hudson caped his wings and watched the replay of Bronx's
departure.
*****************************************************************************
*****************************************************************************
Castle Wyvern, 960
His mate pressed against his side, clutching at him with
melancholy necessity. It had been twenty solstices since the laying of
the clan eggs, and the clan mothers and fathers were busy readying the
three-week-old hatchlings for life outside the rookery walls. The straw was
being swept out, while the young ones were being weaned off the glowing-green
moss that had sustained them during their first few weeks of life. The progeny
ahead of the newborns was busy dressing their new clan sisters and brothers for
their introduction to Prince Malcolm. Leader watched and let a chuckle
escape him at the sight of a butterfly-winged female trying to pry a pudgy
blue bairn away from a patch of moss, for which he had developed a
great liking.
"Coming, sister?" a pine-green, web-winged rookery brother called to
Leader's mate.
His angel pulled away from where her face was pressed to his side,
and looked sadly into his eyes. "My love?"
He stroked his beard, then nuzzled her horned skull-plate with his
lips. "Go on, lass," he whispered to her. "There is still the entire
posterity to be mothered, and the heavens know that it is you who can do that best.
You need not feel ashamed to mingle with our kin."
She hugged him tightly. "Oh, love, if only..."
He pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh. Go with our brother."
She managed a smile--what a brave mate he had!--and caught up
with her sky-blue sibling. Was it just him, or was even his bald-headed
brother beginning to look older?
Leader fingered the hilt of his sword, unconsciously, and turned to
look over the massive, empty rookery that had been left behind. In the
midst of all this mess stood one meager, sickly-spotted egg. The egg that
they had hoped might hatch, despite the complications of its birth.
He turned at the sound of footfalls behind him, and noticed
that his predecessing leader, now his second-in-command, had entered
the rookery. She was beautiful and quite strong, despite her
years, but when her lavender form beheld the unhatched egg, some of the life
fled from her kindly face.
"'Tis a shame, my leader," she commented. She came up beside
him and brushed back her silky gray locks, which had once been a
vibrant rosy-gold. "It is hard to believe, in this prosperous time, that
even one of ouir own would not survive the breeding." She paused and
turned toward him. "It is the duty of the leader to tend to this situation,
as tradition calls, but I will not ask you to do it if--"
He held up his hand. "No more, mentor. I cannot abandon me
responsibilities on the behalf of me own selfish problems. I will
deal with this...still birth."
He bent down and scooped up the egg. His old leader placed a
gnarly violet hand on his shoulder. "I am...sorry about you and youir
mate. I know that you had been looking forward to the last breeding
season. Fate was cruel to her."
Leader shook it off. "It is of no concern to anyone but ouirselves.
Besides, we have plenty of hatchlings to attend--I just pray that 'tis
enough te keep my angel from depression."
His mentor watched him leave. "I just pray," she added quietly,
"That 'tis enough te keep ye from puttin' the blame on youirself. "The cliffs were windy, he noted grimly, as he scaled downward toward
the churning sea. It was bad enough that he was here to commit this
mournful act, but the night and sea had to be stormy, as well. Stormy,
just like the sorrow he now bore.
Leader paused on a projection of rock before carrying out his task.
He squatted and regarded the pink, underdeveloped egg that was tucked
in the crook of his arm.
His responsibility as leader of the clan forced him to dispose of
this dead-within-the shell child, to prevent the spread of disease. He
remembered the watch dog that had given birth to this egg, and three others,
and he remembered how the strain of that labor had killed that gentle beast.
That washed back-burner memories of what would have been his
own egg to the front of his mind, and tears stung his eyes. He and his mate
had been able to enjoy the fruits of the last breeding season, and it had even
gone as far as her being fattened with egg.
He blamed himself--he had let her convince him to let her go on a
scouting mission for a rogue band of Vikings. But it had been a trap.
His poor mate, along with the other scouts, were badly mauled by a vicious
surprise attack. They had managed to bear their injuries until dawn, but a
cruel sword stroke to his angel's stomach had destroyed their egg and rendered
her hopelessly barren.
The pain of their loss had subsided over the waiting period
of twenty years, during which he had been promoted as leader. But watching
the hatching of the eggs, and the happiness on their kin's faces, had renewed
the horrible grief. And even though it was not tradition to favor one child
over another, he would have felt pride in the fact that his seed had produced
a new gargoyle. It could have had his gray-blue love's face, her wings, and
his strength.
Now he stood here, ready to throw yet another failure into the
darkness of the beyond. He looked down at the tiny thing, which was small
enough to fit in the palm of his paw, and sighed. It would probably have
been too weak to survive, anyway.
"Forgive me, little bairn."
As if on a perfectly prearranged cue, the spotted shell of the
embryo trembled. Leader's breathing stopped; had he just heard the
sounds of life from within? The wind howled loudly, making him
shake his head in disbelief. No. Impossible.
A muffled whimper. This time, it was definite, and this time the
shell shuddered, bulged, and cracked. A little snout poked out of a small
hole and tried to take its first breath. It whimpered again.
The disbelief settling, Leader quickly peeled the rest of the
hindering casing away from the birthing creature. Brushing it aside, he
beheld a small, Indigo-skinned gargpup with little fans for ears, which
stretched as Leader picked it up and wiped the wet goo from its body.
The little beast opened a pair of pupiless eyes, saw that this towering
figure meant no harm, nuzzled Leader's nose, and, finally, licked him.
"Why, ye little miracle!" the faded-brown gargoyle huffed, although
his face melted into an expression of relief and admiration. The tiny life
buried itself in its savior's warmth as he wrapped his wings around it.
Leader looked down into the sea, and almost laughed. It seemed that
the afterlife would not see any service from him, not on this day! He turned
to climb the cliff that towered above him, ready to face his life, his clan,
and his mate again.
*****************************************************************************
*****************************************************************************
Present Day
Goliath came over to him. "Don't worry, Hudson. Bronx knows what
he's doing."
The old gargoyle shook off his reflection. "I sure hope so."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Please, please!" the woman begged, filling out the last of the papers
and thrusting the clipboard back at Elisa. "I'm really not a bad parent,
really! I just turned around, and my Nessa was gone! You've got
to help me find her! It was just the mall! Where could she have gone?!"
Elisa put a hand on the mother's shoulder. "I promise you, we'll
find her. But we have to wait before she's gone for twenty-four hours
before we can legally call her missing."
Mrs. Bernard just buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God..."
Elisa stood up and took a swig of coffee. Great, one of her
friends was lost in the city and she was assigned to the Missing Persons
Department. Too bad it didn't cover missing gargoyles.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx was having fun with all the parked cars. Big ones, small
ones, long ones, short ones, rickety ones, and clean ones. Talk about
a field day! He crunched around in the newly-fallen snow, like a kid in
a candy factory.
He was just about to taste what the tires of a '85 Camaro were like
when someone peeked around the side of the car. "Mommy?" it asked.
Bronx turned to regard at a small human girl, who clutched a doll at
her side. She was dressed in a thick winter coat, and looked extremely lost.
She looked at him and her eyes widened. Bronx backed up, expecting
a scream, but the girl instead settled herself in a pile of snow and burst
into tears.
"I...want...my...MOMMY!!" she sobbed, gripping her doll. Bronx
whinnied at her mourning sounds and nuzzled her neck placatingly.
She stopped for a moment and sniffled. "Doggy hungry?" she asked,
and pulled a melted chocolate bar from her pocket. She waved it at the
blue pup and he quickly sucked it down. Then he licked her face.
"Hee-hee," she giggled, and pet it. "I lost my mommy in the mall."
She pointed at the huge building in front of the parking lot. "Do you
know where she is?"
"Arf!" Bronx yipped, sniffing the girl. She got on his back, as if
she understood dog, and the two went scurrying down the street.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bronx sniffed the air one last time. The scent of this child's mother,
which enveloped the doll, had led him to a small house on the outskirts
of town. He helped the girl reach the doorbell and then deposited her on the
front porch.
An aging woman came to the door, took one look at the bedraggled
child in front of her, and screamed with delight. "Nessa!" she cried, lifting'
the kid and pressing her close. "Oh, Nessa, I was so worried when I left
and you weren't there! But how did you get back?"
Nessa turned and pointed at Bronx. "Doggy helped me, mommy! Can
we keep it?"
"Ahhh!" the mother screamed as Bronx raised his paw in greeting. She
ran inside and shut the door, while Nessa waved him sadly goodbye.
Bronx exhaled and stretched. His senses told him that the night was
a few hours close to ending, which meant he should start back. An open sewer
grate decided his path home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"No, Goliath, I haven't seen him yet. I've checked. Yeah, I'll keep
my eyes open. Good luck." Red Jacket switched her communicator off and
dejectedly walked down the steps of the precinct.
"Come on, Bronx," she whispered to herself. "Be a good dog and..."
"RAAWRFF!" Bronx poked his head out from underneath her car and
greeted her with a bark.
"Bronx!!" she cried, then looked around quickly to see if anyone
had seen him. She quickly unlocked her car and pushed him inside.
Bronx gratefully jumped in, quickly locating a bag of Milkbones that
had been purchased in the event of his return.
"God!" Red Jacket exclaimed, jumping in the driver's side and punching
the gas. "You've had us all so worried. What have you been up to?" She wrinkled
her nose and looked into the rearview mirror. "And why on Earth do you
smell so foul?"
He just snorted, finding it crazy that she expected him to reply.
"Hey, Goliath?" Red Jacket turned her earpiece back on. "Uh, have
Xanatos clear out his lobby, okay?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The elevator chimed and everyone tensed. Bronx bounded forth from
the oversized dumbwaiter, smelling of this, that, and covered in whatnot, and
landed right in Hudson's outstretched arms. Everyone quickly formed a circle
around the returned animal, and threw their questions at a recently-arrived
Elisa.
"Where'd you find him?"
"What happened?"
"Did anyone hurt him?"
She held up her hands and shrugged. "All I did was find him under
my car. I don't know anything more except that Margot Yale claims she saw
him. And someone at a drive-thru at Bunch O' Burgers."
Brooklyn pulled out an oblong object from behind his back. "Look,
Bronx!" he cried, waving it in front of the indulged gargdog. "A dog-proof
football." Suddenly, Angela flew from nowhere and socked Brooklyn in the
abdomen. He gasped and the ball slipped from of his hands like a
bar of soap, tumbling right into Angela's waiting arms.
"Come on, Brooklyn!" she giggled, running towards the door. "It's
an aggressive game, remember?"
"Yeah," he huffed. "Right." he turned back toward Bronx. "Come
on, boy. Let's show her some real football."
Broadway smiled. "Tomorrow I'm going to let him help me make a big
treat for after the game. What's he think about roast beef?"
Xanatos smiled as Fox walked in with Alex. "And I know this little
tyke wants Bronx to save him a horse-back ride."
Bronx wagged his tail and went to follow Brooklyn out the door, but
paused and turned back to Hudson. He licked the elder's foot and tried to lead
him out the door.
"Ye want me te play foot-ball?" the old gargoyle laughed disbelievingly.
"Ack, I don't know..." But when the big blue mutt whined and tugged on his
scabbard, Hudson sighed. "Ah, all right. _Ye've_ had _yerself_ a busy night,
I might as well be part of it!"
With that, Bronx bolted toward the tower stairs, with a laughing
Hudson in pursuit.
"Bronx makes him look young again," Elisa noted quietly to Goliath.
"Aye. I cannot remember a time when the two were not together,"
the lavender giant recalled. "It relieves me to see that this is so. I
was afraid that perhaps this new time would have a negative effect on my
mentor." He paused. "I am also relieved that this night has returned Bronx
without harm. It proves to all of us how important each and every
gargoyle is to a clan."
"Every dog has his day, but I sure hope he didn't use his to just
cause havoc in the city. I can't help thinking that Bronx spent the whole night
causing people trouble." Elisa averted her eyes from Goliath, withdrew from
his side, and quickly headed toward the door. "I should get back to the station.
I have to find out if Mrs. Bernard's found any leads on her missing kid."
THE END
This is a fic I just had to get
out of my system. So what do
you think? E-mail constructive
flames, comments, and suggestions
to KH at niamhgold@hotmail.com
Next up: A couple of gargoyle
bounty hunters show up at
Manhattan's door. An old
friend of Xanatos visits.
And a certain double agent
is in for the surprise of his life.