A/N – I know there's not much traffic in the "Up" section, but I've decided to go ahead and post my other two existing Charles Muntz fics.
This is #3 in my Young Charles Muntz series. Please read "Back" and "Cut" first, if you haven't. This actually takes place in 1929, prior to both of those stories, but, if I've done my job right, you are now ready to meet someone important from Muntz's past. Disclaimer: I am not an engineer, nor do I play one on TV, so no guarantees as to logic or accuracy. I'm splitting this in two for length. Charles Muntz belongs to Disney/Pixar.
"Late" – an Up Fanfic
7:30. When had it gotten so late? Having the work area farthest from the windows made it easy to miss the dimming sky, but she didn't mind that. They could have stuffed her drafting table in a broom closet and she would have been every bit as happy. Six weeks after moving all the way to California to start her new job, she still couldn't quite believe that she was actually working for Muntz Industries. Now, she put down her pencil and brushed away a few stray eraser crumbs. This was as good a place as any to stop for the night. She could get a fresh start in the morning, and besides, she wanted Gus's opinion on what she had done so far.
She knew she wasn't alone in the building – Muntz Industries never slept, and the hum and grind of the manufacturing plant, softly audible from a distance, had been keeping her company. But she hadn't expected to hear the patter and splatter of what sounded like big, wet pawsteps coming up the hallway. They were followed, at a little distance, by a male voice, calling out, "Gelly, come back here! Gelly, heel!" He would have sounded commanding, if not for his imperfectly stifled laughter. "Stay out of there, you goofy mutt!"
A black dog came bounding into the workroom, big and wet, as expected. Snuffling audibly, it came lumbering straight at her, tail flailing with such energy, the whole furry body was wagging along with it. "Where did you come from?" she greeted her visitor, sliding down from her stool to intercept the dog before it got too near her drawings. It had already shaken itself off at least once, but was still a bit soapy in spots. With a flurry of curious sniffs by way of introduction, the dog shoved itself under her hand and demanded a good head rub. Charmed by her new friend, she gladly obliged.
"Don't mind him," said the dog's master, from the doorway, and she looked up to see a trim, broad-shouldered figure outlined by the light from the hall. "He's still a big puppy, really. Aren't you?" he said, emitting a playful growl as the dog went bounding back to him, and he rumpled its ears. A brief round of this was enough, and the dog came snuffling and wagging its way back to her. The dog's master followed, and, as he came within range of her desk lamp, she got her first good look at him. He was young, and fresh-faced, with thick, wavy auburn hair and an aggressive chin. His shirt sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, a towel was flung around his neck, and he looked like he'd taken the brunt of the soapy water shed by the dog.
Her immediate thought was, This must be the Kid.
From her first day on the job, she had heard about George Muntz's grandson, most commonly referred to by her new colleagues as "The Kid." The Kid was a Genius. The Kid was a Pest. The Kid was Full of Beans. The Kid Thought He Owned the Place. She had been treated to all these opinions, and a few more, besides. "Aw, don't take what the fellas say too seriously," Gus had told her. "The Kid's all right, really. I don't even know why we still call him the Kid; he's nineteen now, older than I was when I started with the company." "What does he do here?" she had asked. "Whatever he wants," Gus had cracked, then clarified: "He's not on the payroll; he just likes to be in the middle of things. Just take him with a grain of salt, and don't let it bother you when he comes sniffing around."
Right now, the dog was doing all the sniffing around, while the Kid was trying to towel him off. "Aw, Gelly, hold still, you're making a mess."
"So, do you call him Jelly because he wiggles so much?" she asked.
The Kid responded to this with a puzzled frown, then deciphered her question and said, "Oh! No, it's short for Magellan. His name is really Magellan. But he hasn't quite grown into that yet, have you? Rrrrrr!" he crouched down to grab the dog's face in his hands and rub noses with it, and got a sloppy tongue up the side of his head in return. Looking up at her again, he informed her, "You're the Lady Engineer. Dolores."
"Dorothy."
"Dorothy. That's right," he noted, pointing a finger as if he were the one correcting her. "I'm Charles Muntz."
"I was just about to guess that," she remarked. There was no mistaking the tone in his voice that said he expected to be recognized.
Having given up on getting the dog any drier, he slung the wet towel around his neck again and stepped toward her drafting table. "What are you working on?"
"It's an idea for the propeller hub on the new A113 aero-engine. See," she came around beside him as he pulled a sheet out from under the one she'd been working on, "that's the design from the previous engine model. But if you approach it this way," she pointed out the changes she'd been making on the top sheet, "you cut down the friction, and you reduce the weight. The stability's still there, but it's lighter, and more efficient."
Studying the drawings, he nodded. "Clever. Whose idea was this?"
"Mine."
He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "Nice work, Dolores."
"Dor-"
"Dorothy. I know!" he laughed. "I'm just razzing you. Seriously, you came up with this?"
She nodded. "Believe it or not, I got the idea from the windmill on my grandparents' farm. I told Gus about it, and he said 'draw it up, and we'll take a look.' There's still no guarantee it's going to work," she admitted.
"Oh, it'll work, all right," Charles was looking over the drawings again. "Better yet, it shows initiative. Grandpa loves that. 'Initiative, Charlie!'" he mimicked the gruff, hearty voice of George Muntz. "'A man can't succeed unless he's willing to take initiative!'"
Magellan came nosing between them, interested in getting a better sniff – or maybe taste – of Dorothy's work, but she put a hand in front of his chest and said, "Oh, no you don't, Magellan; down."
The dog appealed this command with a whine and a tail wag, but obeyed her. Charles gave him a pat on the shoulder and said, "You need to be put through the rinse cycle again, anyway. Ran out in the middle of his bath," he informed Dorothy. "I built an Automated Dog Bath for him. He likes it. Most of the time."
"Automated Dog Bath?" she chuckled. "That's a new one on me."
"Come have a look." Charles invited, back-pedaling from her as he spoke. "I'll show you how it works." He turned and strode for the door. "Come on, Gelly," he patted his leg, and the dog followed. He was in the hall before she could even draw breath to form an answer. So, the Kid expected her to drop everything and follow him. Well, she'd been ready to stop for the night, anyway. And, after all, she'd never seen an Automated Dog Bath before. Switching off her lamp, Dorothy went after him.
To Be Continued...