A brief note from the desk of GrandOldPenguin: La Mademoiselle is a unique story that I have been a part of for an interesting reason: I never intended to write it. The idea for this story was instead conceived in the mind of jackandjill2, who wrote its first chapter before asking if I might be interested in taking a look at the story. Until then, I had never thought I'd be one to work with someone else or their ideas on a fan fiction project. But there's an exception to everything, I suppose.

The chapter that follows below was written by jackandjill2, with nothing more than the most trivial of trivialities on my part. The eight chapters that follow it I wrote as my version of the type of story she had in mind.

In the end, La Mademoiselle was both fun and challenging to work on—some days more fun, some days more challenging—but I enjoyed being able to play around with it. My version will never be the same as if jackandjill2 had written it all herself—perhaps not even close in some regards—but hopefully I've at least done her idea some justice. Thanks for the opportunity, Jill!

GrandOldPenguin


"And kick! Punch! Flip! Bob and weave! Weave and bob! Jump kick ..."

It was Tuesday, about seven in the morning, at the Central Park Zoo. The penguins were, as they always were, doing their exercise drills before the day began. Skipper was calling out orders, prepping his team for any missions that might occur that day.

"Spin! Double punch! And cease!" he concluded. "Good work this morning, boys. Break until—"

"Uh, Skipper?" Kowalski said, pointing his flipper. "I don't mean to interrupt, but there's a truck heading our way."

Skipper turned. Kowalski was right: there was a dark blue van driving in the direction of their habitat. Emblazoned on its side was the logo of the New York City International Airport.

"And here comes Alice," Private added. The red-headed zookeeper came running up beside the truck, which indeed stopped next to the penguin enclosure.

"What's going on here?" Alice demanded once the driver got out of the van.

"We found this at the airport. We had no idea what to do with it, so Boss told me to bring it to the closest zoo," he replied.

"What? A penguin? In an airport?" Alice said, dumbfounded. She continued, "We ... we can't just take on a new animal willy-nilly, there's paperwork to do, extra food to budget in—"

"Sorry, ma'am, but there's nothing else we can do with it. It was on a one-way airplane from Europe." The driver continued speaking as he unlocked the back and carted out a large wooden box. "The penguin came a very long way, so it's not like it can just hitch a ride back where it came from. Like you said, there's paperwork and animal rights stipulations—heck, we don't even know where it came from, the tag got ripped off the box somehow." By this time, the driver had wheeled the box into the habitat.

"Once again, ma'am, I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, but there's nothing I can do. I just deliver the boxes—you can take it up with my boss." With that, he restarted the engine and drove back into the street.

"Ugh!" Alice huffed. "The nerve!" She stomped away.

"And, as usual, we're the ones to break them out," Kowalski said, wondering why Alice never let out the animals. Rico choked up a crowbar and was about to open the crate, but Skipper stopped him.

"Hold up, Rico. There could be death a thousand times over in that box, one of our enemies, or a spy ..."

A muffled voice and the sound of flippers knocking on wood came from inside the box. Kowalski put the side of his head up to the box, listening.

"I can't understand what they're saying," he reported, "but I think they want out. The voice is ... female. Definitely female, with some sort of an accent, I think."

"Couldn't we let her out, Skippah?" Private said sweetly. "There's a girl in there, and I'm sure she's hungry and tired—that man said she came all the way from Europe!"

Skipper sighed, relenting. "Fine. Go ahead, Rico—but be ready for anything, men!"

Rico eagerly cracked open the box. Out of it came a gorgeous she-penguin, with sleek feathers and clear blue eyes. The only thing that wasn't quite so beautiful was the annoyed, prissy expression on her face. She huffed self-righteously.

"Ça vous a pris suffisamment longtemps!" she said indignantly.

"Pardon?" Skipper said, taken aback.

She giggled, almost patronizing Skipper's lack of understanding. "Hilarant. Maintenant, où est ma nourriture? Je meurs de faim."

"Miss, we can't understand what you're saying!" Kowalski said loudly and slowly, as if she was deaf as well as foreign.

"Excusez-moi?" she said, confused as well. She froze, suddenly getting something. "Parlez-vous français?" she said, terrified of their response.

Understanding that much, all four penguins shook their heads. The girl groaned, then started ranting to herself very, very quickly and the team couldn't understand one thing she said.

"Skipper, I'm ninety-seven percent sure she's speaking French," Kowalski said.

Skipper slapped his head. "You don't say!" he said sarcastically. "I could've sworn it was Mandarin—of course she's speaking French!"

"What do we do?" Private squeaked.

"I know a very limited amount of French," Kowalski said uneasily.

"Then go talk to her!" Skipper said, pushing him.

"Oof!" Kowalski bumped into her, cutting off her rant. He cleared his throat. "Uh ... excusez-moi, mademoiselle, quel est votre nom?"

"Emmeline. Et vous êtes ...?" she said, a little happier.

"Kowalski. C'est Skipper, Private, et Rico." He stopped and turned back to Skipper. "That's all I've got. Her name is Emmeline, by the way."

"That helps a little," Private said brightly.

"But not enough," Skipper added. "We still don't know where she came from, or why she's really here ..."

The gates to the zoo swung open, and a busload of children ran inside.

"We'll deal with this later," Skipper said.

— § —

That evening ...

This had not been a good day. Skipper and Emmeline, even though they didn't understand a word the other said, already hated each other. She had quite an attitude problem and seemed to think herself better than the boys for some reason. She turned her beak up at the fish Alice brought, until somehow Rico got an idea of what the matter was. He didn't want her to starve or anything, so he tried cutting it up into sushi. At this, she sweetly accepted the fish, saying tenderly, "Merci, monsieur," and kissing his cheek, then promptly ignoring him the rest of the day. When she wasn't getting in the way of the boys' routines, she was hogging all the attention by doing some sort of penguin-style ballet thing.

And now, at the end of the day, she sat by herself on the couch, cleaning her feathers. Skipper was appalled at the effect she had on his men: Private was a little intimidated by her and stayed away; Rico was still a little fazed by her sweet kiss; Kowalski, wanting to impress her, was racking his huge brain, trying to remember more French so he could try to talk to her. He had remembered something earlier, but when he had said it, she just laughed in his face. Later, he privately told Skipper, "I'm eighty-seven percent sure I told her, 'I love to eat carrots'—my teacher was a vegetarian ..."

Poor guy, he'd been so embarrassed ... it was sickening how this girl was so self-centered!

And speaking of self-centered ...

"Hello, neighbors!" Julien called from the fishbowl entrance. He, Mort, and Maurice slipped through the opening and into the HQ.

"Ring-tail!" Skipper said exasperatedly. "I've got enough on my mind right now without you—"

"But it's Tuesday, remember?" Maurice said. "We had a deal. We were allowed on Tuesdays to watch Julien's show."

"Dancing with the Stars!" Julien said joyously, shaking his booty. "It's rrrr-rumba night!" he added, rolling the r.

"Fine!" Skipper yelled. "But you're going to have to make Frenchie over there get off the couch!"

Julien looked over at the couch. "Who's Frenchie?"

"Her name is Emmeline," Kowalski explained. "She doesn't speak a word of English, just French."

"Really?" Julien said excitedly. "I have not been meeting the speakers of French in years!"

He bounded over to her side and knelt on one knee, kissing her flipper like a perfect gentleman. "Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said, losing his old accent and switching to a perfect French one. "Pourriez vous s'il vous plaît aller ailleurs de sorte que mon ami et moi puissions nous asseoir ici?"

Everyone in the room fell into a stunned silence.

"Parlez-vous français?" Emmeline said excitedly.

"You speak French?" Skipper said incredulously.

"Oui," Julien said to Emmeline, then turned to Skipper. "Of course!"

"French is an official language of Madagascar," Maurice explained. "Why did you think all of our names have French origins? Julien? Maurice? Mort? I know quite a bit myself, but Mort only knows one sentence: J'aime les pieds."

"Which means ...?" Kowalski gingerly asked.

"I love the feet."

Julien had been listening to Emmeline while Maurice was explaining, and now said, "Uh, Emmeline says to tell you that she is from Paris ... she was supposed to be put on a plane to Versailles—wrong plane—and is wondering where she is now." He quietly answered her question, then continued. "She also said that if you are getting in the way of her dancing again, she will be ripping your head off. Her words, not mine." He added the last part after seeing the look on Skipper's face.

Emmeline and Skipper glared at each other. Oh, Skipper was irked by this pompous girl! He would make her pay. He racked his brain, trying to come up with a suitable revenge that would somehow be useful, when the perfect idea popped into his head. Skipper's angry grimace slowly changed into a smooth, conniving smile, and he said coolly: "Ring-tail, tell her that from now on, she is to report to you during the evenings to learn English."

"Okay!" Julien said brightly. He was already halfway done translating before he realized what Skipper had said. "... de moi—Say what?"

"That's right," Skipper said. "Finish, please. She'll want to hear what I said."

"This is an outrageousness!" Julien shouted. "Nobody tells the king what to do!"

"Technically," Kowalski piped up, "he didn't order you, he ordered Emmeline. He just, um ..."

"... thought you'd love spending time with such a pretty girl like her. I really think you two would get along well," Skipper finished.

Julien looked back at her. She was rather attractive—you know, for a penguin. And he loved being able to speak his beloved French again; it had always been his best subject, and always would be. Plus, he'd been intrigued by the mention of her dancing ...

"Oh, all right," he allowed. "But Maurice will help, too. And when I say help, I mean, 'do all the boring grammary things.'"

As Julien finished translating, Skipper couldn't help but think, Maybe it would be better for Maurice to teach her grammar, what with Julien's mangling of our language ...

Julien finished. Emmeline gasped and shouted at Skipper, "Je préfère mourir plutôt que d'apprendre votre langue sale et dégoûtante!"

"What?" Skipper looked at Julien.

"Ha!" he laughed. "I am not getting into that one! Maurice, translate the rude girl's words for me."

"Fine," Maurice sighed. "Skipper, do you want the nice version or her version?"

"Hers," Skipper said in a steely voice.

"She says that she would rather die than learn your filthy, disgusting language."

Kowalski, Private, and even Rico (who didn't speak English that well, obviously) gasped at her, insulted.

Skipper merely chuckled. "Just tell her that English lessons means less time here with me."

Maurice translated. Emmeline's expression softened the tiniest degree, then she said, "Oui."

"She'll do it," Maurice said.

Skipper smiled evilly. "I thought she would. Now then, Kowalski, Rico! Dig up a bunk for the delightful lady—she's going to want her rest."


GrandOldPenguin here again: Now that you've been properly introduced to Emmeline, you can see where I've taken her and the rest of the story starting with the next chapter.

To assist with the reading of French dialogue, English translations can be found at the very bottom of each chapter. To keep these translations sections short, however, only the first occurrence of a particular line in French will be translated per chapter, and no translation will be added to a section if the prose itself clearly identifies in English what had been spoken.

During the time this story was being actively written and worked on, Google Translate was the primary source used for translating text to and from French. Throughout the publication period of this story from late March until early April 2012, the French was able to then be revised from Google's imperfect usage thanks to the time and effort of one of this story's reviewers, GwiñverArRouz. This first chapter itself was initially published on March 26, 2012, with its French revised on March 29, 2012.

GrandOldPenguin

Translations: Ça vous a pris suffisamment longtemps! (Took you long enough!) | Hilarant. Maintenant, où est ma nourriture? Je meurs de faim. (Hilarious. Now where is my food? I'm starving.) | Excusez-moi? (Excuse me?) | Parlez-vous français? (Do you speak French?) | excusez-moi, mademoiselle, quel est votre nom? (excuse me, miss, what is your name?) | Et vous êtes ...? (And you are ...?) | C'est (This is) | et (and) | Merci, monsieur (Thank you, mister) | Bonjour, mademoiselle (Hello, miss) | Pourriez vous s'il vous plaît aller ailleurs de sorte que mon ami et moi puissions nous asseoir ici? (Could you please go somewhere else so that my friend and I can sit here?) | Oui (Yes) | ... de moi (... from me) | Je préfère mourir plutôt que d'apprendre votre langue sale et dégoûtante! (I would rather die than to learn your dirty, filthy language!)