I hope you guys are just excited about reading about Radar's adventures as I am about writing about them (so many 'abouts', though). Today, our little ball of sunshine and color is going to get his hands a bit messy helping around the city. His goal: Have a productive day. The universe's goal? Anything but that. Can he handle it?
REVIEWS! Eight of them already? You guys, this is awesome!
EmLee: Glad you're so pumped about this, and that you like my other stories! I hope to get to more of them soon, but for now, I know you'll enjoy this~!
Raintag: Yes, we do. And I hope to be a great provider!
KrazyKat: YAAAAAAAAAY! (Did you know that YAAAAAAAAAY spelled backwards is YAAAAAAAAAY? Nevertheless, I'm so glad you're excited!)
Alice Forshadow: You liked the crowd scene? That was pretty fun for me to write, and I was afraid people wouldn't like it. But, gladly, I was wrong! Also, as I mentioned before, writing Radar is pretty easy for me since I can relate to him in many ways, so expect some hilarious realism!
A Random Guest: It's good to know that you liked the WWJD. I cracked up so hard when I first had the idea, and I just HAD to put it in!
Princess of Muffins: Great! I hope you enjoy the rest!
Miragold123: Wait no longer, for chapter two hath arrived! But speaking of 'wait no longer', who else is pumped about episode three coming out this Tuesday? I know I am!
Toni42: I'm sure he'll do fine, as long as he's got that to-do book of his. Also, thank you for reviewing! I really love Movie-Mode, and see you as one of MCSM's famous writers, so I'm glad you decided to visit my little corner of the Internet.
Well, let's get onto the story! Hit it, Crisper!
Crisper: LET'Z DO THIS! (hits it)
Radar walked through the city, one side of him wanting to help whoever needed it, and the other, of course, being too shy to ask. He walked over to a red and white booth, the cake booth he assumed, and pulled out his book to see what he needed to do next.
"Um… hey," came a quiet, strained voice from behind him. Radar flinched and turned around and saw a tearstained face and sorrowful eyes staring back at him.
"Oh my gosh. Um, are you okay?"
"Wow," the woman sniffled, wiping a tear from her eyes. "Even through your moments of loss, you're still so caring of others, when you should be caring about yourself." She said, wiping her wet hand on her blue-jean shorts.
"Um… I don't understand…?"
"Of course, you don't. I don't understand why these kinds of things happen to such good, caring people, either." She managed before she broke into tears. Radar eyed her for a few moments with growing confusion, unsure of how to respond to the weeping woman. She suddenly threw herself at him, nearly knocking him clean off his feet as she wept onto his chest, staining his green shirt with her many tears. He fought to keep his balance, managing to lean on a nearby fence-post. Heat and embarrassment crawled into his cheeks when he happened to glance around and see the growing sets of eyes on him.
"Um, ma'am? I'm not sure I—" She loudly shushed him, placing a finger over his mouth while she hid her face in his warm chest.
"There's no need to speak. I can already feel your pain and sorrow." She whimpered before shaking with sobs. "It's in here." She added, softly patting the left side of his chest.
"Pain and sorrow? I don't think I know what you're talking about." He squeaked, having a harder time breathing with her arms so tightly clasped around him. When she finally loosened to break the hug, he breathed in and sighed out, his ribs slightly cracking as he did. For a woman of her size, she had lethally muscular arms, very well hidden by their feminine smoothness.
"There's no need to deny it. Everyone feels pain and sorrow, but if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Just know I'll always be here for you."
"Um… I do want to talk about it, but first I'd like to ask a question—"
"Yes! Anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable." She blubbered with pleading eyes.
"Why would I be having pain and sorrow?" He asked quietly.
"Well," she covered her mouth with a pinky-raised hand, shaking her head and blinking away tears, "It's really a big shock that Jesse's… dying. And with you as his intern… you two must've been so close, and now," she began to weep again, with Radar staring awkwardly with growing unease, "he's being rent away from you! I'm so sorry!" And just like that, he was back in her death-hug. Sorrow? He couldn't feel that. Pain? Now, he could feel that, and very well. And he'd feel it in the morning, too.
"Um, ma'am?" His voice was strained and breathless. "Jesse's… not… dying… he just… has… a head cold." He forced the words out with whatever breath he had as she choked him out like an anaconda. But she didn't hear him over her passionate wails. "Ma'am?" He felt himself running out of air. "Ma'am?" He squeaked in desperation. He managed to wrench an arm from her locked ones and tap her on the shoulder, croaking for her one last time. She looked up and finally let go, eager to hear what ode he had to give for his dying hero. Radar took a few moments to catch his breath, and she watched him patiently, along with the other citizens who had stopped to take a gander. "Jesse's going to be fine. Didn't you hear what I'd said earlier?"
She rubbed her tears with her wrists and looked at him with confusion and disbelief. "What?"
"Jesse just has a head-cold… haven't you had a head-cold before?"
"No. But my grandmother did."
Radar's eyes popped with surprise and his heart caught. He guiltily looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets and regretting his annoyance. "Did she… um… you know… live?" He asked carefully.
"Oh, yeah. She was fine after a week." She replied happily. She reverted back to her solemn frown seconds later. "But what does that have to do with your sorrow?"
"It means that Jesse's going to live." He explained slowly. She looked at her feet and pondered this for a moment. Then it was her eyes' time to pop. She put a hand to her mouth as her cheeks reddened, and a quirky smile squirmed across her face.
"So… all that must've seen out-of-the-blue for you, huh?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Radar grinned bashfully, reaching around to rub his sweaty neck.
"I am so sorry… and embarrassed for that matter. That was really weird!" She commented, loudly enough for the bystanders to hear. "I'm really sorry." She muttered again, casting him a truly apologetic look.
"Um, you know what? It's okay. I mean, sure it was pretty unexpected for me, and everyone else standing here watching us," he muttered the last part, "but, it shows that you care about people. I mean, that's nice. You're nice." He said with a forgiving smile and a small shrug. Her face brightened with a smile, and before Radar could process it, he was back in a death-hug.
"Oh my gosh, thank you! I feel like I'm about to cry again. No one's ever told me that!" She pulled away and their eyes locked for a few seconds. She smiled once more and rushed off, happy tears streaming down her face. Radar smiled softly as she went, but flinched when a loud clap sounded behind him. He spun around to see a group of people staring at him with bleary eyes while the foremost of them slow-clapped, tears streaming down her face.
"That was beautiful." She choked.
Radar fought to put a smile on his face to hide his growing unrest. "Um… thank you…?" He delicately turned around and speedwalked off as non-awkwardly as the universe would allow him. As he rushed, he struggled to process what happened. He was nearly squeezed to death by a sorrowful, small woman with arms like Axel's, and the whole thing was being watched by what he supposed was a book-club composed of single women aching for love. In short, it was already getting off to be an eventful day. If only it could be more productive. He didn't get very far before someone called out his name.
Or tried to.
"Hey, Compass! Uh, that's your name, isn't it?" Radar turned around to pick out his caller from the crowd, his eyes landing on a man wearing a beautiful parka even though it was summery outside.
" My name is 'Radar'." He called out as he walked towards the man.
"Sorry! I always get it confused."
"Everyone gets it confused." Radar said as politely as he could. "So, did you need anything?"
"Yes. Desperately! Come here!" He said, even though he grabbed Radar by the arm and started dragging him along. It wasn't the most civil thing to do, but it was certainly an upgrade from getting squeezed to death. The man took him to the part of the city where people were setting up their colorful booths to sell handmade goods from snacks to weapons. Radar made a mental-note to grab himself something from the cookies booth as he was pulled in front of two booths. "Now, tell me what's wrong." The man said, folding his arms and waiting for Radar to figure out the strikingly obvious dilemma. Radar hummed to himself as he squinted at the booths. One of them had a red and orange theme, and a few workers lifting boxes onto shelves to unload them. The other was blue and white, and he saw a few women hanging up wool shirts and blankets. Behind them, two men hauled in a pink bed. "Do you see it?"
"Um… not exactly?"
In the red and orange booth, one of the men with boxes pulled out a few fireworks before his co-worker walked back over to him to inspect and comment on them, both of them grinning dangerously. Radar looked back at the blue and white booth, still not seeing anything wrong.
"Do you see it now?" He asked with growing impatience.
"No." Radar said again. He looked back at the red and orange booth, where a happy man now donned a flint-and-steel to pair up with a large stick. He struck the flint and steel together, successfully lighting the stick that he waved around proudly, too close to one of the nearby wool-women who screamed and snatched away her goods from the reckless man. "Oh, wait, now I see it."
"Exactly! Year after year, even before Beacontown was founded and Jesse defeated the Witherstorm, the booth for my Wool Maker's Guild has always coincidentally been paired up next to these crazies!"
Radar lifted a brow confusedly. "I was talking about that creepy mannequin. It's really freaking me out."
"What?"
"Nothing. Continue."
"As I was saying, I'm tired of having to put up with these reckless hooligans every year! Even in the wake of the Spaghetti-Bomb Accident, they keep pairing me up with them!"
"So, you want to be put in a different booth?"
"No, this is the most frequented area in the city, perfect for selling wool! I want them put in a different booth!"
"And I could say the same thing about you!" The leader of the fireworks booth barked aggressively. He walked from behind his booth, his bulky frame tipping over a few empty crates. He towered over Radar by a head and the menacing glare he wore added to his bearish stance. "You think it's fun being held back by you whiney-baby sheep-lovers? The Spaghetti-Bomb Accident, though we prefer the term "Night of the Living Boomtown", was our one chance to show the world how amazing our fireworks are, and I'll say we really blew it." He glared at Radar. "Who're you?"
"Um, my name is Radar." He rambled nervously, forcing himself to stand right where he was and look him in the eye. He'd been brought up to give handshakes to every person he met, but something obvious about his smaller hands compared to this man's beefier ones made him stand stock-still with a rigid fake-grin. "But, it's, um… nice to meet both of you sirs."
"Sir?" The bear roared. Before Radar could flinch, the person snatched him by the front of the shirt so that they were nose to nose. The way his blue tie was snagged made it difficult to breathe or do the thing he'd never wanted to do more in his life: Scream. "I'm a woman." She said. If Radar's eyes had popped before, they were exploding now. Even if his shirt and tie weren't choking him out, he wouldn't have been able to utter a word, only staring back at her with pure disturbance. "Wanna correct yourself, son?"
He barely managed to choke out the words, "Nice to meet you, ma'am," before she shoved him back.
"And, by the way, none of those 'ma'am's or other formalities. The name's Bessie." She said over Radar's loud panting and coughing.
"Um, are you okay? The name's John, by the way." John whispered to Radar. Radar nodded and forced himself to stand straight.
"I'm Radar." He said. Bessie quietly snarled, and John thought it was too awkward for a handshake. "If… anyone would like to tell me about the Spaghetti-Bomb Accident, then—"
"It's called "The Night of the Living Boomtown"!" Bessie angrily corrected. "It was an incredible—"
"—Horrible—"
"—Incredible show of the power of the two best things in the world: Fireworks and food. We called it Dine-a-mite, you know, 'cuz it was TNT with spaghetti. It was supposed to be the biggest, grandest mess this world had ever seen!"
"What do you mean 'supposed to'? It was! Listen, Radar, while everyone was gathered around to see the Spaghetti-Bomb Accident, one of the pegs on the rocket broke and it fired right into my booth!"
"Oh my gosh! Did anyone get hurt?" Radar exclaimed as if all this had occurred yesterday and not a legendary three years ago.
"Physically, or financially? If 'physically', yes. The whole booth collapsed on me and another seller of mine. I was hospitalized for a week! But, if you meant 'financially, oh yes. No one wants to buy a half-burnt blanket, much less a half-burnt blanket with fried spaghetti on it. I lost five-thousand dollars and who knows how many months of work that day!" He said hurtfully. He sent Bessie and her booth a poisonous look. "So now you see why Bessie and her Craziness Union need to go!"
" That's Fireworks Union to you." Bessie hissed.
"Okay, you guys definitely can not be together, that's for sure. So… who wants to move?" He reluctantly asked. Their glares hardened and a lump rose in Radar's throat. "Why don't we let fate choose? Uh," his hand fumbled around in his back pocket until he produced a quarter, holding it up for both of them to see. "Flip a coin?"
"Seems reasonable enough." John said while Bessie grunted. Radar nervously flicked the quarter and it flew right over their heads and landed into the nearby garden's fountain. He chuckled nervously at Bessie and John before rushing off. On the edge of the fountain sat a red, yellow and blue parrot, cawing idly and enjoying its day. Radar reached into the cool pond water and grabbed a random quarter.
"Stealing! Stealing!" The parrot cawed right into his ear.
"It's not stealing if it's mine." Radar said, forgetting or ignoring that he was talking to a bird.
"Stealing! Stealing!" The bird repeated. Radar ignored it and walked back to where John and Bessie stood. Instead of flipping it the professional way, he underhand-tossed it onto the floor and picked it up.
"Heads!" He announced.
"Well, that's nice to know, but none of us picked." Bessie said. "I pick tails."
"Heads, then." John said. Radar tossed the quarter again and picked it up. "After it falls you have to flip it onto the back of your hand, Radar." John said before Radar could say who won.
"No, in Boomtown we just pick it up." Bessie argued.
"This is Beacontown. So, heads or tails, Radar?"
"Did you flip it?" Bessie demanded.
"I didn't do anything!" Radar whined. He quickly read the bottom of the coin. "Heads." John gave a loud, haughty laugh.
"You should've taken my advice and flipped it, Bessie!"
Bessie looked surprised at first, but a knowing smirk spread across her face. "Well, John, as you said, we're in Beacontown." Bessie took the quarter from Radar and flipped it onto her hand. "Tails. You walk." She turned around and left, not waiting to hear a response from John.
"She took my quarter." Radar noticed.
"So, you're just letting her walk off? I have to move?!"
"I'm sorry, but I guess so." Radar answered, feeling guilt crawling up his shoulders. It may not have been his fault for having to make John move, but he was the one giving the sad verdict. He silently hoped business went well for John this year. John shrugged bittersweetly and walked back to his booth, probably to pack up and go, Radar supposed. He silently turned to walk off.
"You're going to help me find a different booth, right?" John asked. Radar stopped walking and reluctantly turned around, suddenly aware of the brown to-do book in his back pocket. He'd had two run-ins today that were neither planned nor productive, and he didn't think he had time for three. Taking care of booths was a responsibility, of course, but there were other priorities that needed to be handled. He wasn't a booth-sitter. But he couldn't just leave John booth-less, could he? Jesse wouldn't leave John booth-less.
"Um… sure I am!" Even though I'm running out of time, he thought to himself.
"Great! If you'll just wait for me to tear everything down, we can—"
"Actually, I was thinking we could leave everything here for now, and look for a new place. It'd save me time to get everything else done, and, if we don't find anywhere else, your stuff will still be up." He suggested. John shrugged and walked up to Radar, and they both began walking. In seconds, they found a clear plot between two fruit-booths and Radar felt like someone up there really loved him.
"This spot's perfect! A lot of people walk by here every day, and I'm sure on a busy day like FD, you'd get lots of traffic." Radar advertised. John gave the plot a skeptical look and then shook his head.
"It's too cozied-up between these two booths. Plus, it adds competition; it'll make selling my goods harder."
"But they're fruit booths, and you're selling wool. It's literally comparing apples and parkas."
"Nah. Let's try to find someplace else." He said, walking off. Radar gave the plot a mildly angered look before he followed John down the road. He considered the location of the sun in the sky as they walked, and noted that it was midday. He silently prayed John would settle for a booth soon, as Radar's to-do book was starting to simmer a hole in his pants. They walked until they came to a booth where some sellers seemed to be tearing off the décor.
"Hey, Hadrian, was it?" One of them asked as they passed.
"No, it's Radar," he corrected tersely.
"Right. Sorry. Well, I was just letting you know that me and the guys were tearing down. That shipment of exotic woods isn't coming in anytime soon. So, this is just another spot for anyone needing a booth. We'll even leave up the stand, if you need."
"Well, actually, John here needs a booth." He replied eagerly, hoping John knew just how significant this gift-wrapped booth really was. With the plans already set up, all John needed to do was decorate and set up his wool-products. The lone booth stood in a well-visited area in the town, meaning little competition and plenty of guests. But when he looked at John, that skeptical face had other things to say.
"The sun would be too bright over here. This place is just standing in the middle of town, with no trees at all, and my sellers and parkas would just get baked! Have you seen how pale even the darkest parkas get in direct sunlight? Not to mention, a sweaty customer isn't a happy customer. This place is nice, but it won't do."
Radar fought to stay positive, but his head and the corners of his mouth started to droop. "I wouldn't tear it down, but it's up to you." He said to the booth-owner before he turned to John. "Let's go."
Radar was beginning to wonder who was doing the booth-sitting here. With the way John shot down the last two locations (great locations, in Radar's opinion), Radar could say that John was perfectly capable of finding his own booth. So why was he being dragged along for the useless ride? As he rambled his frustrations in his head, they came upon another place. Radar closely inspected the area. The space was nestled between tall, healthy trees that shielded out the sunlight. There wasn't another booth around to steal competition, not even a fruit booth. But he didn't even bother pointing it out. John would have something to say about it. Wouldn't he? Radar glanced at John, but what he saw surprised him.
John gazed dreamily at the Utopia of a booth, a wide smile plastered across his face. "This place is amazing! It looks so… natural! I love the way the trees grew in, and not to mention, how they shade the area. And look!" He gestured around. "No booths!"
"I know, right?" Radar asked excitedly, relieved that John had found a place that he liked.
"Now, this is a really nice place to set up a booth… but it's pretty far away from everyone. No one would come here. Let's look somewhere else."
"John, I can't come with you this time." Radar stated impatiently. John turned around to face him, surprised at Radar's sudden change in attitude. "Look, I'm really not trying to be rude, but I have things that I need to do around the city for FD, and I really can't help you look for booths all day."
"But I need help finding the perfect booth! You know where I'm supposed to go and you give the best critique! I mean, what have you been doing all this time?"
"Actually, following you and listening to your critique, which is why I think you don't need me! If anyone knows how to find a good booth, it's definitely you. You'll do just fine."
John glanced at his side and thought for a few seconds. A smirk gradually crawled across his face and grew into a full smile. "Hey, you're right! I don't know why I didn't see it before."
"Nor do I." Radar said as politely as he could. "Well, I've gotta go. Good luck finding that booth."
"Thanks, Radar! I'll see you later today."
"Hopefully not." Radar mumbled under his breath as he continued walking. He pulled out his book and licked his thumb to turn some pages. He tried to be grateful that he hadn't spent so much time helping out John or Bessie, but his list wasn't comforting at all, nor was the time-limit. He picked something easy off his to-do list and went on to do that.
Picking a pig to play as Reuben. How hard could it be?
Thanks for reading this, guys! And thanks for reviewing, too. They make putting stuff out for you guys even more fun! I hope you enjoyed Radar's adventures today, and I can't wait to tell you about the rest! Stay tuned for the Slime Incident! It's going to be at the end of the story as a grand finale. You'll love it!
Also, I'm kind of contemplating changing the title of this story. How does "Shake Those Hustlesticks, Radar!" sound to you? Well, I'll see you next time. Goodbye, Continents. Close it, Crisper.
Crisper: (closes it)
