Ch 4 - I hear DEAD people!
"GRAAAHH! THAT DAMN, AGGRIVATING, BRATTY, SNOTNOSED, FLAWED, PINT-SIZED, DOE-EYED, PIXIE-FACED, MANIPULATIVE, CAPRICIOUS, PIECE OF DAMAGED CODE!" Turbo continued punching the wall for every contradicting insult he spit out. He was furious! He was irate! He was...well let's just say he'd put a raging bull to shame. And at the moment this angry bull was steaming mad because he had just found out how a certain little bull fighter had been escaping from him all these years.
"A SECRET ENTRANCE! A DAMN FLAW IN THE SIDE OF THE CODE DAMNED MOUNTAIN! HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED SOMETHING SO OBVIOUS!?" he once again punched the peanut brittle wall of the mountain, leaving a crack. Wow, this stuff WAS brittle! He groaned at the pain in his fist from impact, before finally sitting down on the sponge cake bed he had been resting on previously. 'No point in hurting myself over something that can't be fixed!' he thought to himself bitterly. "If I should be hurting anyone, it's that GLITCH!" This he said out loud, half hoping that Vanellope was somewhere near to overhear his threats. But, sadly, the little pixie had run off, rambling something about quarreling racers, BIG DUTIES, and Sour Bill getting a bonus in his salary. The pale racer huffed in disbelief. Since when does that cough drop get paid?
Turbo shifted his golden eyes downward to the confection he was currently sitting on, only to crinkle his nose in disgust. There were no blankets to keep cozy, though he supposed the heat radiating off the hot cola made up for that. There were only a couple of used candy wrappers, too small for even Vanellope. The pillow was just a pillow mint, which, despite the name, wasn't very comfortable at all. How could the glitch stand living in such a dump? 'Well, ya didn't give 'er much of a choice, did ya, shorty!' Turbo's eyes shot open at this sudden thought. Since when did he start feeling bad for the glitch? And more importantly, SINCE WHEN DID HIS THOUGHTS START INSULTING HIM?
'Since you went off the deep end and tried to off yet ANOTHER game! Yeah, smooth move on dat one!' a voice replied. Now the racer was getting confused. Not to mention aggravated. Why didn't his thoughts sound like HIM anymore? 'Probably because we're NOT you, short-stack!' said a voice similar to the previous, but a bit higher in pitch. 'Yeah!' said the deeper voice, 'and good thing too! If we were you, we'd be ugly!' the two voices laughed in unison at Turbo's expense. The racer growled in contempt. Forget confused! Forget aggravated! Those two things were simply flung out the window by Turbo's ever growing rage.
"ALRIGHT THAT ITH IT! SHOW YOURTHELVTHS, THO I CAN STHRANGLE YOU!" He shrieked in white hot fury. There was utter silence for a few moments before sudden hysterical laughter erupted from out of nowhere, mocking him. 'BWAHAHAHAHA! OH, MOD! HIS LISP IS EVEN WORSE THAN USUAL!' giggled the higher pitched voice. 'I KNOW! Heh! But, come on, little bro, we really can't take ya seriously when you yell! Maybe try calming down a bit, yeah?'
"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" Turbo yelled, thus silencing the voice. "Did you justht call me bro?!" He inquired, purposely ignoring the 'little' part, as it would only cause his anger to rise. Now that he thought about it these voices sounded quite familiar. The Jersey accents were a big giveaway. 'DING! DING! DING! WE HAVE A WINNER!' the deeper voice shouted enthusiastically. Or was it mockingly. 'Honestly, can't you recognize your own brothers?' The other voice took this chance to chime in, 'Well, technically, Jet, he can't really see us!' it said. For a moment there was silence before the first voice sheepishly chirped 'Oh yeah! Sorry, forgot!' For some reason Turbo got the feeling the other voice was rolling his eyes. Maybe it was because he was doing this as well. WAIT!
"JET? SET? WHATH GOING ON? YOU TWO ARE STHUPPOTHED TO BE DEAD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THITH GAME? And more importantly...WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HEAD?!" he demanded knocking his fists against his helmet in an effort to force the two pests out. Or at least make them shut up. The last thing he needed was to be hearing voices. Especially that of the dead! The thought of being haunted by the Turbo Time Twins was as appealing as jumping into hot cola.
'Jeez, Turbs, don't go into cardiac arrest! We've technically been here since our game got unplugged, y'know!' Jet explained. 'Yeah!' Set chimed in agreement, 'We've just been kickin' back, watchin' the show! And we gotta say, bro, we're a bit disappointed in ya!' Turbo was having a hard time soaking up the information being thrown at him, but it didn't mean he was too distracted to notice the scolding tone in Set's voice. Great, just perfect, here comes another riveting criticism. How nostalgic! "What are you going on about?" he demanded.
'Hmm, let's see! Well, FIRST you took over da lil' cutie's game and tried to delete her. THEN you turned her into an outcast and spent seventeen years ruining every chance of her ever racin' again. Now dat's just cruel!' Turbo rolled his eyes, but allowed the disembodied voice to continue. 'And THEN, to top it all off, in a mad attempt to salvage every 'ting you worked so hard to steal,' the sarcasm lacing Set's voice did not go unnoticed, 'YA TRY TA SMASH HER HEAD INTO A STALAGMITE!' he yelled as if in complete disbelief of Turbo's stupidity.
"ALRIGHT THATH'S ENOUPH!" Turbo yelled, his spittle moistening the air. "Where exactly are you going with this?" He demanded furiously. If they thought they could guilt him into being nice to the pixie, then boy were they in for a rude wake up call. Foghorn rude, to be precise.
'If ya really plan on doin' dat, we should remind ya dat dat would entail YOU putting a foghorn to ya OWN head! Which, I gotta say, would not be a smart move on your part!' Set stated flippantly, followed by a non-too ashamed comment from Jet that 'It would be darned funny though!' Set chuckled in agreement.
"GET TO THE POINT!" Turbo groused impatiently, pale hands threatening to rip Vanellope's wrapper blankets to shreds. The two brothers were tap dancing on his last nerve.
'Look, all we're sayin' is maybe you should at least make an effort ta get along wit' da girl. It couldn't hurt, and you at least owe 'er dat much.' Set reasoned. This time Jet did not agree. But this did not mean he kept silent, though Turbo wished he would. It was a rare occasion that Jet would actually say something intelligent. 'Dat's not da point at all, Set!' the younger twin drawled. 'It aint?' Set inquired. 'No! Da point is dat Tur-brain should stop actin' like a little brat wit a crush, and actually kiss dis chick, instead of pullin' on 'er ponytail unproductively!' Jet stated with a bluntness that would put Vanellope to shame. For a moment there was silence, then finally, "Oh yeah! I guess dat's a good point too!" Set agreed.
Little known to the distracted twins, as soon as Jet started spouting his theory of romance, Turbo, in a fit of rage, lost all sense of good judgment and decided the best way to get rid of the disembodied voices, was to smash his helmet protected head into a peanut brittle wall. Now, this didn't make the racer, by any means, smart. It just meant that Jet's shamelessly idiotic comment had thrown him off the deep end. Literally! Backing up a few more inches he decided he was far away enough to build speed and thus stated, in a tone more befitting of a madman such as himself, "I'D PUT ON YOUR STHEAT BELTHS IF YA DON'T WANNA BE A CRASH DUMMY!" With that said, he charged.
'WOAH! WOAH! TURBO WHAT ARE YA DOIN'?!' the two voices shrieked in unison. "GETTING RID OF YOU ONCE AND FOR ALL! TURBO TATHTIC! The pale racer shrieked, and much like a raging bull, rammed himself helmet first into the mountains confectionery wall. His vision flashed with white binary upon impact and suddenly a whole new world of pain opened up to him.
"AAAAARGH! SHIT! THAT HURT!" His screams did nothing but make the dull ache worse as they echoed off the cave walls and came back at him full force. Rolling on the ground, holding his head between his clenched hands, he waited for any kind of confirmation that his plan had worked. So far it seemed like it, for there were no voices berating him for his incompetence.
"WHAT THE FUDGE IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
Or not!
"Why can't I leave you alone without you plowing your fat head through the nearest object?"
Of course! If there was any moment for the pixie to show up, it had to be when he was inflicting pain upon himself. Nothing cried humiliation like self-torture with an audience.
Vanellope stared at Turbo in exasperation. 'Really, I leave for like a minute and I come back to this? This is so far beyond stupid, it's on the other side of crazy!' she complained internally. Turbo stopped clenching his helmet and tilted his head back, giving him an upside-down view of a very irritated Vanellope Von Schweetz. She stood in a way that spoke immense attitude, with her hip jutting out and her arms crossed. Her strawberry pink lips were pouted and her hazel eyes bore into his yellow ones harshly. She was the spitting image of a disapproving house wife. All she needed was a pink apron and a wooden spoon to smack her husband with. If Turbo said that he didn't find it the least bit adorable, he'd be lying. He shook his head, attempting, but failing miserably, to get rid of such thoughts and focus on the fact that Vanellope was addressing him with another question.
"I'm thorry, did you thay thomething?" he inquired, lazily clasping his arms behind his head, making it appear that he was lounging instead of just sitting in a painful heap on the ground. If he was going to get caught dazing off then he might as well make it look like he was ignoring her on purpose.
"I 'thaid' what are you doing?" Vanellope demanded, not at all liking his attitude. She was starting to think leaving him to drown face first in taffy would have been a better idea. It was certainly the more appealing option at the moment.
"Trying to end my misery! What's it look like to you?" he flippantly replied. Crap! This wasn't good. How was he going to get anywhere if he couldn't even pretend to be civil with the brat? 'Then again!' he thought to himself, watching as her face screwed in irritation, 'She wouldn't fall for that anyway. I mean, if I just suddenly go from jackass to Mr. Rodgers then there goes all believability! Oh, maybe I could play the loveable jerk!'
"Well, if that's what you're going for, then MAYBE you should try something a little harder than peanut brittle, Turbutt! I'd advise a nice hard candy, perhaps a jawbreaker!" Vanellope hissed, sarcastically approving his voluntary brain bashing. If he wanted to knock some sense into himself, she certainly wasn't going to stop him.
At this, Turbo grinned cheekily, all of his golden teeth glinting like a Cheshire cat. "And I'd advise wearing a longer skirt, Doll!" he quipped in a tone that suggested less than appropriate intentions. Of course, even from his position on the ground, he had no such view under the aforementioned garment, but it was entertaining letting her believe he'd had a look. His smirk only widened at the satisfying squeak the girl made, attempting to shield her stocking covered legs, along with whatever else she assumed he'd ogled.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF GUM DROPS IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Vanellope shrieked indignantly. He almost burst into his trademark giggle with each new shade of red that her face changed. He even saw a bit of salmon in the mix, how delightful! "Too many things to count and most of them unpronounceable!" he said nonchalantly, deciding offhand to add schizophrenia to the list, due to recent voices in his head. The racer pushed himself off of the ground and dusted himself off. "But enough about my mental state. What EXACTLY do you have in store for me Miss Von Schweetz?" he inquired taking on a sudden seriousness.
Vanellope stopped panicking instantly to give him a questioning look. "Waddaya mean?" she asked. Turbo scoffed, but answered her nonetheless, though it pained him to have to spell it out. After all, this was his fate they were talking about. "Well, you must at least have some idea of what you're going to do with me, Vanellope!" he turned away from her trying not to notice her reaction to the use of her name. This was a serious situation. "You're the monarch here, so you're in charge of making certain decisions. So, my question is do I have my life to worry about or can I assume you're the merciful type?" He asked grimly. He was almost afraid of what her answer might be. Sure most would assume there was nothing to fear from the small pixie, but if he was being honest with himself, she had always posed a threat to him. Even before she became friends with the meat headed wrecker. Even before he had taken over the game. Even without trying, this girl was dangerous to him and his plans. And he'd be damned if he ever underestimated her again. It had cost him one life too many.
"What kind of dumb-butt question is that?" Turbo inwardly flinched at her offended tone. Great, now he'd pissed her off. No way was he going to live long enough to exact his seduction plan. She was sure to hand him over to the wrecker "I ought-a throw your helmet in the cola for even ASSUMING I'd stoop to your level!" ...WHAT? Turbo turned around in surprise only to be met face to face with the glare of Vanellope Von Shweetz, both of their petite noses pressed together. "Look, PAL, I don't know what kind of show you think I'm running here, but I am no tyrant! I may threaten execution once in a while, and YEAH, I may get a good laugh out of it, but while I'm in charge NO ONE is getting deleted! Ya here me?" she emphasized this claim by poking him in the chest. Turbo stayed silent, letting her words sink in. Quite frankly he was stunned. After all he had put the glitch through, she was letting him live, just like that? There had to be some kind of catch.
"So, then what are you going to do with me, Pixie?" he demanded, lightly shoving her out of his proximity. And just like that, the girl's confidence was gone. She opened her mouth as if to speak, finger raised mid-air, only to let it drop, casting her eyes to the side guiltily.
"I...don't...exactly...know! I guess I didn't really think this through." Her sheepishness was not at all lost on the older racer.
"Now, hold on, let me see if I got this straight!" he said, eying her patronizingly. "You dragged me here, into the center of a mountain, that I suppose only you and the wrecker know about," he circled the young girl slowly, enjoying her sudden discomfort, "unattended, unguarded, and otherwise completely helpless," he paused, practically eating up the deliciousness of the situation, "and now you don't even know what to do about it?" Turbo stopped directly behind her, grinning like the cat that cornered the canary.
Vanellope suddenly whipped around to face the slightly taller avatar, her ponytail slapping him in the face. "Hey! It's not like I had much of a choice, ya know! You were face first in the taffy, glitching out of control. Heck, I could hardly touch you without you're stupid pixels trying to-" she stopped, eyes widening at the realization of what she'd almost admitted. But Turbo wasn't having it. "Trying to what, Vanellope?" he demanded, suspicious of her behavior. What did this glitch know that he didn't? She stared at him pensively for a moment, before simply stating, "Nothing!" She turned away, leaving the irritated racer growling behind her.
"I will get answers, Vanellope!" he threatened, glowing eyes burning into the back of her head. She didn't sneer. She didn't hiss. She didn't even blow a raspberry. She just turned with an unreadable expression and said, "You can't get answers from somebody who doesn't have them!" And with that she glitched through the nearest wall, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.
"..."
'Well, dat could 'ave gone better!'
"Shut up, Jet!"