L.O.G sure did have a sick sense of humor, didn't he?
T.T. was never sure what the whole "Lord of Games" thing was all about, nor whether it actually affected his life at all, but if L.O.G had something to with him crashing his bike during a race in the Jiggoseum, than his screen was about to be smashed in.
If T.T. could get to him that is; jeez , what did he do to himself?
His mind did a mental review of the events that had taken place. Fit, Blubber, and Jolly showed up at his place on the lake with a proposition: sneak into the Jiggoseum and have a late night race with hurdles involved. It was nothing that T.T. couldn't handle at all during the day, but the added excitement of being in the building after hours coupled with the danger of a poorly lit track with obstacles lining it was too good to pass up. He was always up for a challenge and the more perilous, the better. The higher stakes, the adrenaline, the threat of being caught tresspassing; he was giddy just thinking about it.
At least until his leg started acting up again.
He remembered being in the lead—which was usually the case mind you—when the front end of his bike clipped the top of one of the hurdles. The bike did a pretty sweet front flip that unfortunately launched him with it. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd been thrown from a vehicle-not that it happened all the time or anything-but he survived worse before. He would have gotten back up to finish-and win-the race properly had his headlight not been damaged. He hated to admit it, but if he couldn't see where he was going, then he couldn't race, all because of a fluke and no fault of his own! He hung around until the others were finished so he could at least explain how the race didn't count. They laughed him off but not before asking if he was alright anyway. That fall sure was nasty...
That was the funny thing about adrenaline: it was very good at masking pain. In fact, he didn't start feeling any pain until he was on his way home. T.T. always found it weird how Mumbo only manufactured levers to control vehicles instead of pedals, but he found himself suddenly thankful for it when moving his leg became problematic. He didn't think much of it at the time, being thrown from a vehicle tends to hurt, and he figured that just sleeping it off would do the trick.
And here he was at three in the morning, still awake and trying not to move a muscle.
He had managed to kick a pillow under his bad leg with some effort. That's what you're supposed to do for that right? He wasn't a doctor. He didn't have the patience for that. He would have laughed at his own stupid pun if he wasn't so exhausted. Every time sleep threatened to draw his eyelids closed, he'd end up moving his leg on accident and the pain would get even worse. It was becoming more and more apparent that sleeping it off just wasn't going to happen.
"Seems like you hurt yourself pretty good there, pussy cat!"
The cheetah's head turned to the windowsill high above the couch he totally didn't collapse on. Framed in the moonlight, pretty as a picture, perched a familiar pink and purple form. The witch's cat. Now he'd have a headache to go along with his leg pain.
"What do you want furball? I don't have time for you right now," Thomas growled half heartedly, trying to shield his eyes with an arm.
"Well, now that you mention it," she leapt neatly from her spot above him, landing perfectly on the arm of the couch where his head was resting. "I want my rematch."
"Rematch?"
"Mmm hmm," she purred, rubbing her body down his side and being delighted at the little shiver she felt him give off, "you sent the bear last time, and he's no fun to play with at all."
"Hey, my vehicle was broken alright? I'll give you a rematch now that it's fixed," he spat, folding his arms with a huff.
"I look forward to it but," she paused, getting dangerously close to his thigh, "who's gonna fix you?"
"Th-there's nothing to fix," he stammered, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his forehead as she padded down to just below his right knee.
"Oh, really?" Piddles gently brushed the area with her tail, "Have you taken a look lately?"
To be honest, he hadn't. It'd been dark out the whole time and he figured that he'd just had a big bruise there and nothing else, maybe a bad sprain if he was unlucky. But he never really checked for sure. He pushed himself into a seated position, being very careful not to disturb his leg too much. He turned to pull the lamp cord on the end table behind him and recoiled in disgust and horror at the sight.
His right leg was shorter than the other one. There was no other way to describe it. Well, disgusting, disturbing, terrifying, nauseating, and shocking were other ways that quickly sprang to mind. Not only was his bad leg deformed in that way, but it was grotesquely swollen and probably discolored underneath his fur. He didn't have the guts to find out.
"Ah, so there's the break!" The cat returned, "Looks pretty painful."
She was gonna touch it wasn't she? She was just waiting for the right moment and he was not looking forward to it.
"So, what do you plan to do about it? Not like you can go anywhere like that," she settled on his chest, cleaning her face with a wet paw.
"I'll figure something out," he said dismissively.
"Will you now? Because I could help you out..." Now she was rubbing herself underneath his neck and chin. She was touching him again. She needed to stop touching him.
"For a price..."
Piddles yelped as she was rudely shoved off of her perch.
"Beat it will ya?! I don't need anything from the likes of you!"
"Fine!" She made sure to jump as harshly as possible on his bad leg, causing him to cry out, "be that way!" She made another spring for the windowsill and dropped out of site.
He had the good sense to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming. He let out a huge breath when the pain subsided. This was not good. This was awful. The worst possible thing that could have happened, happened.
The stupid witch's cat was right.
He groaned at the thought. There was no easy way of getting out of this one was there?
The Great Trophy Thomas would have to ask for help, and in that moment, had would have rather had two broken legs.
When his mental lamenting had subsided, another issue arose.
How exactly was he gonna get help at this time of night? He could wait until the morning, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could sit still without going crazy, especially with sleep being out of the question.
It was then he realized that his bike was still right outside his door. He hadn't put it away properly. If he could just get himself situated without making his leg worse, he could drive himself...somewhere.
But where?
After psyching himself up, he swung both of his legs over the side of the couch and stood, taking a minute to catch his breath. He was already regretting his choice, but it was too late now. The cheetah tried to favor his bad leg as best he could as he made his way toward his front door.
Once outside, he leaned in his doorframe with about a dozen questions buzzing through his mind. Who was he gonna ask? Bottles might have some sympathy for him and he could probably threaten him into keeping quiet about the whole thing if it came down to it. Then there was Humba who was a little further away, but she probably wouldn't be as easily swayed. That and she was rather mouthy; his situation would be all over town before morning if he went to her. Finally there was Mumbo who was a former witch doctor and could probably have him fixed up pretty quickly. T.T. Was one of his best customers, so he could probably work out a deal with him to keep this affront to his dignity a secret.
Now he just had to get there.
He hobbled over to his stupid bike that was the root of all of his problems, trying to make as little noise as possible. With great pains, he managed to haul himself into the driver's seat and was glad to hear his bike stutter to life. The light was still broken, but with the full moon, he could find his way no problem. That stuttering should have been his first indicator that something was wrong as his bike ceased rumbling.
He was out of gas.
"Oh, c'mon!" He smacked his forehead into the frame as if that would suddenly bring the bike back to life. No good. It was as good as his leg was right now.
He whined a bit as he knew what would come next. He'd have to get back off of the bike, and then he'd have to walk.
Eventually (and with much griping), he made it over to what would undoubtedly be his biggest obstacle of the night: the slope.
Had to have the scenic backdrop didn't he? Had to build on the lake didn't he? He was too good to be down with the plebs in the town square afterall, and now he was paying for it. He figured that if he was careful, he could maybe inch his way down and not slip. If he just stepped here, put his weight on his other leg and-shit!
If his leg wasn't broken before, than it definitely was now. He screamed as he finally rolled to a stop. How shameful. At this point he just wanted to lay there and pretend he was unconscious until someone found him. Then he'd have more time to think of an excuse as to why the great Trophy Thomas was lying face down in a pile of dirt and cobblestone. But waiting for someone to find him was not ideal because his leg was killing him right now and he needed to do something about it immediately before he chewed it off like some wild animal.
He felt something warm and wet pooling underneath his face. The cheetah pushed himself up, trying to blink away the blurriness in his eyes with no real luck. He could make out something red and wiped his arm across his nose and mouth to find his fur smeared with blood. Probably from when he smashed his face several times over while falling. Fantastic. However that didn't explain why he still couldn't see clearly.
He found his answer when what remained of one of his lenses fell out of its frame. His friggin' glasses were broken now too?!
"Y' alright over there?"
That voice. A distinctly southern drawl that was as unforgettable as its owner.
Oh no, not him.
"Hello?"
Anyone but him.
"T.T, is that you?"
Okay, maybe anyone else would be a bad idea. He might have gotten bird brain instead which would have been a thousand times worse. Where was she anyway? He'd never seen the two apart before. Regardless, he was about to find out as the bear came over to him.
"Aw geez T.T, what happened to ya? You're all banged up!"
The cheetah felt more blood running down his face. He wiped at it again and tried to get up only to find that his body was no longer willing to cooperate with him.
"Here, lemme help ya up." The bear extended an arm to him only to have it swatted away.
"I don't need your help furball!" He spat.
"An' I didn't ask if you wanted it!"
T.T. Was taken aback. Well, that was a firmness he hadn't seen in Banjo before. He wasn't even mad after T.T. Had reversed the steering of his vehicle in the Jiggoseum that one time!
Did...did he even realize it was tampered with? Not that it mattered because the stupid bear still won when he wasn't supposed to, and he must have had some backbone in order to deal with bird brain all the time and-
"What are you do- HEY!"
"Shhh!"
Banjo had scooped him up bridal style while he was too busy thinking. How dare he?! He might have accepted his help if he had slung his arm over his shoulder like they do in movies.
"Y'know, you yell an awful lot for someone that probably doesn't wanna be found out."
Now his face was red in more ways that one. And the stupid bear was right!
T.T. Folded his arms and huffed as the two made their way across the square. The silence was growing uncomfortable, but T.T. Wasn't ready to thank him yet. He wouldn't do that ever. Not ever.
"So what are you doing out here so late at night?"
The bear let out a massive yawn in response, "Poker Night at Bottles' house. Kazooie isn't invited to those anymore."
T.T. Snickered to himself. The thought of the poor mole finally banishing the Breegull was a funny one.
"And yourself?"
T.T. Stiffened before mumbling a "none of your business" at the bear. The less he knew about the whole embarrassing ordeal, the better.
"What is it with you anyway?"
"Hm?"
"Y'know the hero stuff. What's in it for you?"
Banjo was quiet for a moment, and T.T. Assumed he was thinking which surprised him.
"Usually Jiggies," he answered, "but I like to help. That's my role, and yours is-" he trailed off.
"Being the jerk rival," T.T. Muttered to himself.
"I was gonna say 'insufferable,' but seems like you're suffering pretty good right now."
T.T. Growled slightly, but the bear didn't seem to notice.
"I'm not gonna say anything."
"You better not."
"You have my word."
"Oh, such a gentleman!"
Banjo managed to cradle T.T. In one arm while using the other to knock on Mumbo's door. The shaman answered clad in striped pajamas and a matching nightcap. His jaw nearly fell off at the sight. He didn't think the bear had a mean bone in his body, but seeing how the cheetah looked made him reconsider everything he knew about the bear.
"Think you can patch him up for me?"
"So long as Mumbo not next." The shaman shuffled T.T. Inside and closed the door quickly.
"I didn't-hey!"
Hoo boy. With any luck he wouldn't have a wanted poster out for his arrest tomorrow. He never thought he might need Kazooie to help smooth things over.
Or to give him an alibi.
With a sigh, the bear turned and headed back for home.