You all know the story. Girl has monkey for a muse, girl hates monkey, girl's monkey runs away, girl is distraught until monkey returns, girl promptly goes back to hating monkey. It's a vicious cycle. Bongo came back, finally, and I wrote this. I'm sorry. I had to. It hit me at work and I was writing notes in purple pen on my wrist... they came out something like "eg postal delusional drunk Cubs Stardust" and when you look at it like that, it's just scary. Mucho thanks to Elflore, who beta'd (gasp! Someone actually beta'd a Cordefic!) and gave me the ending. You the man, Elflore. And a teeny shout out to ChianaWade. She knows which bits she gave me. Natalie, thank you for taking such good care of my monkey, and taking time to punch air holes in his box. And I ask you, WHAT fashion sense? I think the big sticks are Becca's... although they could also be Sarah's or Cristin's. I just don't remember anymore. Author's Note: Chapter 3 is for anyone who ever wrote a songfic. This is my idea of a songfic. I'm so glad y'all don't write like me. Lyrics are Hogie Carmichael's, I think. Don't sue me.
The Monkey's Name Is BONGO, Not Scapermonkey, Not Monjo Jojo, Not Hey-You-Get-Offa-My-Cloud, As Amusing As Those Names May Be, And I Missed Him Very Very Much. And Don't Worry, He'll Be Drunk Again Soon, I Promise
Chapter 1: The Monkey Returns
Bongo drunkenly stumbled into Corde's room, wearing a Chicago Cubs hat and holding a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Corde was curled into a ball, rocking back and forth muttering, "Monkey, I want my monkey, where's my monkey, who's got my monkey, I want the damn monkey…" in a despondent monotone. There were tear streaks down her face and she was wearing a white sweater with very long sleeves.
"Loooshy, you got shome 'shplainin' to do…" Bongo yelled cheerfully just before he flung himself into Corde's computer chair and passed out.
Chapter 2: Hunting and Gathering
Several days
later, when Bongo had finally slept it off, he woke up to find Corde still
rocking and muttering. He blinked, looked at her again, and left her there. He
needed something to eat. A diet of screwdrivers and Jack was fun, but any
nutritionist would tell him that it didn't exactly meet Food Pyramid
requirements. Silly nutritionists.
Bongo made
his unsteady way down the stairs into the kitchen. (It wasn't that he was still
drunk; for once in his short life, he was completely sober. It's just that
normal-sized people staircases aren't made to be navigable by short little
monkey legs.) At the risk of being accused of monkeying around, he finally slid
down the banister. That's what banisters are for, isn't it?
Being sober
for the first time in his life, Bongo was slightly baffled by the veritable
Sears Hardware of gizmos in the kitchen. He had never actually prepared food
for himself, so he was at a loss. He looked in the refrigerator, stared at the
empty breadbox, glanced at the freezer and decided to call for pizza. Maybe the
scent of breadsticks would awaken Corde from her monkey-deprived stupor. If
that didn't work, Bongo could always steal her wallet and move to Bali.
Whichever.
The starved
simian called for pizza, after snurching a twenty out of Corde's wallet, and
settled down on the couch to wait. He grabbed the TV remote and flipped
channels idly for a time, not at all interested in Tom Green's cancer or E!
True Hollywood Story. A repeat of Will and Grace caught his eye for a moment,
but it was the one with Molly Shannon. He'd seen it.
Bongo
noticed a tape in the VCR and pressed the PLAY button on the remote. A recent
episode of Farscape flickered on the screen, just as John and Aeryn were
running around Moya trying to catch the strange puppy-thing. Bongo sat straight
up in his chair and stared raptly at the screen. He chuckled. Gotta love the
teamwork with those two. He began to grin evilly.
Upstairs,
some deep, inner part of Corde stopped whimpering to give a primal scream. The
rest of her sunk deeper into the museless pit to which it had banished itself.
Corde kept rocking and moaning.
Chapter 3:
Gooooooooood Morning!
Bongo finished the pizza as he finished watching the show. He put one last breadstick in a plastic baggie to taunt Corde's brother, who hated when people left only one breadstick. The diabolical monkey went back into the kitchen and filled a glass with ice and cold water. He then made the arduous trek back upstairs to Corde's room. All the ice had melted by the time he got up there, but he didn't want to waste time going back for more. Tepid water would work just as well. He went to Corde's stereo system and inserted a special CD. He donned earmuffs and cranked the volume. 75 decibels should do it.
"And
now the purple dusk of twilight time…" the stereo crooned loudly. (Is it
actually possible to croon loudly?) Bongo calmly poured most of the water on
Corde's head. "High up in the sky the little stars climb, Always
reminding me that we're apart…" the
voice boomed. Corde snapped out of her psychotic episode instantly. Bongo
grinned.
"Wet
Willie!" he shouted over the most annoying sound in the world, Willie Nelson
singing "Stardust." Corde screamed and wished she could return to that museless
pit that had held her captive.
"SOMETIMES I WANDER WHILE I SPEND THE
LONELY NIGHTS… DREAMING OF A SONG…" Willie's voice boomed. Three streets away,
a neighbor called 911 and reported a man being tortured to death. Bongo joined
in on the song's last verse as Corde's ears began to bleed. "Though I dream in
vain, in my heart it always will remain… my stardust
melody, the memory of love's refrain."
The stereo
clicked off. Corde whimpered, "…blessed silence…" and promptly passed out.
Chapter 4:
Intelligent Conversation
Bongo picked up a Very Large Stick (TM Becca) that just happened to be lying around (gee THANKS, Becca) and whacked Corde upside the head with it. "We'll have none of that," the monkey told her.
Corde
groaned and held her head. "Couldn't you just shoot me? What did I do to
deserve Willie Nelson?"
"You LEFT
ME in St. Louis, for starters," Bongo reminded her, brandishing the stick.
Corde winced.
"Oh yeah,
that," she said sheepishly. Then she did a double take. "Hey wait… NO I didn't!
You ran away from me, remember? You WANTED to stay behind! Anyway, how'd you
get back?"
"I have
friends in high places," Bongo said loftily. (High places, loftily. It's a pun.
Get it? GET IT?) "Lots. More than I ever imagined. I got hugged and lei'd by
more people in one weekend than you have in your entire life. I'm popular!"
"You're
also delusional," Corde said under her breath. Bongo ignored her.
"Oh, the
places I've been, the people I've met! I saw David Kemper and Richard Manning
on a webcast, not to mention Virginia Hey. Beat THAT!" Bongo buffed his little
monkey fingernails on his chest fur.
"I saw
Kent, Wayne, Lani, Brian, Claudia, Ben, Anthony and Gigi," Corde responded.
"Any more and I would have keeled over from too much excitement. And quit doing
that. Monkeys don't have fingernails."
Bongo
looked at his furry little paws. "Hm. Whaddya know, you're right. Monkeys DON'T
have fingernails."
Chapter 5:
The Curse of Popularity
Bongo went
over to Corde's poor, abused computer that had been sitting unused for nearly a
week. Six days, to be exact. The same amount of time that Bongo had been gone.
Funny coincidence, that. The computer coughed and sputtered as Bongo turned it
on, so he added a little motor oil. (KIDDING! Everyone knows that you don't oil
computers. You use antifreeze.) The computer smirked and refused to boot up.
Bongo frowned and kicked the computer. It shuddered, growled, and turned on.
"Percussive maintenance," Bongo smirked. "Works every time."
Bongo signed on to Corde's Yahoo account and went through her mail. "Delete, delete… hey Corde, Do You Want To Earn $5000 A Day From Home? I didn't think so. Read later, delete, read later, pretend to read and fake an answer, delete… ooh, I'll send this one to MY account… there! All you have to do is read Shipper mail and you're caught up for the week. You can do that later. Now come here and open a Word document. I have a FIC for you!"
Corde, who had fallen asleep during Bongo's click'n'delete spree, came blearily to attention. "Do what? Fic? YOU? You're giving me FIC? Who are you and what have you done with my monkey?!"
Bongo rolled his eyes. "I am your muse, am I not? Muses help with fic, don't they? QED, I'm supposed to give you fic. Now c'mere and write it."
"You haven't given me fic since… since… golly, I can't remember the last time you gave me fic! You don't help me write. You sit around and drink like a drunkymonkey. You're a terrible muse and I LIKE it that way. Why are you doing this to me?" Corde pulled the covers back over her head and pretended to fall into a coma.
"You will write what this monkey tells you to write, and you will LIKE it," came Aeryn's voice. Corde peeked out from under the covers to see the barrel of a pulse rifle pointed at her head. Bongo was smirking.
"Friends in high places, Corderino. Get up and get writing."
Corde groaned and got out of bed. "Shoot me now," she groaned. "I missed you, monkey, but not this much." Aeryn gave Corde a menacing glare and Corde turned to her computer screen. "Okay, Bongo, what's the scoop? What's this wonderful story you want me to write? Please tell me, I'm just dying to know."
"Once more without the sarcasm, please," Bongo called. Corde looked up to see him hanging upside-down from the ceiling, reading the latest TV Zone. "This one has an interview with Claudia Black!" he told her. "If you want to read it, I suggest you start writing."
"Writing WHAT?" Corde shouted. Aeryn scowled and brandished the pulse rifle. Corde rolled her eyes. "And where'd you pick up ChickWithGun over there?"
"Garage sale," Bongo said idly, leafing through the magazine. "Impressive, isn't she?"
Corde snorted derisively. "She doesn't even look like the real Aeryn." Aeryn scowled some more and smoothed her black leather vest.
"Sure she does," Bongo said, examining her. "How'd you know it wasn't her?"
"For one thing, the real Aeryn has never pulled a gun on me," Corde told him. "She'd rather smack me upside the head."
"Good point," Bongo conceded. "She was a member of the Claud Squad. Must be why she was so cheap." Aeryn sniffed haughtily and tightened her grip on her pulse rifle.
The real Aeryn showed up just at that moment. She unceremoniously smacked Corde upside the head. "What are you doing?"
Corde held her head. "Quit HITTING me!" she yelled. "I wasn't doing ANYTHING!"
Aeryn crossed her arms smugly. "Exactly. You weren't doing anything. What are you SUPPOSED to be doing?"
Corde thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Cleaning my room?"
Aeryn looked around and raised an eyebrow. "Now that you mention it, your room is pretty messy… but that's not what I was talking about. The monkey told you to WRITE. Why aren't you writing?"
Corde put her face in her hands. "Because he hasn't told me what to write," she enunciated carefully.
Aeryn glared at the monkey. "Is that true?"
Bongo hid behind the TV Zone magazine. "Uh… yes?"
Aeryn smacked Bongo upside the head.
THE END