(EDITOR: Sorry about the wait for this chapter, but I hope it's worth it. This chapter actually ended up kind of long. I almost considered chopping this into two separate chapters, but that'd be mean since the best places to divide were usually the most entertaining portions. I anticipate two more chapters following this extended one. Currently, I am about half way finished with Chapter 9, which is one of those more serious parts of the story, but I'll try and loosen it up a bit.
Thanks to everyone who left reviews for me. I'm reading all the new stories and I'm immensely enjoying them!)
Reality Bites
Chapter 8: Chameleon Hanes the Ducks Out to Dry
Nosedive slowly rotated in his chair to momentarily take a break from the computer screen. Earlier, he had found plenty of diversions outside when the roaring of the Aerowing intruded on the silence in the darkened apartment, and later on, the flashing lights, identifying the presence of Klegghorn, emanated from the parking lot of the Pond. Unfortunately, this lackluster night didn't introduce any excitement for Nosedive to personally partake in, but instead found himself perusing over the biography of his friends, personified in dozens of different methods by various writers. Fan fiction was the only thing keeping him from tearing off his fingernails by the silent boredom that was holding the apartment hostage. Ever since Phil drifted off to sleep, not a peep could be heard among the internal confines of the home. The fax machines and the copiers were dormant, unwilling to disturb the serenity and encourage their master's wrath. As the plot unraveled over the past couple of days, the hapless teenager found himself ripped from the safety of his home and family and forced to endure a strenuous trial of boredom as the only home he knew was hovering over the city, on the other side of the window. The duck sighed once again and returned to his screen.
Until now, Nosedive never stopped to consider looking at the stories that tried to explain his life. Something about it made him uncomfortable. Even though most of the musings he scanned over had very little credibility when predicting the past experiences of his friends, he began to have an odd fear that perhaps he was an easier character to read into. Nosedive was the average teenager, always looking for fun and excitement in a world that offered plenty of it, yet beyond the insouciant exterior, there always seemed to lay deeper emotional problems that tainted the soul. The teen had his skeletons, but he didn't know if the human writers could somehow interpret that from something so informal as a newspaper article or merchandise in a store. Nevertheless, he reached the end of the list of interesting stories, and his name was the only remaining one not highlighted. Giving a suspenseful sigh, he clicked on it and winced as the screen flickered in compliance...
"Well, this is...uh, uh, interesting."
"What is it?" Wildwing walked into the ready room with fresh-brewed coffee as he saw Tanya assuming her characteristic stance at the helm of the Drake One.
"Nosedive's contract...remember when it seemed that his clause was erased?"
"Do you mean it's back?" Wildwing saw the lines of text on the screen and grew hopeful that it was what the woman was getting to.
"Yeah! It's all here again...that's so weird. Another thing was unorthodox too..." Tanya began musing over the buttons of the computer to produce another image, this time of the fire rescue scene from the preceding day.
"Those teleportation signatures that I originally found are no longer listed as ever had occurring. It seems that the computer experienced...well, uh...errors." Her face slightly crinkled with distaste at the sound of that final word.
"Well, at least we can rescue Nosedive and clear the charges on me. This is great Tanya. When can we put this into action?"
"Well, uh, let's see. It's...4:20AM, and the office doesn't open until 9:00AM, so we still got a bit under five hours left."
"Great work Tanya. I'll go inform the others." The leader vanished from sight, leaving Tanya alone to her thoughts. She frowned at the Drake One, feeling a bit ashamed that her pride and joy had now shown its imperfections to her teammates, after months of flawless performances.
"Maybe it's because I don't talk to you or something, Drakey?" she ran her feathered digits over the smooth panels of steel and wiped small smudges of dirt of the more neglected keys. Tanya stopped when she realized that the game mode on the Drake One hadn't even been used in quite some time. The thought of Nosedive missing wasn't exactly a catastrophe for her knowing that he was hovering in the residential forest a few blocks away, but the deathly silence that took his place seemed to sap the vitality she secretly appreciated
Out in the living room, Grin was once again in his lethargic state of meditation while Duke was watching an odd television show.
"Hey guys, I got great news!" Wildwing's cheerful disposition was enough to garnish the attention Duke's glance and the raising of Grin's eyebrows. "The Drake One seems to have Nosedive's entire contract back so we can rescue him and finally have these charges dismissed!"
"That's great! Things are miserably quiet here without the kid."
"True. Our little friend contributes much to the life of this domicile."
"Uhhh...ok then. Where's Mallory?"
"I don't know. Did you try the gym?" suddenly, the sounds of insults rose from the television and the sounds of combat drew the ducks' attention to the show. They saw a corpulent man trying to attack another man dressed in drag as the gray-haired host shamelessly inveighed both of them over the roars of an audience.
"What's this?"
"Late night trash television. I think it's called Jerry Spitter or something like that."
"What's going on?" Wildwing stooped his head to one side in interest and silently viewed the action on the screen. More verbal threats were being tossed around and some muscle-bound security guard named Steve was being cheered on as he stood between the guests.
"Well, basically, the skinny guy is mad because his uncle's former roommate's boyfriend, which is also his cousin, is cross-dressing and trying to earn money to become a woman, but the thing is, the skinny man is having an affair with the doctor the big guy wants to perform the surgery."
"Humans..." Wildwing could only mutter the word as his concentration splintered its ties with the television and returned its gaze to Duke.
"Ok, what were we doing?"
"You were looking for Mallory. She's probably in the gym, but I don't know."
"Already heading there, thanks anyway." Wildwing sauntered down the lengthy corridor and soon, the methodical beating of a punching bag was audible. Entering in the gym, Mallory had a picture of a man taped up on the sack and was being smashed apart by her gloved fists.
"Who's that Mallory?"
"The person who's supposed to audit me later on. I saw his sickening smiley face and wanted to tear it to shreds."
"Yeesh...poor guy's going to have a bad day when he meets you, huh?"
"Like I didn't have a bad day when this whole mess started? I'm a clean duck; I don't evade my taxes. I'm in the military and they think after my years of service that I would cheat the government?"
"This is the human government, not the one on Puckworld."
"Well, it's not my fault they just can't respect military personnel."
"I don't understand them either, but we got to tolerate it. After all, we are on their planet."
"It's funny they do this just a few weeks after we sank Draguanus' battleship."
"We'll never be able to understand humans."
"Guess you're right." Mallory resigned and set her gloves on the bench, the crumpled paper of the IRS auditor was soon found among the trash as Wildwing coaxed her back into the living room. "You want to see how weird humans can really be, Mallory? You got to check out this show..."
Nosedive sat back with heavy eyes, almost appreciative of the fact he wasn't capable of putting up with the flickering of the screen against the drowsy colors of late night Anaheim. He began to slowly fall back, the chair squeaking as it arched back into a more reclining position. Progressively, as darkness faded in and dreams were preparing themselves for a nightly round, Nosedive was suddenly liberated from his drowsy trance by a knock at the door. He doubled over, jumping to his feet and contriving an unhappy groan, slowly approached the door. He timidly took a quick view out the peephole and leapt back, once again on the floor.
"Phil...PHIL!" Nosedive barked for the manager, running towards the bedroom as the rapping on the front door grew louder. Practically destroying the bedroom door, Nosedive tripped over a pile of contracts and flipped head over heels into the bed with Phil, waking the manager with a startled yelp, sliding off the side of the mattress and thudding on the carpeting.
"Help! Boobies, I'm being attacked!" Nosedive screamed again when he saw Phil's threadbare body thrashing on the floor, only a pair of briefs preventing total nudity.
"Phil...where's your clothes?!" The manager didn't respond to the comment, too busy shaking away the last remnants of sleep.
"What the..." the manager's head popped up over the side of the bed, his drugged red eyes giving the teen a devouring glance, before his ill-mannered condition grew fearful at the sound of his front door flinging open. Both characters immediately jumped under the bed, the duck pointing out the giant outlines of beings scanning the living room down the hall.
"Your underwear monsters are real Phil! How in the hell could they be real?!" a repressed squeal in Nosedive's voice accompanied his timorous composure.
"Oh no, they came to get me! You got to save me booby, you just got to!" Phil's chubby hands were soon rattling the common sense out of Nosedive. The teen drew a cocky smile and dashed out from under the bed, standing in the door frame, eyeing down the monsters that now seen their prey in view.
"So, who sent you...Hanes or Fruit of the Loom?"
There was no verbal reply from the stoic beings, only a moment of silence and then suddenly sparking to life again, moving in to aggress their enemy. Nosedive noted that they were stiff in their gait, adopting mechanical movements lacking in articulation. He decided to use that to his advantage and charged, doing a namesake under the first one and shoving the second-in-line, who collapsed onto the living room, drawing the rest of the group backwards clumsily. With more room, but caught in a pincher attack, Nosedive leapt straight up, scaling the chest of one of the monsters before flipping over it and propelling forward, now with his back flanked by the computer and window. Before readying another plan of attack, one of the monsters stopped the rest, stepping to the front line. This creature was much smaller in size, endowed with the fluidity of movement his minions lacked. Holding his hand up to signify a hold in the action, he began to speak in a voice that served as a poor imitation of mechanical verbiage.
"Give us your manager and no harm will come to you."
"Fat chance, tin man!" Nosedive inched his legs apart, his hands once again balled up into fists.
"Ok, fine than..." the underwear-coated creature snapped his fingers and soon, the jittery form of Phil Palmfeather was trembling within a fellow monster's grasp.
"Let him go!"
"You are not in a position to make demands, duck."
"Well, I guess I'm going to have to be brave then, huh?" leaving no room for delay, Nosedive lunged forward, tackling the lead figure to the ground. However, the teen immediately had to dismount to avoid a blistering fist swung by one of the other attackers. The leader got up and surprised Nosedive by trying to propose a draw, but the duck didn't listen. Leaping back into the fray, the leader parried, yet the teen was able to strike another one of the monsters, pulling his throbbing fist back achingly when his blow was rewarded with a resounding thunk.
"These underwear monsters aren't really monsters Phil!" Nosedive grinned, taking out his puck blaster and backing a step for a quick load. However, the manager wasn't a proponent of the idea of scattering robotic entrails across his apartment and attempted to prevent Nosedive's rashness.
"Wait booby, stop!" the momentarily diversion was all the leader monster needed to grapple the gun from the teen's grasp, a kick to the midsection as his parting gift, but successfully in possession of the gun. When Nosedive lunged for his weapon, he was caught in mid-air by one of the large beings, spun around once and lobbed directly into the opposing wall. Thrashing against the surface and accompanied by the snapping of his joints in sickening distortion, the mangled frame collapsed to the ground in a heap. Trying desperately to get up, Nosedive's last threads of sentience were prematurely snapped by the gun impacting against his cranium, its small casing shattering as the duck fell in a torpid stupor.
"BOOBY!" Phil cried out, hoping that Nosedive would regain consciousness, but the stillness assured him the avian was out for the count.
"I told him not to get involved..." the leader's voice suddenly dropped its falsity and soon had resembled something the manager could quickly identify, the inimitable sound of the Chameleon, one of Draguanus' henchman. However, in a rare moment of insight, he deduced that the poorly crafted disguises covering him and the lackeys indicated that they didn't wish to be identified, so Phil played along.
"Uhhh...so who are you guys anyway?" Phil chuckled nervously, the leader's gaze producing more sweat on Phil's heaved brow.
"None of your business...but, we want a little something from you, big boy!"
"Hey! You want to add slander to your breaking and entering lawsuit?!" Phil bellowed, his fleeting display of bravado was quickly quelled by the brief-clad robot's tightening grip, making the manager squirm in pain.
"Ha! You...sue me? That's a laugh..." Chameleon gave a large guffaw as he swaggered for a second, spinning down into a chair, eyeing the manager amusedly. "So...we seem to have caught you in your undies..."
"Briefs!"
"Yeah, whatever..." Chameleon figured a glass coaster only to have it accidentally slip from his clothed digits as it fell to the floor, cracking against the steel foot of one of his accomplices.
"Hey, watch the merchandise!"
"And what are you going to do about it?"
"I could do something...but nah, I think you'd be too chicken."
"Oh, really?"
"Yup." Phil grinned to himself, devising another classic Palmfeather scheme.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, it just so happens I know there's something I can do a million times better than you stupid underwear monsters..." Phil hoped to discreetly coax the saurian into his plan, inwardly smiling when the miscreant's brow raised in interest under the folds of oversized briefs.
"You? And what could you possibly do better then me?" Chameleon approached the manager, assessing the human's expression as he folded his arms defiantly.
"You're looking at the best dancer in Anaheim!" the saurian actually reeled backwards from the words, because it had hit a rare spark inside the Chameleon's psyche. Long ago, in his previous times among the nadir ranks of Draguanus' forces, he actually had a talent for dancing, which often earned him a bit of respect among his compatriots. To see the pudgy manager, his large frame tightly compressed under the oppressive grip of a drone, anomalously challenging him to a dance competition was the last thing he had in mind. After his visage cleared from ensuing flashbacks and returned to the sweat-trodden face of the human opposing him, he leaned up close, a writhed finger shoving into the beige skin upon each syllable for emphasis.
"You are on! I pick the song, you pick the conditions."
"Here, in the briefs, first one to get knocked out wins." Phil's psychological victory over the naïve saurian gave him the puissance to free himself from the robot's bounds. He gave a quick stretch of his briefs before passing a quick glance of worry to Nosedive, still dormant on the ground. The saurian went to look through compact discs scattered in the far corner of the room, deciding to engage in inept conversation.
"Where'd you get those stupid underpants anyway!?" Chameleon chuckled, causing Phil to turn away from the young duck, his brow protuberant in anger with the insult.
"These are good briefs! Durable, long-lasting..."
"And cheap!"
"So I get them at Wal-Mart...how about yours!?" Phil's arm quickly extended, yanking at a rim of a pair of briefs wrapped around one of the saurian's arms. Before his protest could be aroused, Phil jumped back, suddenly contemptuous.
"Calvin Klein!"
"Really?" Chameleon stopped to investigate the tags and was stunned that a saurian as non-conformist as Siege could possess such an urbane fashion sense. After all, these large wrappings were taken from his room (without him knowing, of course).
"Well, Mr. Yuppie-Underwear-Monster-Thingy...prepare to be bedazzled!" Phil assumed his starting position as Chameleon deposited an agreeable compact disc into the player, the two taking to the floor, standing quiescent until the sounds of "Stayin' Alive" began to dominate the phonic scene.
"Ah, disco...one of my many skills..."
As the song started, Phil pulled out all the moves. He vivaciously gyrated his pelvic in tune with the beat and sent his arms into streamlined thrusts of perfection, turning about on the carpet gracefully. Chameleon tried futilely to keep up with the manager, but when he tried a belly bounce with Phil, it resulted in a dazed stupor, next to the latent body of Nosedive. The saurian leaped back into action and tried to breakdance, only to crack his knuckles painfully. His hands rendered useless in sharp pain, he tried to follow the manager's quick trot, but tried over his crooked toes and banged his head against the steel leg of one of the observing droids. Chameleon groaned as he lightly shook his head to clear the cobwebs, almost falling over again when Phil began emulating the voices on the Bee Gees mellifluously and while singing, his deceptively powerful hips were capable of toppling a few of the unresponsive droids, busy watching the scene with perplexity. The saurian crawled out from the turmoil and feebly cowered before he met the fading rhythms of the song with a powerful thrust of the manager's thunderous hips, sending him into the arms of a chair on the opposite end of the room, inebriated from the abuse.
The song had ended and Phil finally awoke from his dancing fit and surveyed the scene of destruction. Chameleon was decisively discomfited, his dissemble in shreds and contorted tail flickering to match his torpid state. The droids were in a heap, caught in a state of inert stupefaction from what had just transpired. Phil, sodden with sweat, stepped up to the CD player, turning it off and leaning back against the wall, a celebratory sigh soon curtailed with the sight of Nosedive's opened eyes, the teen still supine, but with a look of disbelief on his beak as his opaque pupils froze on his manager.
"What...the...hell...PHIL?!"
"I told you booby. Nobody outdances me!" Nosedive slowly arranged himself upright, physically shoving his beak shut. He had witnessed much of the contest, riddled with trepidation to see the large posterior of his manager riveting in harmony with the beat, the hapless Chameleon being embarrassedly outclassed every step of the way. The duck's gaze turned to the saurian, his form plastered over a recliner, beginning to regain sentience. The two heroes watched their foe awaken, both awaiting his first move, but instead, he imitated Nosedive's look of utter shock.
"How did you do that?" Chameleon quipped; his extremities remained straggled over the form of the chair humorously.
"I'm the master!"
"You sure are...I mean...whoa, Phil-meister!" Nosedive congratulated his manager. Chameleon, benumbed by his obvious failure, could only readopt his intrinsic role as the bad guy. Within seconds, the avian and human froze when the simultaneous cocking of guns cut short their victorious moment. Two pairs of hands were strung in the air, the saurian laughing, straightening himself and resumed stature next to his metallic minions.
"Hey, boobula, I won fair and square!"
"And whenever do bad guys keep their word? Draguanus taught me better!"
"You slimeball saurian loser!" Nosedive bantered off with his characteristic zeal.
"Feathered freak."
"Mental midget."
"Fatuous feather-duster." The insult made the heroes look at each other.
"Where did you learn that one, you neglected nerd?"
"From Draguanus...you hard-boiled butthead."
"Careless cretin."
"Big-headed buffoon..."
Duke had found himself bored with late night television and was strung back on his bed, the lights down low as he closed his eyes and listened to police radio. The Anaheim police wouldn't exactly appreciate the ducks encroaching on their channels of communication, but it mattered little to the gray-feathered thief.
"This is Officer Fieldman. I'm getting calls from the neighbors for disturbing the peace on the eleventh floor of the Anaheim Villa. Apparently the perpetrator is, one, Phil Palmfeather..." Duke immediately sat up, the sound of his manager's name sparked his attention. Another police officer proceeded to reply. "This is Officer Longfellow. I'm investigating the disturbance right now, and am at the villa. Neighbors are reporting they are hearing...the Bee Gees?" Duke gave a small grimace, but then his curiosity rose. Nosedive obviously lacked that kind of taste in music and Phil wouldn't be so obnoxious as to crank the volume to such an extreme degree. Yet again, the duck couldn't ascertain trouble equating with the situation because not even Draguanus or his henchman were known to have an infatuation with disco music.
"Might as well go get Wildwing..." Duke switched off the radio and calmly ambled his way down the corridor. He found Wildwing hunched over, a disgusted scowl on his beak, which was almost pushing against the screen. Obviously, he was trying to hide something.
"Hey, Wildwing..."
"WHAT?! Who's there!" he quickly shut off the monitor and swung around, a pleading look of innocence adopted to send Duke off the trail, but it was all done in naught; the thief was already submitting inquiring glances.
"What'cha looking at, fearless leader?"
"Nothing...nothing at all...just checking E-mail."
"I thought Tanya was the only one with E-mail."
"It's for the whole team."
"Then why wasn't I told how to access it?"
"Uhhh...you missed the meeting?" Wildwing's crooked smile blatantly failed to convince the gray mallard.
"Give in, Wildwing. I know you are looking at something that's bothering you."
"Duke...it's nothing. Here, let's go have some coffee." Wildwing tried to divert the thief to the kitchen, his large feathered palm practically shoving the thief away. The leader tried to veer the conversation towards practice and strategies, but by the time he blinked, Duke was gone. He drooped his beak, gabbling at the thief to see him firmly placed in front of the reactivated monitor, skimming over the secretive text. A stifled chortle escaped when the leader precariously yanked him back, pushing the computer off with a socked toe.
"Wildwing...reading about that romantic cruise, huh?"
"I wanted to see what Nosedive was looking at."
"Or find out where you should book the tickets!" Duke quipped, beaming in amusement. By the time his misty eyes could clearly make out the leader again, the white mallard already had enormity written on his beak.
"Yikes...give Mallory that look sometime! You actually look credibly angry!"
"I AM!"
"Wildwing, calm down..." Duke began withdrawing step-by-step as the white mallard encroached, his fists parallel to his body, veins protruding in malicious intentions. The thief actually began to experience a tinge of fear deep in his stomach and tried to disarm the situation with some quick words. "I-came-to-tell-you-Nosedive's-in-trouble!"
Immediately, Wildwing responded by ferociously grabbing Duke's wrist, and within milliseconds, the thief felt his lanky body being dragged along the floor behind the tenuous mallard, his adrenaline-induced voice braying into his com.
"Team, Dive and Phil are in trouble! To the Migrator NOW!"
"Whew..." Duke was able to dislodge his appendage and thought about informing Wildwing that the situation probably wasn't nearly as precarious as he made it sound. Yet, then again, he wanted to live, so the thought was hastily dismissed.
Knocks and greetings were bearing at Phil Palmfeather's door. Shortly before arriving, the ruckus from the apartment had completely ceased and now an excruciating cumbersome silence ensued. The policeman leaned back against an adjacent wall, fearing what he may find on the opposite side of the door. He knocked one last time.
"Mr. Palmfeather, this is the Anaheim police. Please open up...please..." he almost whimpered the last word.
Never had the officer been harrowed so much while on the force. He envisioned gruesomely dissected corpses, leaking vital fluids all over the ground, or a robber with a firearm, holding the occupant hostage and forcing this policeman into a fatal shootout. He gulped and feebly touched the doorknob, as if he had the clairvoyance to feel what was inside the domicile, yet he couldn't pick up on anything. Futilely sighing, he leaned on the knob, turning with ease, allowing the door to glide open on its dulled hinges. On the carpet, assembled in between the scattered furniture, laid two bodies, the cop fidgeting with the flashlight with his trembling hands as he slowly arched the beam of light to them. The smell of putrid sweat hung heavily in the air, covered with a hint of muskiness. Gulping inward, the young officer leaned over and pointing the light directly at the large human. It was Phil Palmfeather. Next to him, equally as incapacitated, was the recognizable form of Nosedive, the youngest member of the Mighty Ducks.
"Mr. Palmfeather? Uhhh...Mister...uhhh...duck?" the officer slowly extended the flashlight's handle, wincing as he sensed it contacting with flesh. He screeched in pure fright when he felt the body twitch in reply. The human began to stir, his squinting eyes shielded when the flashlight's ray was pointing back in his direction.
"Who is that?"
"Wildwing..." the police officer gave a terrified shriek, jumping completely off the ground, and landing on the ground next to the two waking forms. Taking out his firearm and shakily guiding the light, he saw a large white mallard with his arms up in surrender.
"Calm down officer! It's just the Mighty Ducks. We're checking up on our manager and fellow team member."
"Don't do that!" the inexperienced officer only let them off on a minor chastisement. Unmindful of the fact there was supposed to be no contact between the parties, the officer called in to announce that apparently an attempted break-in had occurred, but no causalities were present and nothing had been stolen. Leaving soon after, the ducks gathered around the forms of their manager and teenager, the latter quickly caught in a tight embrace by his brother, who studied every square inch of his face for injury for a quick moment.
"Bro...calm down...I can't breathe!" Nosedive gasped hoarsely as Wildwing loosened up and put a hand, now divested of armor, on the back of the teen's head. Immediately, the older sibling's eyes grew large and distressed pupils studied the back of the mallard's head while the beak expressed a pained sneer. A large knob could be felt on the back of Nosedive's head, now tender to the touch.
"Ouch, stop Wing! That hurts!"
"What happened Dive?" the duck and human exchanged a glance, both pondering how they would ever be deemed sane after this explanation.
"Better sit down bro, it's a wild one...and please Phil, no visuals..."
Mr. Collier caught the sight of something commanding his complete attention. Never did he expect that today, of all mornings, that such a desirable piece of fellow humanity would be applying for a position under him. She gave off flirtatious giggles as he carefully examined the perky bosom, their soft mounds teasing at the fabric that was barely securing them. The smell of lavender tantalized the nose and clouded the man's mind with perverse thoughts, the kind that would earn him time in the doghouse back at home with his wife. The slender arms ending in perfectly crafted fingernails, keenly painted in a hue that flawlessly complimented the immaculate, silky skin. Digging a shaky finger into the tie to allow breathing space, the employer leaned back, contemplated the pros and cons of allowing his marriage to continue unimpeded, and could only mutter...
"You're hired (gulp)."
"Thanks!" Energetically bouncing to attention, the young woman extended one of her delicate hands, the man afraid to touch with a grip as tainted as his own. After all, he was tracing the fine-laced threads of her blouse more than giving consideration to her qualifications.
"So...don't you have something you want to give me, sugar?" the tawdry desires of the man were only met by a folder impounding on his desk, the woman leaning back with a puckered smile.
"What's this?" he crowed disappointingly.
"Oh...I did a little research. Turns out that Mr. Palmfeather doesn't join the Arrowhead Pond. They've been cheating the government and I would want to think lawful men like yourself would like to see these ducks fried!"
"This is the deed to the Pond!"
"Take a look at the name signed on the contract."
"Desiree Studmuffin...who's that?"
"Why me...of course!"
"Prove it...sugar..." yet, his hints fall upon unrelenting ears, meeting only with his nose firmly counterpoised with a state identification card.
"So, why didn't you bring this up with the authorities?"
"Oh, because it was willed to me just a couple days ago by my now-deceased grandfather. Oh, my poor papa!" crocodile tears stained the mascara as tarnishing streaks where quickly wiped away, the rounded cheeks again free of obstruction.
"How about an affidavit to go with this?"
"Oh, now where'd I put that thing?" the girl innocently chuckled, her posterior turning to the man, earning a small whiff that was meant to resemble a whistle.
"Uhhh...never mind, I believe you, I believe you!" Mr. Collier had enough of a peep show, even though the effeminate body was conservatively clad in sensible business attire. The mental undressing proved too tempting to already lewd trains of thought.
A few minutes later, Ms. Studmuffin stepped out of the offices, a neon sign illuminating the letters spelling out "Century 21". Veering into a side alley behind the commercial string of buildings, the woman's dainty forms soon melted away to the misshapen, gaunt appearance of the Chameleon. Soon, the amorphous head spread upon the brickwork wall, the bright afro muted slightly by the radiance of the morning sun.
"Getting a little too immersed in the role of pretty woman, aren't you?"
"Hey...did you see how that man was checking me out? Who wouldn't want to tease the pig?"
"Well, I must admit. The plan is working, but your cover's blown."
"Ah, who cares? The Raptor is far from the city and the boss is too deep in brooding to plan anything to beat those dumb birds."
"Well, in that case, let me forecast dire straits, straight ahead!" the head whooped along with the saurian. Within hours, the ducks were to discover that nothing lasts forever...
(This story is slowing winding to a close, but not without a few more difficulties for our poor waterfowl heroes, especially in the housing department. Chapter 9, "Domed", is coming your way!)
Thanks to everyone who left reviews for me. I'm reading all the new stories and I'm immensely enjoying them!)
Reality Bites
Chapter 8: Chameleon Hanes the Ducks Out to Dry
Nosedive slowly rotated in his chair to momentarily take a break from the computer screen. Earlier, he had found plenty of diversions outside when the roaring of the Aerowing intruded on the silence in the darkened apartment, and later on, the flashing lights, identifying the presence of Klegghorn, emanated from the parking lot of the Pond. Unfortunately, this lackluster night didn't introduce any excitement for Nosedive to personally partake in, but instead found himself perusing over the biography of his friends, personified in dozens of different methods by various writers. Fan fiction was the only thing keeping him from tearing off his fingernails by the silent boredom that was holding the apartment hostage. Ever since Phil drifted off to sleep, not a peep could be heard among the internal confines of the home. The fax machines and the copiers were dormant, unwilling to disturb the serenity and encourage their master's wrath. As the plot unraveled over the past couple of days, the hapless teenager found himself ripped from the safety of his home and family and forced to endure a strenuous trial of boredom as the only home he knew was hovering over the city, on the other side of the window. The duck sighed once again and returned to his screen.
Until now, Nosedive never stopped to consider looking at the stories that tried to explain his life. Something about it made him uncomfortable. Even though most of the musings he scanned over had very little credibility when predicting the past experiences of his friends, he began to have an odd fear that perhaps he was an easier character to read into. Nosedive was the average teenager, always looking for fun and excitement in a world that offered plenty of it, yet beyond the insouciant exterior, there always seemed to lay deeper emotional problems that tainted the soul. The teen had his skeletons, but he didn't know if the human writers could somehow interpret that from something so informal as a newspaper article or merchandise in a store. Nevertheless, he reached the end of the list of interesting stories, and his name was the only remaining one not highlighted. Giving a suspenseful sigh, he clicked on it and winced as the screen flickered in compliance...
"Well, this is...uh, uh, interesting."
"What is it?" Wildwing walked into the ready room with fresh-brewed coffee as he saw Tanya assuming her characteristic stance at the helm of the Drake One.
"Nosedive's contract...remember when it seemed that his clause was erased?"
"Do you mean it's back?" Wildwing saw the lines of text on the screen and grew hopeful that it was what the woman was getting to.
"Yeah! It's all here again...that's so weird. Another thing was unorthodox too..." Tanya began musing over the buttons of the computer to produce another image, this time of the fire rescue scene from the preceding day.
"Those teleportation signatures that I originally found are no longer listed as ever had occurring. It seems that the computer experienced...well, uh...errors." Her face slightly crinkled with distaste at the sound of that final word.
"Well, at least we can rescue Nosedive and clear the charges on me. This is great Tanya. When can we put this into action?"
"Well, uh, let's see. It's...4:20AM, and the office doesn't open until 9:00AM, so we still got a bit under five hours left."
"Great work Tanya. I'll go inform the others." The leader vanished from sight, leaving Tanya alone to her thoughts. She frowned at the Drake One, feeling a bit ashamed that her pride and joy had now shown its imperfections to her teammates, after months of flawless performances.
"Maybe it's because I don't talk to you or something, Drakey?" she ran her feathered digits over the smooth panels of steel and wiped small smudges of dirt of the more neglected keys. Tanya stopped when she realized that the game mode on the Drake One hadn't even been used in quite some time. The thought of Nosedive missing wasn't exactly a catastrophe for her knowing that he was hovering in the residential forest a few blocks away, but the deathly silence that took his place seemed to sap the vitality she secretly appreciated
Out in the living room, Grin was once again in his lethargic state of meditation while Duke was watching an odd television show.
"Hey guys, I got great news!" Wildwing's cheerful disposition was enough to garnish the attention Duke's glance and the raising of Grin's eyebrows. "The Drake One seems to have Nosedive's entire contract back so we can rescue him and finally have these charges dismissed!"
"That's great! Things are miserably quiet here without the kid."
"True. Our little friend contributes much to the life of this domicile."
"Uhhh...ok then. Where's Mallory?"
"I don't know. Did you try the gym?" suddenly, the sounds of insults rose from the television and the sounds of combat drew the ducks' attention to the show. They saw a corpulent man trying to attack another man dressed in drag as the gray-haired host shamelessly inveighed both of them over the roars of an audience.
"What's this?"
"Late night trash television. I think it's called Jerry Spitter or something like that."
"What's going on?" Wildwing stooped his head to one side in interest and silently viewed the action on the screen. More verbal threats were being tossed around and some muscle-bound security guard named Steve was being cheered on as he stood between the guests.
"Well, basically, the skinny guy is mad because his uncle's former roommate's boyfriend, which is also his cousin, is cross-dressing and trying to earn money to become a woman, but the thing is, the skinny man is having an affair with the doctor the big guy wants to perform the surgery."
"Humans..." Wildwing could only mutter the word as his concentration splintered its ties with the television and returned its gaze to Duke.
"Ok, what were we doing?"
"You were looking for Mallory. She's probably in the gym, but I don't know."
"Already heading there, thanks anyway." Wildwing sauntered down the lengthy corridor and soon, the methodical beating of a punching bag was audible. Entering in the gym, Mallory had a picture of a man taped up on the sack and was being smashed apart by her gloved fists.
"Who's that Mallory?"
"The person who's supposed to audit me later on. I saw his sickening smiley face and wanted to tear it to shreds."
"Yeesh...poor guy's going to have a bad day when he meets you, huh?"
"Like I didn't have a bad day when this whole mess started? I'm a clean duck; I don't evade my taxes. I'm in the military and they think after my years of service that I would cheat the government?"
"This is the human government, not the one on Puckworld."
"Well, it's not my fault they just can't respect military personnel."
"I don't understand them either, but we got to tolerate it. After all, we are on their planet."
"It's funny they do this just a few weeks after we sank Draguanus' battleship."
"We'll never be able to understand humans."
"Guess you're right." Mallory resigned and set her gloves on the bench, the crumpled paper of the IRS auditor was soon found among the trash as Wildwing coaxed her back into the living room. "You want to see how weird humans can really be, Mallory? You got to check out this show..."
Nosedive sat back with heavy eyes, almost appreciative of the fact he wasn't capable of putting up with the flickering of the screen against the drowsy colors of late night Anaheim. He began to slowly fall back, the chair squeaking as it arched back into a more reclining position. Progressively, as darkness faded in and dreams were preparing themselves for a nightly round, Nosedive was suddenly liberated from his drowsy trance by a knock at the door. He doubled over, jumping to his feet and contriving an unhappy groan, slowly approached the door. He timidly took a quick view out the peephole and leapt back, once again on the floor.
"Phil...PHIL!" Nosedive barked for the manager, running towards the bedroom as the rapping on the front door grew louder. Practically destroying the bedroom door, Nosedive tripped over a pile of contracts and flipped head over heels into the bed with Phil, waking the manager with a startled yelp, sliding off the side of the mattress and thudding on the carpeting.
"Help! Boobies, I'm being attacked!" Nosedive screamed again when he saw Phil's threadbare body thrashing on the floor, only a pair of briefs preventing total nudity.
"Phil...where's your clothes?!" The manager didn't respond to the comment, too busy shaking away the last remnants of sleep.
"What the..." the manager's head popped up over the side of the bed, his drugged red eyes giving the teen a devouring glance, before his ill-mannered condition grew fearful at the sound of his front door flinging open. Both characters immediately jumped under the bed, the duck pointing out the giant outlines of beings scanning the living room down the hall.
"Your underwear monsters are real Phil! How in the hell could they be real?!" a repressed squeal in Nosedive's voice accompanied his timorous composure.
"Oh no, they came to get me! You got to save me booby, you just got to!" Phil's chubby hands were soon rattling the common sense out of Nosedive. The teen drew a cocky smile and dashed out from under the bed, standing in the door frame, eyeing down the monsters that now seen their prey in view.
"So, who sent you...Hanes or Fruit of the Loom?"
There was no verbal reply from the stoic beings, only a moment of silence and then suddenly sparking to life again, moving in to aggress their enemy. Nosedive noted that they were stiff in their gait, adopting mechanical movements lacking in articulation. He decided to use that to his advantage and charged, doing a namesake under the first one and shoving the second-in-line, who collapsed onto the living room, drawing the rest of the group backwards clumsily. With more room, but caught in a pincher attack, Nosedive leapt straight up, scaling the chest of one of the monsters before flipping over it and propelling forward, now with his back flanked by the computer and window. Before readying another plan of attack, one of the monsters stopped the rest, stepping to the front line. This creature was much smaller in size, endowed with the fluidity of movement his minions lacked. Holding his hand up to signify a hold in the action, he began to speak in a voice that served as a poor imitation of mechanical verbiage.
"Give us your manager and no harm will come to you."
"Fat chance, tin man!" Nosedive inched his legs apart, his hands once again balled up into fists.
"Ok, fine than..." the underwear-coated creature snapped his fingers and soon, the jittery form of Phil Palmfeather was trembling within a fellow monster's grasp.
"Let him go!"
"You are not in a position to make demands, duck."
"Well, I guess I'm going to have to be brave then, huh?" leaving no room for delay, Nosedive lunged forward, tackling the lead figure to the ground. However, the teen immediately had to dismount to avoid a blistering fist swung by one of the other attackers. The leader got up and surprised Nosedive by trying to propose a draw, but the duck didn't listen. Leaping back into the fray, the leader parried, yet the teen was able to strike another one of the monsters, pulling his throbbing fist back achingly when his blow was rewarded with a resounding thunk.
"These underwear monsters aren't really monsters Phil!" Nosedive grinned, taking out his puck blaster and backing a step for a quick load. However, the manager wasn't a proponent of the idea of scattering robotic entrails across his apartment and attempted to prevent Nosedive's rashness.
"Wait booby, stop!" the momentarily diversion was all the leader monster needed to grapple the gun from the teen's grasp, a kick to the midsection as his parting gift, but successfully in possession of the gun. When Nosedive lunged for his weapon, he was caught in mid-air by one of the large beings, spun around once and lobbed directly into the opposing wall. Thrashing against the surface and accompanied by the snapping of his joints in sickening distortion, the mangled frame collapsed to the ground in a heap. Trying desperately to get up, Nosedive's last threads of sentience were prematurely snapped by the gun impacting against his cranium, its small casing shattering as the duck fell in a torpid stupor.
"BOOBY!" Phil cried out, hoping that Nosedive would regain consciousness, but the stillness assured him the avian was out for the count.
"I told him not to get involved..." the leader's voice suddenly dropped its falsity and soon had resembled something the manager could quickly identify, the inimitable sound of the Chameleon, one of Draguanus' henchman. However, in a rare moment of insight, he deduced that the poorly crafted disguises covering him and the lackeys indicated that they didn't wish to be identified, so Phil played along.
"Uhhh...so who are you guys anyway?" Phil chuckled nervously, the leader's gaze producing more sweat on Phil's heaved brow.
"None of your business...but, we want a little something from you, big boy!"
"Hey! You want to add slander to your breaking and entering lawsuit?!" Phil bellowed, his fleeting display of bravado was quickly quelled by the brief-clad robot's tightening grip, making the manager squirm in pain.
"Ha! You...sue me? That's a laugh..." Chameleon gave a large guffaw as he swaggered for a second, spinning down into a chair, eyeing the manager amusedly. "So...we seem to have caught you in your undies..."
"Briefs!"
"Yeah, whatever..." Chameleon figured a glass coaster only to have it accidentally slip from his clothed digits as it fell to the floor, cracking against the steel foot of one of his accomplices.
"Hey, watch the merchandise!"
"And what are you going to do about it?"
"I could do something...but nah, I think you'd be too chicken."
"Oh, really?"
"Yup." Phil grinned to himself, devising another classic Palmfeather scheme.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, it just so happens I know there's something I can do a million times better than you stupid underwear monsters..." Phil hoped to discreetly coax the saurian into his plan, inwardly smiling when the miscreant's brow raised in interest under the folds of oversized briefs.
"You? And what could you possibly do better then me?" Chameleon approached the manager, assessing the human's expression as he folded his arms defiantly.
"You're looking at the best dancer in Anaheim!" the saurian actually reeled backwards from the words, because it had hit a rare spark inside the Chameleon's psyche. Long ago, in his previous times among the nadir ranks of Draguanus' forces, he actually had a talent for dancing, which often earned him a bit of respect among his compatriots. To see the pudgy manager, his large frame tightly compressed under the oppressive grip of a drone, anomalously challenging him to a dance competition was the last thing he had in mind. After his visage cleared from ensuing flashbacks and returned to the sweat-trodden face of the human opposing him, he leaned up close, a writhed finger shoving into the beige skin upon each syllable for emphasis.
"You are on! I pick the song, you pick the conditions."
"Here, in the briefs, first one to get knocked out wins." Phil's psychological victory over the naïve saurian gave him the puissance to free himself from the robot's bounds. He gave a quick stretch of his briefs before passing a quick glance of worry to Nosedive, still dormant on the ground. The saurian went to look through compact discs scattered in the far corner of the room, deciding to engage in inept conversation.
"Where'd you get those stupid underpants anyway!?" Chameleon chuckled, causing Phil to turn away from the young duck, his brow protuberant in anger with the insult.
"These are good briefs! Durable, long-lasting..."
"And cheap!"
"So I get them at Wal-Mart...how about yours!?" Phil's arm quickly extended, yanking at a rim of a pair of briefs wrapped around one of the saurian's arms. Before his protest could be aroused, Phil jumped back, suddenly contemptuous.
"Calvin Klein!"
"Really?" Chameleon stopped to investigate the tags and was stunned that a saurian as non-conformist as Siege could possess such an urbane fashion sense. After all, these large wrappings were taken from his room (without him knowing, of course).
"Well, Mr. Yuppie-Underwear-Monster-Thingy...prepare to be bedazzled!" Phil assumed his starting position as Chameleon deposited an agreeable compact disc into the player, the two taking to the floor, standing quiescent until the sounds of "Stayin' Alive" began to dominate the phonic scene.
"Ah, disco...one of my many skills..."
As the song started, Phil pulled out all the moves. He vivaciously gyrated his pelvic in tune with the beat and sent his arms into streamlined thrusts of perfection, turning about on the carpet gracefully. Chameleon tried futilely to keep up with the manager, but when he tried a belly bounce with Phil, it resulted in a dazed stupor, next to the latent body of Nosedive. The saurian leaped back into action and tried to breakdance, only to crack his knuckles painfully. His hands rendered useless in sharp pain, he tried to follow the manager's quick trot, but tried over his crooked toes and banged his head against the steel leg of one of the observing droids. Chameleon groaned as he lightly shook his head to clear the cobwebs, almost falling over again when Phil began emulating the voices on the Bee Gees mellifluously and while singing, his deceptively powerful hips were capable of toppling a few of the unresponsive droids, busy watching the scene with perplexity. The saurian crawled out from the turmoil and feebly cowered before he met the fading rhythms of the song with a powerful thrust of the manager's thunderous hips, sending him into the arms of a chair on the opposite end of the room, inebriated from the abuse.
The song had ended and Phil finally awoke from his dancing fit and surveyed the scene of destruction. Chameleon was decisively discomfited, his dissemble in shreds and contorted tail flickering to match his torpid state. The droids were in a heap, caught in a state of inert stupefaction from what had just transpired. Phil, sodden with sweat, stepped up to the CD player, turning it off and leaning back against the wall, a celebratory sigh soon curtailed with the sight of Nosedive's opened eyes, the teen still supine, but with a look of disbelief on his beak as his opaque pupils froze on his manager.
"What...the...hell...PHIL?!"
"I told you booby. Nobody outdances me!" Nosedive slowly arranged himself upright, physically shoving his beak shut. He had witnessed much of the contest, riddled with trepidation to see the large posterior of his manager riveting in harmony with the beat, the hapless Chameleon being embarrassedly outclassed every step of the way. The duck's gaze turned to the saurian, his form plastered over a recliner, beginning to regain sentience. The two heroes watched their foe awaken, both awaiting his first move, but instead, he imitated Nosedive's look of utter shock.
"How did you do that?" Chameleon quipped; his extremities remained straggled over the form of the chair humorously.
"I'm the master!"
"You sure are...I mean...whoa, Phil-meister!" Nosedive congratulated his manager. Chameleon, benumbed by his obvious failure, could only readopt his intrinsic role as the bad guy. Within seconds, the avian and human froze when the simultaneous cocking of guns cut short their victorious moment. Two pairs of hands were strung in the air, the saurian laughing, straightening himself and resumed stature next to his metallic minions.
"Hey, boobula, I won fair and square!"
"And whenever do bad guys keep their word? Draguanus taught me better!"
"You slimeball saurian loser!" Nosedive bantered off with his characteristic zeal.
"Feathered freak."
"Mental midget."
"Fatuous feather-duster." The insult made the heroes look at each other.
"Where did you learn that one, you neglected nerd?"
"From Draguanus...you hard-boiled butthead."
"Careless cretin."
"Big-headed buffoon..."
Duke had found himself bored with late night television and was strung back on his bed, the lights down low as he closed his eyes and listened to police radio. The Anaheim police wouldn't exactly appreciate the ducks encroaching on their channels of communication, but it mattered little to the gray-feathered thief.
"This is Officer Fieldman. I'm getting calls from the neighbors for disturbing the peace on the eleventh floor of the Anaheim Villa. Apparently the perpetrator is, one, Phil Palmfeather..." Duke immediately sat up, the sound of his manager's name sparked his attention. Another police officer proceeded to reply. "This is Officer Longfellow. I'm investigating the disturbance right now, and am at the villa. Neighbors are reporting they are hearing...the Bee Gees?" Duke gave a small grimace, but then his curiosity rose. Nosedive obviously lacked that kind of taste in music and Phil wouldn't be so obnoxious as to crank the volume to such an extreme degree. Yet again, the duck couldn't ascertain trouble equating with the situation because not even Draguanus or his henchman were known to have an infatuation with disco music.
"Might as well go get Wildwing..." Duke switched off the radio and calmly ambled his way down the corridor. He found Wildwing hunched over, a disgusted scowl on his beak, which was almost pushing against the screen. Obviously, he was trying to hide something.
"Hey, Wildwing..."
"WHAT?! Who's there!" he quickly shut off the monitor and swung around, a pleading look of innocence adopted to send Duke off the trail, but it was all done in naught; the thief was already submitting inquiring glances.
"What'cha looking at, fearless leader?"
"Nothing...nothing at all...just checking E-mail."
"I thought Tanya was the only one with E-mail."
"It's for the whole team."
"Then why wasn't I told how to access it?"
"Uhhh...you missed the meeting?" Wildwing's crooked smile blatantly failed to convince the gray mallard.
"Give in, Wildwing. I know you are looking at something that's bothering you."
"Duke...it's nothing. Here, let's go have some coffee." Wildwing tried to divert the thief to the kitchen, his large feathered palm practically shoving the thief away. The leader tried to veer the conversation towards practice and strategies, but by the time he blinked, Duke was gone. He drooped his beak, gabbling at the thief to see him firmly placed in front of the reactivated monitor, skimming over the secretive text. A stifled chortle escaped when the leader precariously yanked him back, pushing the computer off with a socked toe.
"Wildwing...reading about that romantic cruise, huh?"
"I wanted to see what Nosedive was looking at."
"Or find out where you should book the tickets!" Duke quipped, beaming in amusement. By the time his misty eyes could clearly make out the leader again, the white mallard already had enormity written on his beak.
"Yikes...give Mallory that look sometime! You actually look credibly angry!"
"I AM!"
"Wildwing, calm down..." Duke began withdrawing step-by-step as the white mallard encroached, his fists parallel to his body, veins protruding in malicious intentions. The thief actually began to experience a tinge of fear deep in his stomach and tried to disarm the situation with some quick words. "I-came-to-tell-you-Nosedive's-in-trouble!"
Immediately, Wildwing responded by ferociously grabbing Duke's wrist, and within milliseconds, the thief felt his lanky body being dragged along the floor behind the tenuous mallard, his adrenaline-induced voice braying into his com.
"Team, Dive and Phil are in trouble! To the Migrator NOW!"
"Whew..." Duke was able to dislodge his appendage and thought about informing Wildwing that the situation probably wasn't nearly as precarious as he made it sound. Yet, then again, he wanted to live, so the thought was hastily dismissed.
Knocks and greetings were bearing at Phil Palmfeather's door. Shortly before arriving, the ruckus from the apartment had completely ceased and now an excruciating cumbersome silence ensued. The policeman leaned back against an adjacent wall, fearing what he may find on the opposite side of the door. He knocked one last time.
"Mr. Palmfeather, this is the Anaheim police. Please open up...please..." he almost whimpered the last word.
Never had the officer been harrowed so much while on the force. He envisioned gruesomely dissected corpses, leaking vital fluids all over the ground, or a robber with a firearm, holding the occupant hostage and forcing this policeman into a fatal shootout. He gulped and feebly touched the doorknob, as if he had the clairvoyance to feel what was inside the domicile, yet he couldn't pick up on anything. Futilely sighing, he leaned on the knob, turning with ease, allowing the door to glide open on its dulled hinges. On the carpet, assembled in between the scattered furniture, laid two bodies, the cop fidgeting with the flashlight with his trembling hands as he slowly arched the beam of light to them. The smell of putrid sweat hung heavily in the air, covered with a hint of muskiness. Gulping inward, the young officer leaned over and pointing the light directly at the large human. It was Phil Palmfeather. Next to him, equally as incapacitated, was the recognizable form of Nosedive, the youngest member of the Mighty Ducks.
"Mr. Palmfeather? Uhhh...Mister...uhhh...duck?" the officer slowly extended the flashlight's handle, wincing as he sensed it contacting with flesh. He screeched in pure fright when he felt the body twitch in reply. The human began to stir, his squinting eyes shielded when the flashlight's ray was pointing back in his direction.
"Who is that?"
"Wildwing..." the police officer gave a terrified shriek, jumping completely off the ground, and landing on the ground next to the two waking forms. Taking out his firearm and shakily guiding the light, he saw a large white mallard with his arms up in surrender.
"Calm down officer! It's just the Mighty Ducks. We're checking up on our manager and fellow team member."
"Don't do that!" the inexperienced officer only let them off on a minor chastisement. Unmindful of the fact there was supposed to be no contact between the parties, the officer called in to announce that apparently an attempted break-in had occurred, but no causalities were present and nothing had been stolen. Leaving soon after, the ducks gathered around the forms of their manager and teenager, the latter quickly caught in a tight embrace by his brother, who studied every square inch of his face for injury for a quick moment.
"Bro...calm down...I can't breathe!" Nosedive gasped hoarsely as Wildwing loosened up and put a hand, now divested of armor, on the back of the teen's head. Immediately, the older sibling's eyes grew large and distressed pupils studied the back of the mallard's head while the beak expressed a pained sneer. A large knob could be felt on the back of Nosedive's head, now tender to the touch.
"Ouch, stop Wing! That hurts!"
"What happened Dive?" the duck and human exchanged a glance, both pondering how they would ever be deemed sane after this explanation.
"Better sit down bro, it's a wild one...and please Phil, no visuals..."
Mr. Collier caught the sight of something commanding his complete attention. Never did he expect that today, of all mornings, that such a desirable piece of fellow humanity would be applying for a position under him. She gave off flirtatious giggles as he carefully examined the perky bosom, their soft mounds teasing at the fabric that was barely securing them. The smell of lavender tantalized the nose and clouded the man's mind with perverse thoughts, the kind that would earn him time in the doghouse back at home with his wife. The slender arms ending in perfectly crafted fingernails, keenly painted in a hue that flawlessly complimented the immaculate, silky skin. Digging a shaky finger into the tie to allow breathing space, the employer leaned back, contemplated the pros and cons of allowing his marriage to continue unimpeded, and could only mutter...
"You're hired (gulp)."
"Thanks!" Energetically bouncing to attention, the young woman extended one of her delicate hands, the man afraid to touch with a grip as tainted as his own. After all, he was tracing the fine-laced threads of her blouse more than giving consideration to her qualifications.
"So...don't you have something you want to give me, sugar?" the tawdry desires of the man were only met by a folder impounding on his desk, the woman leaning back with a puckered smile.
"What's this?" he crowed disappointingly.
"Oh...I did a little research. Turns out that Mr. Palmfeather doesn't join the Arrowhead Pond. They've been cheating the government and I would want to think lawful men like yourself would like to see these ducks fried!"
"This is the deed to the Pond!"
"Take a look at the name signed on the contract."
"Desiree Studmuffin...who's that?"
"Why me...of course!"
"Prove it...sugar..." yet, his hints fall upon unrelenting ears, meeting only with his nose firmly counterpoised with a state identification card.
"So, why didn't you bring this up with the authorities?"
"Oh, because it was willed to me just a couple days ago by my now-deceased grandfather. Oh, my poor papa!" crocodile tears stained the mascara as tarnishing streaks where quickly wiped away, the rounded cheeks again free of obstruction.
"How about an affidavit to go with this?"
"Oh, now where'd I put that thing?" the girl innocently chuckled, her posterior turning to the man, earning a small whiff that was meant to resemble a whistle.
"Uhhh...never mind, I believe you, I believe you!" Mr. Collier had enough of a peep show, even though the effeminate body was conservatively clad in sensible business attire. The mental undressing proved too tempting to already lewd trains of thought.
A few minutes later, Ms. Studmuffin stepped out of the offices, a neon sign illuminating the letters spelling out "Century 21". Veering into a side alley behind the commercial string of buildings, the woman's dainty forms soon melted away to the misshapen, gaunt appearance of the Chameleon. Soon, the amorphous head spread upon the brickwork wall, the bright afro muted slightly by the radiance of the morning sun.
"Getting a little too immersed in the role of pretty woman, aren't you?"
"Hey...did you see how that man was checking me out? Who wouldn't want to tease the pig?"
"Well, I must admit. The plan is working, but your cover's blown."
"Ah, who cares? The Raptor is far from the city and the boss is too deep in brooding to plan anything to beat those dumb birds."
"Well, in that case, let me forecast dire straits, straight ahead!" the head whooped along with the saurian. Within hours, the ducks were to discover that nothing lasts forever...
(This story is slowing winding to a close, but not without a few more difficulties for our poor waterfowl heroes, especially in the housing department. Chapter 9, "Domed", is coming your way!)