(EDITOR: This chapter is not as funny as the last, but it's a lead in to the final chapter, coming up. I've been considering how to end this story, and what you see for the last two pages was a spur-of-the-moment deal. This is the first chapter that I've released that didn't have at least one proceeding chapter completed. The next chapter, 10, is the final, and I'm only about 2 pages into it, and personally, kind of struggling with it, so it may be a little while (not too long, hopefully not longer than a week). I'm actually finding myself a bit distracted, because another story is coming to mind; something much less funny, and perhaps even morbid. Well, sticking with the lighter disposition that this story was written in, here's the next chapter!
Oh, and I actually got an AIM screen name for my author name, "Justsomeone12" (had to add the number). Contact me if you'd like to chat or something!)
Reality Sucks
Chapter 9: Domed
Early weekday mornings in Anaheim were atypical of the metropolitan areas strung across the United States. Strings of highways carving apart folds of humanity, serving as conduits for the dominate army of the automobile, people traveling en mass to various locations scattered about the dissected grids of urbanized ground. Yet, Friday mornings had that special sanguine charm that didn't make the skies gloomy with the mobilization of disgruntled underclassmen. The weekend was coming, a chance to push the paper aside and patronize the entertainment districts while drinking your problems away and socializing with your friends. Even more popular than the revered combination of drugs and alcohol was attending a friendly game of hockey. Many of Anaheim's commuters took the opportunity to flash a quick glance towards the ominous dome over the horizon from their smog-ridden death traps, smiling in anticipation as they would happy sway in the crowds, watching their diligent waterfowls heroes ameliorate their pangs of misery as they dedicated yet another score to the masses, a point for the little guy. One can only image the outrage, a fulsome melody of car horns honking in enraged impatience when the radio stations nonchalantly disrupted the plans of countless denizens by announcing that the game this weekend was cancelled and the Pond was being extradited to what was its lawful owner, Ms. Desiree Studmuffin.
Beyond the pillars of bolted concrete lay the tattered remains of commercial strips, struggling to survive the daily struggle against despairing penury. On one such street, a small brick box, devoid of any ornamentation, sat the offices of a localized Century 21, with the salacious man holding a document that would soon introduce the ducks to homelessness. The outside world shared a secret the avians in their underground home was still oblivious to. Deep inside the pond, in the bunkers that instituted their headquarters, the Mighty Ducks were beginning to gather for the morning coffee. Violating a police order, they now had Nosedive in their custody, sleeping in his own bed for a change while Phil invaded the couch of the living room. Yet Wildwing, even amid a sleepless night, was chipper, especially for the prospect of clearing their names with the miraculous recovery of the Drake One's memory banks.
"Should we have Nosedive come too?" Mallory asked while stirring her coffee at the kitchen table. The ducks had taken refuge there from the abominate snores of their plump manager.
"He's been through a lot for one night, and he's sleeping so peacefully."
"Yeah, but Phil and Nosedive should be there considering Phil is considered Nosedive's guardian and it eliminates the government's need to make an official mandate." Tanya inserted into the conversation, taking post at the coffee machine.
"Yeah...I guess so..." Wildwing sighed in reply and slowly shuffled the chair out, his large frame slowly wading out of the room and down the hallway to his brother's room. He felt slightly peccant at having to awaken Nosedive, especially after dealing with the traumatic experience of seeing Phil divested down to his bare briefs. Knocking at the door, he gave a soft grin when the familiar whining reached the white mallard's ears. Everything felt normal for that moment of time.
"Dive, wake up. We need to get everything settled at the social security office." Incoherent mumbling was all the teenager was capable of doing. No matter what the circumstances, he always had the most arduous time shaking off the tempting vestiges of slumber. Wildwing decided not to give him the satisfaction of remaining in bed and entered the room unannounced. As expected, Nosedive was interposed between a plethora of comic books and a few scattered articles of clothing. His bed was swamped with junk, but that's how he preferred it. Of course, the older sibling never found Nosedive's unkemptness very compatible with his own sense of cleanliness.
"I swear, Dive; we should have never got separate bedrooms. Look at this mess!" Wildwing reached out to yank the covers off the somber duck, but the teen inconspicuously readied a hand and swatted at his brother's reach, Wildwing putting his arms on his hips and shaking his head amusedly.
"Come on Dive..."
"Five more, Wing..." Nosedive sputtered the words out, turning his head down into a Captain Blasto comic, the golden locks folding downward to conceal his face once again.
Wildwing developed a small scheming grin and oblivious to the dozing form, he slowly gripped the ends of the bed and affrighted the teen when the elder sibling flipped the bed on its side, Nosedive sliding to the cold floor in a waterfall of comic books and jeans.
"WING!" Immediately shooting up and relaying a venomous look to his brother, Wildwing only laughed in reply.
"You're up!"
"That's low, big bro."
"Hey, you knew I'd do it."
"Don't you get it? One minute, I'm laughing at fan fiction about you dressed in tutus and the next minute, Phil was shaking his caboose and absolutely killing Chameleon in some crazy disco dance. I'm psychologically damaged!"
"Man, Dive, I definitely missed you..." Wildwing took an unexpected direction out of the conversation and approached Nosedive, pulling him into a tight bear hug.
"Wing...you're smothering me..."
"Ever heard of tough love?"
"I call this painful, not tough."
"You're really hurting Dive?"
"Well, no, but I want you to let go!" Wildwing gave an affectionate smile as he let go, patting his brother's bare shoulder and doubling back out of the room. Just as Nosedive made for his shirt, Wildwing's head bobbed back inside.
"Hey...we want you out here in five minutes. Got that?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, go away..." Nosedive's little grin affirmed his relief to be back home, even if it was under the guardianship of his coddling big brother. Wildwing gave another smile and disappeared again, the door hissing softly as it closed in the teenager to the peaceful messiness of his room.
"Man, it's nice to be home..."
Little did any of the ducks know that a massive crowd was assembling at the front doors of the stadium. A makeshift stand was quickly erected, a convoluted mess of microphones taking center stage in preparation of the news. Excited reporters clamored about the big announcement, something they know would not be met with positive response from the citizenry of Anaheim. Klegghorn and a small contingency of cops even showed up, the stingy old man munching on doughnuts, eagerly awaiting the ducks' reaction to the announcement.
"It's a good thing I didn't take the day off. First, it's a two-for-one sale at Dunkin' Dounts, and now, I'm going to see those annoying waterfowl be vacated from the premises!" waving a doughnut in support, the other officers looked at each in mutual comprehension; their boss was a maniac.
Over on the opposite end of the ruckus stood two stationary figures. One was the mawkish middle-aged businessman, Mr. Collier, the manager of a local Century 21, the one entrusted with bringing this news to light. Standing next to him was every insipid man's dream, the shapely figure that could only be Ms. Desiree Studmuffin. Obviously, this was no ordinary woman, because under the warm, beige skin and the slight aroma of perfume laid a twisted being underneath, one absent of this farce's beauty. Chameleon was uncharacteristically quiet; keen enough to know that if he begun acting out, other people may discomfit the ruse and force his untimely return to the dull environment the Raptor provided. This whole experience had been entertaining and even though the ducks seem to pull through at every turn, the saurian wasn't ready to see it all come to a close quite yet. Alongside him, browbeaten by the intense strings of sunlight crackling through the morning cloud cover, was the amorphous head, Chameleon's partner in crime and an entity incapable of explanation. Only the saurian could see him, and even though others would deny its existence, the henchman knew and fully believed in this being. Besides, he supplied all the plot twists for the story.
Observant ears soon turned, to the distant sound, aloof from the commotion at the front of the Pond. Chameleon had a hard time placing the source through the verdure wall blocking his vision, but his questions were answered when along the street rolled out the unmistakable form of the Migrator, slowing down as the riders noticed the crowd assembling at their front door.
"Whoa, ducks, what's that?" Duke was the first to point out the ensemble, reporters' lights began flashing on the form of a stately man that was now at the front podium.
"A conference...at the Pond?"
"I think we better check this out."
"Agreed." Wildwing slowly pulled in, its diesel engines roaring against the power of the microphones, commandeering the attention of the people. Stopping a hundred yards short of the crowd, the ducks and their manager began unbuckling their safety belts. As they all headed towards the side door, Wildwing spun around and held his hand up to Phil.
"Hold on. You and Dive shouldn't be seen with us quite yet."
"Well, let me tell you something, booby. Nobody, but NOBODY holds media conventions in front of my Pond without inviting Phil Palmfeather!"
"Yikes!" Duke verbalized the ducks' silent response to Phil's aggressive stance. Wildwing soon lowered his arms in defeat, yet he still had authority over his brother.
"Alright Phil. Dive, stay here."
"Aw, come on!"
"Until we get the matter cleared, you got to stay out of sight."
"Dude, this bites!"
"It's for your own good, Kid." Duke backed up their leader, the two mallards taking the front line. Phil and the females quickly dismounted, the human strutting authoritatively to the podium, where Mr. Collier had began speaking to the crowd. Small murmuring introduced Phil to the speaker, who abruptly stopped and approached the manager, trying to contrive a deceitful look of pleasure.
"Mr. Palmfeather! Hello!"
"Alright, booby, what's going on here?!" Phil jumped on stage, his slightly malignant tone amplifying in the microphone, causing the reporters to feverishly scrawl notes in their pads.
"Ladies and Gentleman, Mr. Palmfeather!" Mr. Collier tried to evade the direct inquisition by a quick introduction.
"Hello..." Phil turned curtly to the microphones and abashedly held his hands when a small round of applause broke out among the reporters. It only lasted a few seconds. "Now, you..."
"I'm Mr. Collier."
"Yeah, fine, boobula. Now what is this all about?"
"It appears you are a little stressed, Mr. Palmfeather."
"Let's cut to the chase. What are doing holding this media convention on my property?!"
"Oh...that's where the issue lies..." Mr. Collier's sideways glance turned over to Ms. Studmuffin, the full bosom swaying with each elegant step. Taking to the stage, she gave a friendly wave and Phil's heart leaped up into his throat. He immediately fell off the attack and his mouth drooped at the sight of her lovely features.
"I have that effect on people, tee hee!" the shapely woman spoke into the microphones, many of the male reporters simultaneously dropped their pads and standing in an awe of infatuation. Woman reporters looked at each other, visibly unimpressed with the display, but inwardly envious. The only ones not under the haze of stupefaction were the ducks over on the sidelines.
"Something is clouding everyone's aura." Grin dryly commented.
"I think it's her chest."
"They're probably fake." Mallory's snide comment drew looks from the others. "What?!"
"Do I detect a hint of jealously, sweetheart?"
"Don't push me L'Orange, or I'll introduce you to my fist."
"Alright guys, this isn't helping. Let me try." Wildwing headed up the ramp onto the stage, his burly size partially blocking out the view of Ms. Studmuffin, who automatically backed up under a qualm of discomfort. However, the leader failed to notice the woman's apprehension and peered out over the crowd, soon recovering from their spellbound captivation. Immediately, Wildwing met boos and snapping remarks from the males in the crowd. The leader never felt so unpopular, especially when Phil tried to shove him aside to catch another eyeful of the woman. He looked at the other ducks, the entire conference seemed curtailed for the time being.
Ms. Studmuffin took another step back and almost squeaked when Wildwing affronted her, the avian form, hands on hips, towering above the slender beauty. The Chameleon could feel the leader's golden mask ripping away at the illusionary façade and gripping at the saurian underneath. However, even if he had insecurities over his impending exposure, Wildwing didn't seem to notice.
"Excuse me, miss."
"M-M-Ms. Studmuffin." The flirtatious voice of earlier had diminished to merely an infinitesimal whisper.
"Ms. Studmuffin. What is this whole business about?" the innocent question soon melded into suspicion when the woman shrank and withdrew behind Mr. Collier. Without a second thought, the mask of Drake DuCaine flurried to life with its activation as it suddenly probed deeper into the woman. Sure enough, the eyes flared under the mask, removing the veil of deception and revealing the Chameleon.
"Chameleon!" Wildwing took a brisk step open, a strong feathered palm grabbing the wiry arm of the woman and pulled her forward. However, instead of revealing himself to the mallard, the saurian continued to play the part.
"He's hurting me!" Wildwing soon heard the ruckus of gasping reporters, Phil and Mr. Collier taking a mutual retreat. Klegghorn spit out his last piece of donut, hands quickly uncovering the gun tucked away in his trench coat, the other cops following suite. Soon, the white avian found himself the target of a dozen firearms, and the incredulous stares from the rest of the bystanders.
"Let him go, duck!"
"Cap, don't you realize...this is the Chameleon!"
"I'm Ms. Studmuffin stupid! Help!"
"I'm warning you!" Klegghorn barked, the steady finger enwrapping the trigger, the gun jutting out an extra inch to back up his threat.
"Phil...back me up..." Wildwing whispered out of the side of his beak, the manager now encased in a nervous sweat, his hands twitching at the sight before him.
"Now booby, d-don't do anything y-y-you might regret..."
"Phil, what are you talking about? You know Chameleon, the shape shifter, right?"
"3!"
"Cap, listen to me!" Wildwing's head flurried around, the jeweled eyes of the mask staring down the human assembly.
"2!"
"Wing, drop her!" Duke yelled over, the other ducks frozen in helplessness.
"1!"
A brief moment later, Wildwing raised his hands, his palm relinquishing the Chameleon. Pretending to faint, Mr. Collier and Phil rushed to her side; Klegghorn approaching, his left hand now featuring a sparkling pair of cuffs. The other ducks were stupefied, watching their leader arrested in front of the media of Anaheim. Not only would this spell disaster on their public relations, but it would mean a frenzied exaggeration of the events would find themselves plastered all over the papers and newscasts nationwide.
"I got to tell you...I'm really disappointed duck. I didn't think you had it in ya." Klegghorn stood in the myriad of flashing lights as he steered Wildwing through the crowd to the car.
"I'm telling you Cap, that's the Chameleon. He's just posing as her."
"Well, all I can see is a frightened woman and you becoming a jail bird. Ha, I made a funny!"
The Mighty Ducks all watched on, eyeing the woman in the arms of Mr. Collier, and the form of their leader, hands crooked being his back, locked in place by steel bracelets. His eyes garnished a helpless glance to his team, who could only return it, equally saturnine. Anaheim's best soon resumed control of the situation, a small collection of police cars speeding away the detained Wildwing.
"I must ask the rest of you to leave..." One of the remaining officers, a slinky young man, said with a bit of intimidated fear. Slowly, the Mighty Ducks and Phil began to edge back towards the Aerowing.
"Wait." Mr. Collier's voice boomed over the microphones, halting the slow withdrawal. "I wanted to tell you that this poor victim, Ms. Desiree Studmuffin, is the new owner of the Arrowhead Pond. It is not your home anymore."
Phil's rounded form turn around, eyes expressing infernal outrage. Before he could speak, the unraveling copy of the will bopped his nose softly, forcing his eyes to follow it downward to reveal the document in its entirety. The manager was aghast, unable to comprehend how this devious man and his voluptuous cohort could have detained a copy of the deed. It didn't seem to make sense to him until he pulled one last painful look to Ms. Studmuffin's eyes. Under the milky-brown pupils existed a distant remnant of something mismatched, a shimmer of jaded light coercively cloaked under infectious appeal. Suddenly, the remembrances all clasped together in his head; the dance competition last night, the Chameleon stretched out over his chair in defeat, and the harmonious clicking of guns before the droids introduced him to comforting dormancy.
"You are the Chameleon...you stole the deed..." he growled low, his accusatory gaze sharply chiding the woman, who only smiled slyly.
"Too bad you can't do anything about it..." soft cheery lips inched towards him, whispering the words, reducing them to muted breaths that shivered the small droplets of sweat on Phil's forehead.
"We'll see about that..." Phil turned abruptly and left, fuming over the thievery by the saurian as he approached the sodden forms of the ducks.
"I wouldn't be heading anywhere if I was you..." the silhouette of Phil swung around, turning back to the wicked grin of Ms. Studmuffin, the engrained pupils of her eyes shining in a sinister tone.
"What?!" Duke suddenly materialized to the side of Phil, startling the man. "Where and hell do you get off stealing our home from right under us?!"
"Well, this..." a silky line of fingers brandished the deed for a reminder. "...says I own the Pond and everything in it!"
"You can't take our stuff! We made it!"
"Hey, the deed says 'as is'. There's nothing I can do about it." A reprobated satire gleamed in the flashing of teeth in a pearly smile. Duke noticed Mallory mere inches away from the breaking point and decided to play the calm figure, for now.
"Well, at least allow us an hour to evacuate what we need. You can have what's left." The duck glared over to the police officer, expecting his support for a fair idea.
"No!"
"Wait...they should be allowed an hour. That is only fair." The officer stepped forward, his hand outstretched to encourage silence. A few seconds of fervent whispering played out between the conniving pair before the woman finally crossed her arms in a defeated pout, before Mr. Collier gave a silent nod.
"One hour...that's it, no more..." the officer turned to the ducks, Duke happily obliged and swung his pointing hand overhead to direct the team back to the Migrator. Phil lagged behind, his cutthroat glare dangerously lethal, but quickly was shuffled aboard by the scurrying ducks, who couldn't waste any time with vendettas.
Surprisingly obedient, Nosedive remained the vehicle, his head sunk with his golden locks blocking off access to his worried glance. Immediately, Mallory took the wheel to swerve the Migrator back into their underground entrance. Duke approached a spot adjacent to Nosedive, wanting to consol him.
"Kid, are you alright?"
"Duke...what are we going to do about Wing? They're locking him up and that woman's got our home under wraps."
"You heard the conversation?"
"This things got sound amplifiers, you know."
"Oh...yeah..." Duke gave a small smile at the teen's keenness, especially since the perplexing controls of the vehicle had no labels.
Just then, the hissing breaks yanked the vehicle to a stop, Tanya and Grin inventorying the room aboard for necessities. Mallory gave a sharp grunt as she stood up, looking at Duke expectingly.
"So Mr. Leader, what do you propose we do?"
"Well, we got an hour...I suppose we pack."
"Excuse me! That's it?! We got our leader in jail, some bitch about to take the Pond and all our possessions and all you can do is to tell us to pack."
"Well...uh..." Nosedive silenced himself, stopped cold by the turning head of Mallory, already florid enough for a wisecrack. He retreated and joined the others to take inventory.
"Sweetheart..."
"Don't you sweetheart me, buster!" a sharp fingernail stuck the thief in the chest, producing a slight flinch.
"Alright, Mallory! That's better?!"
"Don't test me Duke...I'm not in a good mood."
"I'm trying to say I do actually have a plan...and a pretty good one too..." the artificial eye turning in conclusion, both sets of eyes turning to Nosedive, who suddenly turned around under the haunting suspicion of being volunteered for something.
"Uh...hi guys!" he peeped as the pair approached him, Duke turning to Mallory with a feathered hand clutched the shoulder of Nosedive, as if presenting him to the woman.
"What we need is to conduct a little...subterfuge."
"Huh?"
"Nosedive...no one should know that we have you in custody...well, that is, if that police officer last night kept quiet.
"Yeah, keep going..."
"Nosedive!"
"Sorry, Mal Mal." The teen made a zipping motion over his lips.
"He can stay here while we leave...that is, if our little prankster feels up to the job."
"You want me to terrorize her?"
"It's not a she, boobie." Phil, taciturn since boarding the Migrator, suddenly rose from his seat, turning to the others. "That's the Chameleon. He stole the deed after last night's...events."
"WHAT?! Chameleon stole the deed...PHIL!" Condemnation was legibly spelled on Mallory's snarling beak. The manager shrunk a little.
"Wait, wouldn't Tanya have a copy on the Drake One?"
"Afraid not, booby. That's an original, one-of-a-kind thing."
"This is great!" Duke clamored up, his elation challenged by Mallory's livid mien. "If it's the Chameleon, all you have to do is make him turn back to normal form, show evidence to Klegghorn, and Wildwing will be freed and we get our home back. Everything will be fine again!"
"Awesome! Fellow ducks...it's time I get...mischievous, mwa ha ha ha ha!" Dive's swaying form happily jogged out of the vehicle, past the bewildered Grin and Tanya, disappearing into the depths of their fortress.
"You think he's going to pull this off Duke?" Mallory's doubtfulness slightly offset the resilient faith the older mallard had in their teenage comrade.
"Hey...look on the bright side, Sweetheart. You won't be the victim tonight."
"Will you guys...uh-uh, help or something!" Tanya's flustered form was just setting down a heavy piece of equipment, her jumpsuit already dotted with sweat.
"We are, Tanya...we got it all figured out. We can keep everything here. Just lock out access to all the machines down here, turn on all the cameras, and patch them into the Migrator. I promise you a show good enough to charge admission!" Duke reclined arrogantly in one of the piloting chairs and set his feet up on a neighboring console. He looked out the windshield, at the barren concavity of their hanger, yet his mind was elsewhere. For once in a long while, he was actually anticipating crude and unadulterated fun, and of all things, at the expense of a guileless saurian.
"Oh boy, tonight's gonna be great!"
(Save your questions about some of the more colorful characters of the story and just lay back and wait. Will Chameleon be exposed to the authorities? Will the others join the "Free Wildwing" rally...well, ok, there isn't one, but it sounded good right? What will Dive do? Things get a little crude in the final chapter, "Is That a Banana or Are Your Briefs Happy to See Me?"!)
Oh, and I actually got an AIM screen name for my author name, "Justsomeone12" (had to add the number). Contact me if you'd like to chat or something!)
Reality Sucks
Chapter 9: Domed
Early weekday mornings in Anaheim were atypical of the metropolitan areas strung across the United States. Strings of highways carving apart folds of humanity, serving as conduits for the dominate army of the automobile, people traveling en mass to various locations scattered about the dissected grids of urbanized ground. Yet, Friday mornings had that special sanguine charm that didn't make the skies gloomy with the mobilization of disgruntled underclassmen. The weekend was coming, a chance to push the paper aside and patronize the entertainment districts while drinking your problems away and socializing with your friends. Even more popular than the revered combination of drugs and alcohol was attending a friendly game of hockey. Many of Anaheim's commuters took the opportunity to flash a quick glance towards the ominous dome over the horizon from their smog-ridden death traps, smiling in anticipation as they would happy sway in the crowds, watching their diligent waterfowls heroes ameliorate their pangs of misery as they dedicated yet another score to the masses, a point for the little guy. One can only image the outrage, a fulsome melody of car horns honking in enraged impatience when the radio stations nonchalantly disrupted the plans of countless denizens by announcing that the game this weekend was cancelled and the Pond was being extradited to what was its lawful owner, Ms. Desiree Studmuffin.
Beyond the pillars of bolted concrete lay the tattered remains of commercial strips, struggling to survive the daily struggle against despairing penury. On one such street, a small brick box, devoid of any ornamentation, sat the offices of a localized Century 21, with the salacious man holding a document that would soon introduce the ducks to homelessness. The outside world shared a secret the avians in their underground home was still oblivious to. Deep inside the pond, in the bunkers that instituted their headquarters, the Mighty Ducks were beginning to gather for the morning coffee. Violating a police order, they now had Nosedive in their custody, sleeping in his own bed for a change while Phil invaded the couch of the living room. Yet Wildwing, even amid a sleepless night, was chipper, especially for the prospect of clearing their names with the miraculous recovery of the Drake One's memory banks.
"Should we have Nosedive come too?" Mallory asked while stirring her coffee at the kitchen table. The ducks had taken refuge there from the abominate snores of their plump manager.
"He's been through a lot for one night, and he's sleeping so peacefully."
"Yeah, but Phil and Nosedive should be there considering Phil is considered Nosedive's guardian and it eliminates the government's need to make an official mandate." Tanya inserted into the conversation, taking post at the coffee machine.
"Yeah...I guess so..." Wildwing sighed in reply and slowly shuffled the chair out, his large frame slowly wading out of the room and down the hallway to his brother's room. He felt slightly peccant at having to awaken Nosedive, especially after dealing with the traumatic experience of seeing Phil divested down to his bare briefs. Knocking at the door, he gave a soft grin when the familiar whining reached the white mallard's ears. Everything felt normal for that moment of time.
"Dive, wake up. We need to get everything settled at the social security office." Incoherent mumbling was all the teenager was capable of doing. No matter what the circumstances, he always had the most arduous time shaking off the tempting vestiges of slumber. Wildwing decided not to give him the satisfaction of remaining in bed and entered the room unannounced. As expected, Nosedive was interposed between a plethora of comic books and a few scattered articles of clothing. His bed was swamped with junk, but that's how he preferred it. Of course, the older sibling never found Nosedive's unkemptness very compatible with his own sense of cleanliness.
"I swear, Dive; we should have never got separate bedrooms. Look at this mess!" Wildwing reached out to yank the covers off the somber duck, but the teen inconspicuously readied a hand and swatted at his brother's reach, Wildwing putting his arms on his hips and shaking his head amusedly.
"Come on Dive..."
"Five more, Wing..." Nosedive sputtered the words out, turning his head down into a Captain Blasto comic, the golden locks folding downward to conceal his face once again.
Wildwing developed a small scheming grin and oblivious to the dozing form, he slowly gripped the ends of the bed and affrighted the teen when the elder sibling flipped the bed on its side, Nosedive sliding to the cold floor in a waterfall of comic books and jeans.
"WING!" Immediately shooting up and relaying a venomous look to his brother, Wildwing only laughed in reply.
"You're up!"
"That's low, big bro."
"Hey, you knew I'd do it."
"Don't you get it? One minute, I'm laughing at fan fiction about you dressed in tutus and the next minute, Phil was shaking his caboose and absolutely killing Chameleon in some crazy disco dance. I'm psychologically damaged!"
"Man, Dive, I definitely missed you..." Wildwing took an unexpected direction out of the conversation and approached Nosedive, pulling him into a tight bear hug.
"Wing...you're smothering me..."
"Ever heard of tough love?"
"I call this painful, not tough."
"You're really hurting Dive?"
"Well, no, but I want you to let go!" Wildwing gave an affectionate smile as he let go, patting his brother's bare shoulder and doubling back out of the room. Just as Nosedive made for his shirt, Wildwing's head bobbed back inside.
"Hey...we want you out here in five minutes. Got that?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, go away..." Nosedive's little grin affirmed his relief to be back home, even if it was under the guardianship of his coddling big brother. Wildwing gave another smile and disappeared again, the door hissing softly as it closed in the teenager to the peaceful messiness of his room.
"Man, it's nice to be home..."
Little did any of the ducks know that a massive crowd was assembling at the front doors of the stadium. A makeshift stand was quickly erected, a convoluted mess of microphones taking center stage in preparation of the news. Excited reporters clamored about the big announcement, something they know would not be met with positive response from the citizenry of Anaheim. Klegghorn and a small contingency of cops even showed up, the stingy old man munching on doughnuts, eagerly awaiting the ducks' reaction to the announcement.
"It's a good thing I didn't take the day off. First, it's a two-for-one sale at Dunkin' Dounts, and now, I'm going to see those annoying waterfowl be vacated from the premises!" waving a doughnut in support, the other officers looked at each in mutual comprehension; their boss was a maniac.
Over on the opposite end of the ruckus stood two stationary figures. One was the mawkish middle-aged businessman, Mr. Collier, the manager of a local Century 21, the one entrusted with bringing this news to light. Standing next to him was every insipid man's dream, the shapely figure that could only be Ms. Desiree Studmuffin. Obviously, this was no ordinary woman, because under the warm, beige skin and the slight aroma of perfume laid a twisted being underneath, one absent of this farce's beauty. Chameleon was uncharacteristically quiet; keen enough to know that if he begun acting out, other people may discomfit the ruse and force his untimely return to the dull environment the Raptor provided. This whole experience had been entertaining and even though the ducks seem to pull through at every turn, the saurian wasn't ready to see it all come to a close quite yet. Alongside him, browbeaten by the intense strings of sunlight crackling through the morning cloud cover, was the amorphous head, Chameleon's partner in crime and an entity incapable of explanation. Only the saurian could see him, and even though others would deny its existence, the henchman knew and fully believed in this being. Besides, he supplied all the plot twists for the story.
Observant ears soon turned, to the distant sound, aloof from the commotion at the front of the Pond. Chameleon had a hard time placing the source through the verdure wall blocking his vision, but his questions were answered when along the street rolled out the unmistakable form of the Migrator, slowing down as the riders noticed the crowd assembling at their front door.
"Whoa, ducks, what's that?" Duke was the first to point out the ensemble, reporters' lights began flashing on the form of a stately man that was now at the front podium.
"A conference...at the Pond?"
"I think we better check this out."
"Agreed." Wildwing slowly pulled in, its diesel engines roaring against the power of the microphones, commandeering the attention of the people. Stopping a hundred yards short of the crowd, the ducks and their manager began unbuckling their safety belts. As they all headed towards the side door, Wildwing spun around and held his hand up to Phil.
"Hold on. You and Dive shouldn't be seen with us quite yet."
"Well, let me tell you something, booby. Nobody, but NOBODY holds media conventions in front of my Pond without inviting Phil Palmfeather!"
"Yikes!" Duke verbalized the ducks' silent response to Phil's aggressive stance. Wildwing soon lowered his arms in defeat, yet he still had authority over his brother.
"Alright Phil. Dive, stay here."
"Aw, come on!"
"Until we get the matter cleared, you got to stay out of sight."
"Dude, this bites!"
"It's for your own good, Kid." Duke backed up their leader, the two mallards taking the front line. Phil and the females quickly dismounted, the human strutting authoritatively to the podium, where Mr. Collier had began speaking to the crowd. Small murmuring introduced Phil to the speaker, who abruptly stopped and approached the manager, trying to contrive a deceitful look of pleasure.
"Mr. Palmfeather! Hello!"
"Alright, booby, what's going on here?!" Phil jumped on stage, his slightly malignant tone amplifying in the microphone, causing the reporters to feverishly scrawl notes in their pads.
"Ladies and Gentleman, Mr. Palmfeather!" Mr. Collier tried to evade the direct inquisition by a quick introduction.
"Hello..." Phil turned curtly to the microphones and abashedly held his hands when a small round of applause broke out among the reporters. It only lasted a few seconds. "Now, you..."
"I'm Mr. Collier."
"Yeah, fine, boobula. Now what is this all about?"
"It appears you are a little stressed, Mr. Palmfeather."
"Let's cut to the chase. What are doing holding this media convention on my property?!"
"Oh...that's where the issue lies..." Mr. Collier's sideways glance turned over to Ms. Studmuffin, the full bosom swaying with each elegant step. Taking to the stage, she gave a friendly wave and Phil's heart leaped up into his throat. He immediately fell off the attack and his mouth drooped at the sight of her lovely features.
"I have that effect on people, tee hee!" the shapely woman spoke into the microphones, many of the male reporters simultaneously dropped their pads and standing in an awe of infatuation. Woman reporters looked at each other, visibly unimpressed with the display, but inwardly envious. The only ones not under the haze of stupefaction were the ducks over on the sidelines.
"Something is clouding everyone's aura." Grin dryly commented.
"I think it's her chest."
"They're probably fake." Mallory's snide comment drew looks from the others. "What?!"
"Do I detect a hint of jealously, sweetheart?"
"Don't push me L'Orange, or I'll introduce you to my fist."
"Alright guys, this isn't helping. Let me try." Wildwing headed up the ramp onto the stage, his burly size partially blocking out the view of Ms. Studmuffin, who automatically backed up under a qualm of discomfort. However, the leader failed to notice the woman's apprehension and peered out over the crowd, soon recovering from their spellbound captivation. Immediately, Wildwing met boos and snapping remarks from the males in the crowd. The leader never felt so unpopular, especially when Phil tried to shove him aside to catch another eyeful of the woman. He looked at the other ducks, the entire conference seemed curtailed for the time being.
Ms. Studmuffin took another step back and almost squeaked when Wildwing affronted her, the avian form, hands on hips, towering above the slender beauty. The Chameleon could feel the leader's golden mask ripping away at the illusionary façade and gripping at the saurian underneath. However, even if he had insecurities over his impending exposure, Wildwing didn't seem to notice.
"Excuse me, miss."
"M-M-Ms. Studmuffin." The flirtatious voice of earlier had diminished to merely an infinitesimal whisper.
"Ms. Studmuffin. What is this whole business about?" the innocent question soon melded into suspicion when the woman shrank and withdrew behind Mr. Collier. Without a second thought, the mask of Drake DuCaine flurried to life with its activation as it suddenly probed deeper into the woman. Sure enough, the eyes flared under the mask, removing the veil of deception and revealing the Chameleon.
"Chameleon!" Wildwing took a brisk step open, a strong feathered palm grabbing the wiry arm of the woman and pulled her forward. However, instead of revealing himself to the mallard, the saurian continued to play the part.
"He's hurting me!" Wildwing soon heard the ruckus of gasping reporters, Phil and Mr. Collier taking a mutual retreat. Klegghorn spit out his last piece of donut, hands quickly uncovering the gun tucked away in his trench coat, the other cops following suite. Soon, the white avian found himself the target of a dozen firearms, and the incredulous stares from the rest of the bystanders.
"Let him go, duck!"
"Cap, don't you realize...this is the Chameleon!"
"I'm Ms. Studmuffin stupid! Help!"
"I'm warning you!" Klegghorn barked, the steady finger enwrapping the trigger, the gun jutting out an extra inch to back up his threat.
"Phil...back me up..." Wildwing whispered out of the side of his beak, the manager now encased in a nervous sweat, his hands twitching at the sight before him.
"Now booby, d-don't do anything y-y-you might regret..."
"Phil, what are you talking about? You know Chameleon, the shape shifter, right?"
"3!"
"Cap, listen to me!" Wildwing's head flurried around, the jeweled eyes of the mask staring down the human assembly.
"2!"
"Wing, drop her!" Duke yelled over, the other ducks frozen in helplessness.
"1!"
A brief moment later, Wildwing raised his hands, his palm relinquishing the Chameleon. Pretending to faint, Mr. Collier and Phil rushed to her side; Klegghorn approaching, his left hand now featuring a sparkling pair of cuffs. The other ducks were stupefied, watching their leader arrested in front of the media of Anaheim. Not only would this spell disaster on their public relations, but it would mean a frenzied exaggeration of the events would find themselves plastered all over the papers and newscasts nationwide.
"I got to tell you...I'm really disappointed duck. I didn't think you had it in ya." Klegghorn stood in the myriad of flashing lights as he steered Wildwing through the crowd to the car.
"I'm telling you Cap, that's the Chameleon. He's just posing as her."
"Well, all I can see is a frightened woman and you becoming a jail bird. Ha, I made a funny!"
The Mighty Ducks all watched on, eyeing the woman in the arms of Mr. Collier, and the form of their leader, hands crooked being his back, locked in place by steel bracelets. His eyes garnished a helpless glance to his team, who could only return it, equally saturnine. Anaheim's best soon resumed control of the situation, a small collection of police cars speeding away the detained Wildwing.
"I must ask the rest of you to leave..." One of the remaining officers, a slinky young man, said with a bit of intimidated fear. Slowly, the Mighty Ducks and Phil began to edge back towards the Aerowing.
"Wait." Mr. Collier's voice boomed over the microphones, halting the slow withdrawal. "I wanted to tell you that this poor victim, Ms. Desiree Studmuffin, is the new owner of the Arrowhead Pond. It is not your home anymore."
Phil's rounded form turn around, eyes expressing infernal outrage. Before he could speak, the unraveling copy of the will bopped his nose softly, forcing his eyes to follow it downward to reveal the document in its entirety. The manager was aghast, unable to comprehend how this devious man and his voluptuous cohort could have detained a copy of the deed. It didn't seem to make sense to him until he pulled one last painful look to Ms. Studmuffin's eyes. Under the milky-brown pupils existed a distant remnant of something mismatched, a shimmer of jaded light coercively cloaked under infectious appeal. Suddenly, the remembrances all clasped together in his head; the dance competition last night, the Chameleon stretched out over his chair in defeat, and the harmonious clicking of guns before the droids introduced him to comforting dormancy.
"You are the Chameleon...you stole the deed..." he growled low, his accusatory gaze sharply chiding the woman, who only smiled slyly.
"Too bad you can't do anything about it..." soft cheery lips inched towards him, whispering the words, reducing them to muted breaths that shivered the small droplets of sweat on Phil's forehead.
"We'll see about that..." Phil turned abruptly and left, fuming over the thievery by the saurian as he approached the sodden forms of the ducks.
"I wouldn't be heading anywhere if I was you..." the silhouette of Phil swung around, turning back to the wicked grin of Ms. Studmuffin, the engrained pupils of her eyes shining in a sinister tone.
"What?!" Duke suddenly materialized to the side of Phil, startling the man. "Where and hell do you get off stealing our home from right under us?!"
"Well, this..." a silky line of fingers brandished the deed for a reminder. "...says I own the Pond and everything in it!"
"You can't take our stuff! We made it!"
"Hey, the deed says 'as is'. There's nothing I can do about it." A reprobated satire gleamed in the flashing of teeth in a pearly smile. Duke noticed Mallory mere inches away from the breaking point and decided to play the calm figure, for now.
"Well, at least allow us an hour to evacuate what we need. You can have what's left." The duck glared over to the police officer, expecting his support for a fair idea.
"No!"
"Wait...they should be allowed an hour. That is only fair." The officer stepped forward, his hand outstretched to encourage silence. A few seconds of fervent whispering played out between the conniving pair before the woman finally crossed her arms in a defeated pout, before Mr. Collier gave a silent nod.
"One hour...that's it, no more..." the officer turned to the ducks, Duke happily obliged and swung his pointing hand overhead to direct the team back to the Migrator. Phil lagged behind, his cutthroat glare dangerously lethal, but quickly was shuffled aboard by the scurrying ducks, who couldn't waste any time with vendettas.
Surprisingly obedient, Nosedive remained the vehicle, his head sunk with his golden locks blocking off access to his worried glance. Immediately, Mallory took the wheel to swerve the Migrator back into their underground entrance. Duke approached a spot adjacent to Nosedive, wanting to consol him.
"Kid, are you alright?"
"Duke...what are we going to do about Wing? They're locking him up and that woman's got our home under wraps."
"You heard the conversation?"
"This things got sound amplifiers, you know."
"Oh...yeah..." Duke gave a small smile at the teen's keenness, especially since the perplexing controls of the vehicle had no labels.
Just then, the hissing breaks yanked the vehicle to a stop, Tanya and Grin inventorying the room aboard for necessities. Mallory gave a sharp grunt as she stood up, looking at Duke expectingly.
"So Mr. Leader, what do you propose we do?"
"Well, we got an hour...I suppose we pack."
"Excuse me! That's it?! We got our leader in jail, some bitch about to take the Pond and all our possessions and all you can do is to tell us to pack."
"Well...uh..." Nosedive silenced himself, stopped cold by the turning head of Mallory, already florid enough for a wisecrack. He retreated and joined the others to take inventory.
"Sweetheart..."
"Don't you sweetheart me, buster!" a sharp fingernail stuck the thief in the chest, producing a slight flinch.
"Alright, Mallory! That's better?!"
"Don't test me Duke...I'm not in a good mood."
"I'm trying to say I do actually have a plan...and a pretty good one too..." the artificial eye turning in conclusion, both sets of eyes turning to Nosedive, who suddenly turned around under the haunting suspicion of being volunteered for something.
"Uh...hi guys!" he peeped as the pair approached him, Duke turning to Mallory with a feathered hand clutched the shoulder of Nosedive, as if presenting him to the woman.
"What we need is to conduct a little...subterfuge."
"Huh?"
"Nosedive...no one should know that we have you in custody...well, that is, if that police officer last night kept quiet.
"Yeah, keep going..."
"Nosedive!"
"Sorry, Mal Mal." The teen made a zipping motion over his lips.
"He can stay here while we leave...that is, if our little prankster feels up to the job."
"You want me to terrorize her?"
"It's not a she, boobie." Phil, taciturn since boarding the Migrator, suddenly rose from his seat, turning to the others. "That's the Chameleon. He stole the deed after last night's...events."
"WHAT?! Chameleon stole the deed...PHIL!" Condemnation was legibly spelled on Mallory's snarling beak. The manager shrunk a little.
"Wait, wouldn't Tanya have a copy on the Drake One?"
"Afraid not, booby. That's an original, one-of-a-kind thing."
"This is great!" Duke clamored up, his elation challenged by Mallory's livid mien. "If it's the Chameleon, all you have to do is make him turn back to normal form, show evidence to Klegghorn, and Wildwing will be freed and we get our home back. Everything will be fine again!"
"Awesome! Fellow ducks...it's time I get...mischievous, mwa ha ha ha ha!" Dive's swaying form happily jogged out of the vehicle, past the bewildered Grin and Tanya, disappearing into the depths of their fortress.
"You think he's going to pull this off Duke?" Mallory's doubtfulness slightly offset the resilient faith the older mallard had in their teenage comrade.
"Hey...look on the bright side, Sweetheart. You won't be the victim tonight."
"Will you guys...uh-uh, help or something!" Tanya's flustered form was just setting down a heavy piece of equipment, her jumpsuit already dotted with sweat.
"We are, Tanya...we got it all figured out. We can keep everything here. Just lock out access to all the machines down here, turn on all the cameras, and patch them into the Migrator. I promise you a show good enough to charge admission!" Duke reclined arrogantly in one of the piloting chairs and set his feet up on a neighboring console. He looked out the windshield, at the barren concavity of their hanger, yet his mind was elsewhere. For once in a long while, he was actually anticipating crude and unadulterated fun, and of all things, at the expense of a guileless saurian.
"Oh boy, tonight's gonna be great!"
(Save your questions about some of the more colorful characters of the story and just lay back and wait. Will Chameleon be exposed to the authorities? Will the others join the "Free Wildwing" rally...well, ok, there isn't one, but it sounded good right? What will Dive do? Things get a little crude in the final chapter, "Is That a Banana or Are Your Briefs Happy to See Me?"!)