Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Ginger, and a couple others. Please don't sue me! Either for the characters, or this fic. BTW, if you see something like "_ _ _ _" in my stories, they're censored curses. See, I figure, if you don't like it when I censor them, then you can print my story out and fill them in yourself! Neat, huh?
"Ginger"
The afternoon snuck in, showering sunlight on a day not quite as ordinary as other days, but not so unusual that as to be incredible. The members of Mystery Inc, including its junior member, were attending the Tenth Annual International Food Fair. Everyone had parted, Fred and Daphne to enter a dance competition, Velma, Scooby, Shaggy and Scrappy to an Italian cooking demonstration. The chef had just completed his lastest masterpiece. "And that," he said, bowing to the audience, is how you make Fettucini al Fredo. Ciao!"
"Chow!" exlaimed Shaggy, "Like, that means food!"
"No, no, silly," Velma corrected him, "Ciao. It's Italian for 'Goodbye'."
"Rats," muttered Scooby.
"Like, sure, I knew that," said Shaggy.
By now, Scrappy had been distracted from the group on seeing a small coal pot sitting near one of the stalls. "Neat-O!" he enthused. The puppy turned suddenly, just in time to feel his collar slipping from his neck. The thief was a tall, greyish-white, great daned girl who looked around sixteen- or maybe seventeen- years old. Realising that she had been seen, the thief fled, and Scrappy gave chase. "Da da da-da da-da!! Puppy Power!" he yelled, as he chased after the thief.
Scrappy followed the pickpocket out of the fair and down several streets, refusing to give up although she was taller and a bit faster than he. Had he stopped to look around, he would have noticed that the streets were deserted. The pickpocket hoped over a broken-down old fence, and dodged into an huge, old warehouse whose white paint was peeling, just like other two surrounding buildings. Distracted, perhaps, she dropped the collar. She tried to turn back for it, but Scrappy got to it first, and as her paw reached for it, he snapped at her.
"Give yourself up, ya thievin' meanie!" he warned, putting on his collar and walking boldy into the darkness of the room. He realised his mistake only after the gang hidden in the darkness had already attacked.
Scrappy had been tied to a chair for several hours, now. Unable to see, speak or even move, he waited. The goons hidden in that warehouse had bound, gagged, and blindfolded him, and had taken him to some unknown location.
Presently, a young, female voice spoke. "Calm down. This won't-- I mean-- if you don't make trouble, you won't get hurt." She placed a paw over his mouth. "If you promise not to move or scream, I'll take the gag off. You promise?" Scrappy nodded, and held still as the gag was removed.
"Hey! You're the thief who tried to mug me for my collar!" Scrappy shouted.
"Yes, I am-- was. So sue me-- I have to eat." She sighed. "And you were dumb enough to follow me, weren't you?"
"Just so you know, nobody steals from Scrappy-Doo and gets away with it!"
"Really," said the girl drily, "Well, now you've caught me. So what are you going to do about it?"
"You can't keep me here forever!" threatened Scrappy, "my Uncle Scooby--"
"--has no idea where you are and no way of finding you," she snapped.
"My Uncle Scooby'll find me, and when he does, boy, will you be sorry you messed with me!"
"Oh yeah?" she snarled, "Your uncle is a cowardly old prick who wouldn't know his ass from his--"
"You can't talk about my Uncle Scooby like that!" Scrappy shouted, "Just wait'll I get outta here-- I'll splat you into pieces! I'll chew your face off! I'll--"
The puppy was cut off by a harsh voice. "Ginger! You get that mutt to shut up and get your sorry ass here!" The sounds of footsteps-- loud ones-- followed. A door slammed. Silence followed, pierced only by the muffled shouting outside. He could tell he was alone; the soft sound of breathing was gone. There was nothing he could do as his ropes were out of reach to his snapping jaws. Nothing to do but wait.
A little while later, a door opened. Scrappy could hear Ginger near him. "Scrappy?" she called him, "Scrappy!"
"What do you want?" asked the pup, still angry at Ginger for her insults. He suddenly felt something impact with his face.
"Don't you ever talk to me like that." Her snarl was angrier and harsher than before, as if something had happened after that harsh voice had called her. Scrappy struggled to escape his bonds, but received only sore wrists and another punch to his muzzle. "If you try to escape, I'll kill you. I really will."
Ginger's threat made Scrappy a little nervous. "What'd I ever do to you?!" he snapped.
Ginger was seething. "You were born." She left him wondering what she could possibly mean.
That night, Ginger returned. Scrappy could smell food; it smelt like chicken. It made him feel very hungry. "Eat it," Ginger said, her voice without its harsh edge for the first time since Scrappy had known her.
"Hey... How do I know you're not trying to poison me?" he asked.
"If I wanted to kill you..." Ginger pressed something hard, cold and sharp against his chest, "it wouldn't be poison. You got that?" Scrappy nodded, wishing more than ever that he could see his captor. "Good," said Ginger, "Now eat."
The next day, Scrappy awoke to hear screams and fighting. The door opened and slammed. Someone nearby was whimpering, and it sounded like Ginger. Without warning, something slammed into Scrappy's face.
"Hey! Watch it!" Scrappy shouted.
"I'll beat the flesh off of your cute face!" came the anguished reply. Scrappy felt another punch, and snapped instinctively, gripping something that felt like a dog's paw. He could feel it struggling, but kept his teeth on it, almost knowing that if he let go, he would be attacked, perhaps more brutally. Blood dripped into his mouth, and though he tried not to gag on it, he still refused to let go of the flesh in his mouth.
Ginger screamed, her pain obvious. "Let me go, you little--!" She finally managed to pull her paw away, whimpering softly. Scrappy spat the copper taste from his mouth, gagging on the warm liquid. Ginger was silent.
Scrappy's only comment was "See? I told you not to mess with me," although he didn't sound pleased with what he had done.
The next day passed much more easily for Scrappy, as Ginger seemed to avoid him as much as possible after that attack. She still fed him, and took him, blindfolded, to the bathroom, but other than that, Scrappy was more or less alone. But, the third afternoon, Scrappy could hear commotion outside. The screams and the sounds of fighting were more loud, more severe. Ginger slammed the door fit to rip it off its hinges, screaming. "It's your_ _ _ _ _ _ _ fault!"
"Huh? Gee, what did I do?" asked Scrappy.
"Shut up! I hate you! I hate you and that _ _ _ _ _ _ _, Scooby!"
"You leave my Uncle Scooby alone! You can't talk about--"
"Stop defending him! He ruined my life!" Ginger screamed. At that point, the teen-age dog seemed to snap. She tore into Scrappy in anger, beating him relentlessly. At first, Scrappy snapped at her, biting her occasionally, but he could not last long against her fierce blows.
The gangly, greyish-white great dane stood there, her right paw wrapped in a blood-soaked, white bandage. She was covered in blood, some of it hers, but most of it belonging to the half-conscious puppy in front of her. Her body was also covered with bruises, a few given to her by her fight with Scrappy. However, there were many other bruises and scars from deeper wounds that told that someone had been rough with her. Her eye was dark and swollen, yet another wound that Scrappy had not given her. The girl panted heavily, giving the puppy in front of her a hardened glare. "What have you got to say now?" she barked cruelly, "is he still your hero?" She stared down at Scrappy's slumped figure her flint-like countenance producing a frozen glare. She screamed, "Answer me!" Her voice lowered as she looked at her bandaged paw. "Is he, Scrappy?"
Scrappy barely nodded. "He's the best uncle in the whole world," he answered, half-conscious.
Ginger punched him at this. "Stop it!" she screamed. "He doesn't love you anymore than he did me!" Scrappy was silent, unmoving. "Scrappy?" A tear welled in her eye. She tried to squeeze it away, pain forced it through. That pain turned to fear as, for the first time, she realised the blood on her paws. "Scrappy!" Ginger tore frantically at Scrappy's bonds in her efforts to free him. "Scrappy-- I'm sorry!" The tears welled further as she held the smaller pup. "Scrappy! Wake up!" She sobbed now, rocking him in her arms. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Scrappy turned, mumbling something. Ginger sighed in relief, holding him still. She could feel her cell phone near her, once used to assist in more elaborate crime. However, it would now be used to make a very important phone call.
After a few rings, someone with a high-pitched voice answered. "Like hello?"
"You tell that Scooby that if he loves his nephew, he'll meet me in the old warehouse on 88 Cross Avenue." She hung up. She didn't need a lecture, especially not from a hippy. "You know," she sighed, "I could have killed you back there." She paused uncomfortably. "But I couldn't kill my little brother."
Scrappy stared up at her and coughed, "your little what?"
Ginger coughed. "I remember when Mom left my dad and mated with--" her voice went cold as she said the word-- "Ember. Your dad. I was so excited when Mom said she was pregnant with you. I was getting a little brother, and we were moving to live with my Mom's brother-- Scooby." The puppy in her paws looked up at her in interest. "But Scooby didn't want us," she said bitterly, "if you weren't inside Ruby, he'd have left you too. And that's when my dad-- my real dad-- took me home with him--"
"Hey," Scrappy cut in angrily, even despite his injuries, "who told you that Uncle Scooby doesn't want us! I'll SPLAT the meanie--"
"My DAD told me that!" Ginger glared down at him, trying to hold in her anger at the memories of being cast aside like some moldy Scooby Snak. The two dogs looked at each other, both unnaturally quiet.
"Well, it's not true," said the little brown puppy as a matter of factly, before giving into the exhaustion has his loss of blood and energy had induced.
Her little half-brother in arms, Ginger waited for Scooby to break his promise. She was nervous, definately. Her daddy had often told her stories about her uncle, about how he was so ashamed of her. Her daddy had told her that he'd taken her only to spare her the cruelty of a big, mean dog who would have destroyed her, given half a chance. From what she'd heard, Scooby had wanted her dead at first, and when he couldn't find her (her daddy had hidden her away), he forgot about her. Scooby may as well have been a demon. It was Daddy who had taught her many other useful thing as well. He taught her how to stay alive by stealing from those rich, fat priggs who probably would not need the missing goods.
Ginger shook her head clear of her wandering thoughts. "He's not coming," she growled, feeling some comfort in her words, "I'm sure you were a cute little boost to his career, but he doesn't need you anymore."
"Don't worry, Ginger," Scrappy chirruped as much as he could, "Uncle Scooby'll come."
"REEELP! Raggy, relp!"
"Calm down, ya big mook! It's just a statue! See?"
"A ratue?" The first voice giggled.
Footsteps followed. Ginger tensed as they got closer. She found it hard to believe that the evil demon who had wanted her dead could sound like the lisping pile of nerves who was approaching, but... Daddy was never wrong. Period.
The footsteps drew nearer. "Like, I know how you feel about Scrappy, but I still hate looking for him in this creepy place!" This voice, the voice of the hippy, chuckled nervously.
"Re too, Raggy," said the other nervous voice, "but re've rot to rescue Rappy!"
The door opened. Ginger tensed. In front of her stood a tall, gangly, brown-haired teen. His hair was uncombed, chin covered in a premature beard, scruffy, and his brown shoes in need of a polish. She shifted her eyes to his companion. She had to admit, he looked nothing like the mean, angry monster her Daddy had spoken of. In fact, he look more like a goofy dog with black spots and a blue collar with a gold tag-- it looked just like the collar she had tried to swipe from Scrappy a few days ago. The serious look on his face seemed as out of place as a horse in a dogpound. Fearful, she stepped forward, holding Scrappy gently in her jaws by the scruff of his neck.
"Zoinks! He looks like he lost a fight with a steam-roller!" the human gaped, accepting the now-unconscious puppy.
"With me, actually," she mumbled.
They were not paying attention to her, but to Scrappy, whom Scooby was nudging. "Rappy, rake up! Rake up!"
"Like, it's no good, Scooby-- he's down for the count!" said the hippy. Ginger knew she could have escaped, but did not take the chance, for fear glued her to her place.
Finally, the big dog looked at her. She cringed, just waiting for him to attack her. After all, according to her Daddy, he'd wanted to do that since the day she was born. "Ringer Doo?" he wondered.
Ginger cringed. "You're going to kill me, so just do it. Just-- get it over with."
"Kill you?" the hippy gave another giddy giggle, "Like, we're just glad you're not trying to kill us!"
Scooby put his neck over hers. Shock made her weak all over-- it was a hug. She had not been hugged since-- well-- since her Daddy had taken her. "Raggy! Rit's her! Rit's really her!"
"Like, who's your friend, Scooby?" asked the hippy.
"Ry reice, Ringer-Doo!" said Scooby. He almost seemed proud, even though he could not have been. She had nearly beaten her little brother to death, and that was only after robbing and kidnapping him. Besides that, she was a lowly pickpocket, and he was a great detective.
"Like, it's a reunion of canines!" remarked the hippy, "Now let's get out of this creepy place!"
"Ri'm rith you, Raggy!" agreed Scooby, relieved that there had been nothing there that wanted to kill him, but still worried about his still unconscious nephew.
"And after we get Scrappy fixed up, we'll have a pepperoni and cheese pizza to celebrate!" said Shaggy, in his attempts to cheer up his pal.
"Rith rardines!" announced Scooby, himself trying to take his mind off his nephew.
"Sure, and pickles and onions and sour cream and..."
As Ginger listened quietly, she began to relax. Scooby didn't seemed to be out to kill her, in fact, he did not even seem mad at her. For a moment, at least, they were all just one big, happy family. But, like every good thing in the teenaged dog's life, that didn't last long. "I'm sorry-- I can't!" she cried, dashing away.
"Okay, so no chocolate sauce," said the hippy, whose name Scooby had mentioned as Raggy.
"No rauce? Rats," said Scooby.
"No, you don't understand! I can't go with you!" she almost wailed. With that, she ran away.
"Ringer, rait!" Scooby shouted, "Ringer!" He tried to call her back, but she was gone.
It was a long time before Scrappy awoke, a patient of the same hospital where he had been born, the St. Bernard Memorial Hospital. Amid the loud snores of Scooby and Shaggy, who had both dozed off in the chairs next to his bed, the dripping of something that was supposedly helping him get better could be heard. On his bed sat a white letter. Scrappy opened and read it. "Gee-- it's from Ginger," he remarked. It read,
"Scrappy-Doo,
I'm sorry for what I did to you, and now that I've met your--" Ginger had crossed out the word 'your'. "--our Uncle Scooby, I take back the things I said about him. Only, that's what my father told me he was like, and I believed him. It's great that you can believe in him so much, and it's great that you have such a great uncle." Scrappy sniffed, realising that he was crying, but continued reading his letter. "By the way, I found out about my 'father'. I wasn't abandoned by my mom, or Uncle Scooby. After my father kidnapped me, they went crazy trying to find me. My father lied to me about everything.
I'm sorry I couldn't stay, but I couldn't ruin the life you and Uncle Scooby and everyone else has. Maybe things will change?
Love,
Ginger."
"What things?" wondered Scrappy. He leaned back into bed, thinking over all that had just happened.
@--)--- C'est Fini @--)---
Author's Notes: The first person to tell me that I was out of character gets the chidwick . beaten out of them with my special spoikendoodle stick. No, I'm joking. I got the idea for this while listening to music, believe it or not. By which I mean that I began writing something on a piece of paper, and when I finished, I realised that I had a coherant story. *Gasp!* I'm not too sure about the 'coherant' part, but I hope you enjoyed this little jumble of words. One last thought before I go. It's not too hard, on my part, to imagine a sequel to this little jumble, but I'm purposely not going to write one. Why? Because I'm sleepy! If you want a sequel so badly, you write one! Me, I'm going to go work on 'Unwanted' and, my little Banjo-Kazooie fic (if people still visit that section), censored. G'byesies!