HOMECOMING
By Light Rises
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Author's Note: After a lengthy absence (since the Prolog, actually), Janis is making her big re-entrance into the story this chapter! YAY! I'm also experimenting with a new summary format, which is hopefully more interesting than the static one. And as always, many, MANY thanks for the reviews!
Disclaimer: O'Ferrell, Niner, Kage, Megnon, Mrs. Vandross, and Team Red belong to me. Ms. Bolt is, in part, also my creation, but I must give credit to the wonderful Ralph "Eggman" Eggleston of Pixar for the artwork which inspired her character. For those of you who have The Art of Monsters, Inc. book, you can find Eggleston's illustration of "The Landlady" on page 126.
Time: The same day (Monday, April 14, 2003), a couple hours later from where we last left off.
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Chapter 5 – Déjà Vu, Part II
"…'Overdue', 'overdue', 'evicted'…ugh, these swine…'overdue'…"
The female voice muttered to itself in a small room adjacent to the vestibule of Screamster Apartments. Letting little of the fading sunlight in through the shuttered blinds above her desk, the landlady worked by the glow of a computer screen. She squinted at the spreadsheet presently displayed on the monitor, her expression fixed in an air of perpetual sourness as she sat with her slug form awkwardly draped over a chair. Tap, tappity, tap…she stopped typing a moment to look at her nails, then made a disgusted grimace as she realized the polish was starting to chip. A sneer curling her upper lip, she clicked to highlight a cell on the spreadsheet and began typing "evicted" where some unfortunate tenant only held the "overdue" status.
The sound of a turning doorknob perked her attention. Growling crossly, she swiveled toward the direction of the opening door with a hot glare—which, upon seeing just WHO'D entered, melted away into utmost friendliness.
"Mr. Sullivan!" she enunciated, her words honeyed. "You're early today!"
Backing into the vestibule with a large bundle of clothes gathered in his arms, Sulley glanced to his left to catch her eye. "Oh, hi, Ms. Bolt," he replied through a partial muffle. "Yeah…I decided to take some personal time and run a couple errands. I mean, this stuff's been sitting at the dry cleaner's for two weeks now, and…well, y'know, these things don't take care of themselves if I won't."
"Well, good for you!" Ms. Bolt lurched out of the chair to approach him, her intensely fake smile broad enough to shatter glass. "And…my, whatever happened to Mr. Top Comedian?" she queried.
"Mike? He won't be back 'til late tonight: he's going with Claws to catch a movie. Lydia says she wants him there to make sure Claws doesn't see anything above 'PG'."
The landlady let out a shrill, forced giggle. "Too bad, Mike really is a darling." Hooding her eyes suggestively, she stroked one of Sulley's furry arms. "…Of course, he's not nearly as cute as you," she purred.
His teeth clenched, Sulley pulled away from her as her walking fingers began to ascend toward his shoulder. "U-um, well, I really should get upstairs with these."
"Oh, do you need help?" Ms. Bolt asked. "Because I'd be very happy to call down Howey and—"
"No no no, I'm fine!" Sulley assured hastily. He ignored the fact that she had more than ample muscle mass to help him herself, if she'd really wanted to. "I'll just take the elevator."
"Then you'll need the key card." She reached into a pocket of her pink apron and extracted a card. Before handing it to him, however, she stopped short, letting it hang almost tantalizingly between a thumb and index finger. "I trust you understand how well Screamster Apartments treats you and Mr. Wazowski, hm?" she said smoothly. "Use of the elevator is very exclusive, you know."
Sulley sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know. And it's very…charitable of you."
With a small grin, Ms. Bolt finally proffered the card and he took it between the tips of two claws. He'd barely turned to walk away when she piped up again:
"Just keep that in mind when you need sponsors for those fancy, high-profile business functions, all right?"
With his back turned to her, Sulley could afford a frown. "Is that all I'm good for?" he muttered.
"What was that you said?"
"Uh, I'll think about it! Sounds swell—peachy. In fact, I'll get right on it!"
"Gooood," she remarked, sounding overly-pleased. "Have a nice evening, Mr. Sullivan."
"You, too." He glowered again, making sure this time his mutterings were out of earshot. "Way to lay it on thick, Sullivan…" he chided himself.
"…Hmm, perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick just now." Ms. Bolt pondered on this a moment, tapping a finger on the knot of skin under her mouth. "Naaah! When it comes to getting something I want, I'm almost impossible to resist!" Briefly fluffing her beehive hairdo, she slid back into the room and repositioned herself on the chair in front of the computer monitor and keyboard. "Now, where were we? Oh yes—I should start printing out those eviction notices." She paused, cocking an eye ridge at the still-displayed spreadsheet. "Lucky for some of you, I'm in a good mood now…" she mumbled before closing the file.
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A trip up an elevator and down two hallways later, Sulley managed to force his apartment door open with his load still securely in tow. As the door shuddered in his wake, he emerged into a noticeably better-furnished living room than it had been over a year ago. He backtracked to close the door—making sure to bolt it, too—then made a beeline for his room. Unlike the rest of the apartment, Sulley's room had undergone not a whit of change, with the exception of a newer TV set which sat on the two old cinder blocks and a piece of plywood next to his closet. At last satisfied that he was in the clear, Sulley gently dumped the load onto his bed and trudged to his dresser. He stood there, trying to catch his breath as he laid an arm on top of the furniture piece.
Abruptly, a bit of cloth in the dry-cleaned bundle moved, as though something were hesitant to poke its way through. "Is it safe yet?" a timid voice ventured.
Sulley nodded. "Yeah, it's safe," he answered between pants.
The topmost layer of cloth bulged and then was thrown off—revealing Devon with a more desheveled mop of hair than usual and a pair of askew glasses. Sitting up, she pushed the latter back up the bridge of her nose and readjusted them.
"Whew...that was...something." The disbelief in her tone matched the wide-eyed, unfocused look on her face. After a moment, she trained her gaze on Sulley. "Who was that downstairs?. It sounded like a lady."
"Ms. Bolt," he explained, his breath coming easy to him again. "She's our landlady, and she's..." He started rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, she's—"
"Friendly." After what seemed like a moment's reflection, Devon crinkled her nose. "Really friendly..." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Is...that normal?"
"More so than I'd like," Sulley replied, sighing. "And it's mostly because she's not the only one who's 'friendly' with me."
Snorting, Devon began to crawl out of the clothing and onto Sulley's bed. "Sometimes, I almost wish that was my problem."
Sulley chuckled bittersweetly. "Believe me, it's not as glamorous as it sounds." He then stopped as he noticed the girl's expression, which was self-absorbed and tinged with a sense of...something like longing, or perhaps regret? Either way, he couldn't get a foothold on why she presently felt this way and so couldn't find mutual ground on which to empathize with her. All he could do was lure her away from that mood by getting her mind on something else, something more pressing.
Walking toward the bed and then moving the clothes aside with a nudging sweep of his arm, Sulley took a seat beside Devon, whose legs now dangled off the bed's edge while she sat bent over. "But I shouldn't be complaining," he said. "What's important now is trying to figure out a way to get you home, and that means I need to find out some things from you first—about how you got here, I mean. Do you think you're up to it?"
Devon shrugged. "Sure. Fire away."
"All right..." He cleared his throat. "First, do you remember around what time you got into the factory?"
"Well, it was about five 'o clock Sunday morning before I went through the door, but that...that squid guy on the other side was talking about it being night..." She scratched her head, looking rather perplexed. "Whatever day it is now, it happened last night."
"Today's Monday," he informed. "So if it was early Sunday morning your time and Sunday night here..." Sucking in his bottom lip, he quickly counted the hours on his fingers. "That'd be a...fifteen-hour difference! Which means you're from the West Coast of the U.S., right?"
The girl nodded.
"Then it was eight o' clock last night," he reasoned. Good. That was around the time first-shift Security was scheduled to check Laughfloors A through F, and it was consistent with what little information CDA Agent Number 00626 had offered about the security guard's call. "Now, where on the West Coast are you from?"
"Edgewood, California."
Sulley's face brightened. "Edgewood? That's a pretty nice community," he commented cheerfully.
But his cheerfulness backfired. Grimacing, Devon gagged in disgust. "Ugh! Only if you like a bunch of little snobs with something stuck up their rear ends!"
Sulley blinked, taken aback. Not only didn't he expect such a negative reaction, but he also wasn't prepared for the bluntness of the mental image she'd brought up. Obviously, it wouldn't be an easy task to strike up an idle, friendly conversation with this kid—or at least not the kinds he often had with an increasingly talkative Boo.
"Okaaay...how about what the door looked like?" he tried. "Do you remember that?"
Staring at the floor with furrowed brows, Devon's left hand disappeared into a side pocket of her coveralls. "It was this old, wooden, beaten thing," she murmured slowly as she fished out something from the pocket which glinted fleetingly before she cupped it into both hands, shielding most of the object from view. "Just an ugly old door with a junky frame," the girl went on, her thumbs subconsciously rubbing the smooth surface of whatever-it-was she held. "Until I was stupid enough to open it, that is."
Sulley's brows raised for an instant. ...But—if you will pardon the cliché—not all is as it appears. Apparently, the tired concept was no less foreign to the Human World than it was to his own.
"You shouldn't kick yourself over it," he advised kindly. "Heck, I got myself into a mess the same way."
When she looked his way with questioning eyes, Sulley went stiff with the realization that he'd said too much. Of course, now that he thought about it, it wasn't like she could blab to anyone even if he told her the entire story. But his faint pang of guilt was telling enough of someone who'd been lying for so long, that the first time he actually slipped—albeit in front of a human—had been sufficient to make him feel like "the jig was was up."
Well, it figured that's the kind of price he'd pay for finally capturing this strange girl's interest.
"Some pretty serious stuff went down," he continued as an answer, still a bit at the mercy of his nerves. "But everything turned out all right in the end, and I'm sure what we're in now will be no different."
Seeming satisfied with this explanation, Devon looked down at what Sulley finally discerned to be a circular, metallic object. "I guess..." Her gaze then flicked upward to his. "Now I've got a question for you."
Sulley started, somewhat stunned. For some reason, it hadn't really occurred to him that the girl would—or perhaps even could—ask a question on his level, as though they were equal partners on the "scheme" they were cooking up. Sure, he expected the ones asked out of curiosity, but THIS...well, to him at least, it was something.
"Okay," he said, a little unsure but nonetheless interested in hearing what she had to say. "What is it?"
Devon looked away again, her expression thoughtful. "That place underground with the pipes, where you found me..." she began, rubbing the metallic object more intensely than before. "There was a machine I was hiding behind, and you and that other...guy, the older one, you two were talking about it. He said it could 'collect screams'..." Her specs gleamed as she looked up at Sulley. "What was that all about?"
For an uncomfortable moment, all Sulley could offer was a blank look. What could he tell her? How? And why in Monstropolis did her question have to be about THAT?!
Finally, he let out a shaky chuckle. "That machine?" he said, then shook his head. "It's just old technology—obselete. Not really something you need to worry about."
The girl's gaze was suddenly touched with urgency. "But the 'screams'..." Her eyes wandered before meeting his again. "I mean, I might not get a chance to find out about this kind of stuff again. Please, if you know something—"
"It doesn't matter," he insisted, gentle yet firm. Regarding her for several seconds, he raised a furry brow in inquisitiveness. "Why is this so important to you? It's only a machine."
She sighed, turning from him. "I know, I know," she admitted in a quiet voice. "I'd kinda hoped...well, I'd thought that, maybe, there was something in it that was worth taking home with me. Something about it that would finally make me feel like I'd done something worthwhile, that I hadn't wasted my time chasing another rainbow only to come up empty." She paused, shrugging. "I dunno, it was weird...when I touched that machine, I suddenly knew that, if I could just learn more about it, I wouldn't feel so alone all the time. That maybe I'd finally feel whole..."
Sulley frowned—feeling horrible since he knew this kid was practically bearing her soul, yet everything she was saying had flown right over his head.
His gaze sad, Sulley placed a hand on her left shoulder. "I'm sorry, Devon, but we've gotta keep our focus on getting you out of here. It's just too dangerous to worry about anything else, and I'm afraid there might not be a lotta time for us as it is. Do you understand that?"
Devon glanced at him, blowing the bangs from her eyes. "Yeah, yeah..." she muttered distractedly. Suddenly, the metallic object she held slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor as she emitted a startled gasp and futilely stretched her arms to catch it. Upon impact, the object's tiny side latch clicked undone so that it opened into two circular halves—one containing a watch face, and the other with some sort of photo. A pocket watch.
Sulley straightened. "Oh, let me get that for you," he offered, bending to retrieve it.
Without warning, Devon shrieked a "NO!" and lunged off the bed, snatching up the watch before Sulley's hand reached it first. He flinched, withdrawing from the girl slightly as he gaped at her. She returned the stare with a vicious, warning look.
"Nobody EVER touches this!" she shouted passionately, the watch clutched to her chest as though held onto for dear life. "Ever!" She took a couple backward steps, then, after gently clicking the watch closed, she got back on the bed and crawled across to the corner farthest from where Sulley stood, which was the upper right-hand portion next to his bedside dresser with the alarm clock perched on top. There, Devon swung her legs over the bed's edge and hunched protectively, her bent back to the furry monster.
Sulley's loss for words kept things uncomfortably silent. At length, he made a step toward the girl. "Devon, I...I didn't—" he started apologetically.
"Just get me out of here," she murmured. Her tone was laced with a much darkened mood. "Get me home."
He gave a slow nod and turned, walking out of the room and carefully closing the door behind him. A sigh escaped his lips while he stood there with his hand on the knob, and then he trudged to his new reclining chair and sagged into it. It was strange: even when Sulley had done everything he could to avoid Boo, the toddler had stuck to him like glue; and now his deliberate, genuine attempts at being amiable toward Devon kept blowing up in his face. Then again, she and Boo were two different people, and the latter was too little at the time he first met her to understand what the heck she was getting herself into. Still, he couldn't get over how dissimilar those two were...
...Or, rather, how MUCH one particular girl reminded him of someone he once knew—
Sulley halted that line of thinking immediately. No! Devon is NOTHING like Randall! But even to himself he wasn't very convincing, and it felt like almost every other time Randall came to mind: that Sulley was running away from a foregone conclusion which he was well-aware of deep-down yet was still unwilling to admit.
With sudden decision, he stood up from the chair. He needed to get out, but he couldn't leave Devon here alone. There was a vending machine on the ground floor, though...yes, he'd get a snack and come right back! That way, he wouldn't stray too far and he'd still have a chance to clear his head, even if only for a brief few minutes.
He went to the door of his room, calling, "I'm going downstairs, I'll be right back. Just stay put, okay?" Politely, he waited for an answer although he wasn't too surprised to hear nothing in return. Sulley then strode to the apartment entrance and placed a hand on the doorknob, glancing toward the direction of his bedroom before turning the knob and starting to proceed outside—
"Whoa, Sul, watch your load! You almost plowed right into me!"
Sulley froze as he looked down to see whom it was. His eyes bulged out in shock.
"M-Mikey?!"
"No, it's the Queen of Phlegmgland—of course it's me, ya lummox!" Mike stepped past him and into the apartment's living room. "Hunh; I really didn't think you'd be the Early Bird getting home today, but you surprised me. Oh, and by the way—thanks for taking care of my baby. I don't think she can stand for any more bad driving, if ya catch my drift."
Still holding the door open, Sulley gawked at his roommate. "Wh...what happened to the movie?" he sputtered.
"Oh, that? It was going swell until I joked to Claws in line about how Mary Retcher was gonna make some heads roll as 'Shasta the Conquerer', eh heh heh heh..." His laughter died away on an uneasy note. "Yeeeaaah....sooo, Lydia gave me a ride home."
"But..." Sulley clutched a hand to his head while the fingers of the other went to his mouth. No, no, this was all wrong! Mike was here too early, and he hadn't had enough time to think of a way to soften Mike up to the idea of sheltering yet another illegal human. What to do, what to do...?
Sulley was brought out of his fretful thoughts by Mike's sudden gravitation toward the direction of their bedrooms. "WAIT!"
Mike stopped, turning to face him. "What?"
The furry monster looked away shyly. "Um...where're you going?"
"To the little monster's room." Mike arched his single eye ridge, taking on a slightly peeved expression. "Shall I announce when I'm heading for the fridge, too? Or sitting in my chair?"
"No no no," Sulley replied. "I was only, uh, curious." He flashed a cheesy grin.
Mike blinked. "Allllrighty..." As he continued into the bathroom, Sulley heard him mumble, "Note-to-Self: make sure Sul lays off the junk grubs!"
Once he was sure Mike had gone in, Sulley finally shut the apartment door. Devon...he needed to hide her, probably in his closet (which, considering what he used to do for a living, was somewhat ironic). It wasn't the greatest plan, but he needed to buy some time before he hit Mike with the bombshell. Since the last thing Sulley wanted right now was for that shell to self-deploy...
He swept around at the sudden knocking on the door. Visitors? No; NOT a good time! He stomped toward the door, the discouraging words already flying out of his mouth as he opened it:
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to come back ano—"
"Sulley?"
The rest of what he had to say froze on his lips. "Janis?" He broke into an uneasy smile, feeling a peculiar sense of delight rise up alongside his anxiety. "I-I wasn't expecting you—"
"Didn't think you would," the lizard monster replied with a mischievous smirk. "I'd like to say I was just in the neighborhood, but, well...that would be fibbing, now wouldn't it?"
In spite of himself, Sulley laughed. "I've gotta admit, this is a pretty, uh, pleasant surprise."
Janis snorted. "It'd better be," she said in a noticeably annoyed tone. "I almost didn't get up here, what with Miss Personality manning the helm downstairs. I was lucky to've gotten through the front door."
"But there shouldn't have been any problems," Sulley remarked, frowning. "If you're here to visit, all Ms. Bolt wants is for you to intercom me first to confirm and—"
Janis' pointed, faintly incredulous expression stopped him. "Sulley," she said, tilting her head with folded arms, "what color is the sky in your world?"
He took note of her salmon-hued scales and, belatedly recognizing her point, felt terrible chagrin. "Oh...Janis, I'm so sorry..."
She waved a dismissive hand, shutting her eyes. "Forget about it," she spoke with a sigh. "I'd thought I was too old to expect any better, but..." She placed an arm on the door frame and leaned against it, her gaze momentarily downcast. "Then again, I have a tendency to surprise even myself."
In the background, a toilet flushed followed by a merry, high-pitched humming. Almost with a start, Sulley remembered his situation and gritted his teeth at what he had to do. "What I meant to say before was, 'I'm so sorry you had to go through all this trouble,' because, well..." Again came the cheesy grin, only it was less strained since it was truly apologetic. "I'm kinda busy with something right now."
As he started to close the door, Janis pushed against his momentum. "Whoa, hold on," she said, obviously keeping her irritation at bay, "can't you step away from it for a few minutes?"
Sulley shook his head vigorously as he pushed back. "Believe me—it can't wait."
Janis had opened her mouth to rebuke when the light patter of Mike's feet sounded. "Hey, buddy, I think I left my mike in your room," the green monster called. "You don't mind if go in and check—?"
"No!" Sulley paused, his mind rushing. "It's probably not in there; I would've found it by now!"
"Sulley, who IS that?" Janis had pushed in again when the opening between door and door frame shrunk to a crack.
Mike looked Sulley's way. "Sul, I only lost it this morning," he answered. "And I'm sure I used it to get your furry slab out of bed. So if you'll excuse moi—"
"Mikey!" With a final shove, Sulley won the door tug-of-war and slammed it shut. He pursued Mike with shouts of, "No, Mike! STOP...!"
One thing Sulley had failed to do, though, was lock the door behind him. With a slight creak, Janis opened it partway and peered in, looking over the apartment shrewdly. Noises of argument were muffled now, since the action had moved to another room. Her gaze then rested on a hallway which led off to the bedrooms—the only area of the apartment she couldn't readily see.
Janis narrowed her eyes and allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. "Hmm.... Maybe I'm only fueling my paranoid delusions, but..." She then did something only a handful of lizard monsters could manage successfully: she vanished out of sight, softly closing the door with an invisible tail as she slithered inside to investigate.
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Meanwhile, Devon had started pacing the bedroom since Sulley's departure, pocket watch in hand to stroke for comfort. Her mind buzzed and fretted, unwilling to give her rest, and it was due to her newfound host more than anything. And it wasn't so much that she didn't know what to make of this Sulley (the name by which he'd insisted she call him) as it was the way he carried himself. In short, he was unbelievably frustrating.
She couldn't help feeling a tad guilty, too, since she was familiar with people like him—cheery, all-around nice folks who meant well and had good intentions, but always rubbed Devon the wrong way with their misguided "pity" toward her. Edgewood Junior High's principal, Mrs. Vandross, had been such a type: more than anything, she'd wanted to be the "good guy" and enjoy popularity among the student body for understanding its needs. But when it came to dealing with Devon—whether discussing her poor grades or bouts of misbehavior—Mrs. Vandross proved endlessly infuriating.
The "You Need to Apply Yourself" speeches were bad enough; Devon couldn't count how many times she'd heard THAT one. However, Mrs. Vandross managed to cross the line and did so (though unintentionally) in one of the worst ways possible. One day in her office, once the standard lecture was out of the way, she'd asked Devon if there were any "problems at home". The statement had touched a nerve and Devon completely flew off the handle at her, angry that anyone could think such a thing about her family. Unfortunately, this reaction had been the proverbial drop which broke the dam: by the next day, all of Devon's teachers had heard about her supposed "home troubles" and started looking upon her with overt sympathy, clicking their tongues and shaking their heads whenever they saw her. To top it off, since they already had rather low opinions of Devon (unlike Mrs. Vandross, they sincerely believed she had no future), their sympathy came across as condescending—the worst and most humiliating kind of pity. Till this day, Devon had refused to forgive her for letting that happen—in some ways, she felt like she couldn't. Perhaps it might've been different if Mrs. Vandross had extended the olive branch, had said she was sorry for causing those months of misery, but no; up until graduation day, she'd failed to utter even a single word of apology. If nothing else, that, in Devon's book, was simply unforgivable.
She'd been reflecting on all this when the commotion started: raised voices, one of which was unfamiliar and whiny in tone, coupled with a confused closing and slamming of doors, and even the flushing of a toilet thrown in for good measure. Already a good deal antsy, Devon swung into full panic mode when the voices seemed to be just outside the bedroom, Sulley's booming one trying to dissuade the whiny one from entering. After about twenty seconds, they'd seemed to move the "discussion" elsewhere—still very close, but more muffled and not about to spill over into here quite yet.
Devon, all the while, had started pacing the room more rapidly. She tried to force herself to think, to act, but for all the effort only found her left thumb rubbing the watch more aggressively. With a groan, she tucked it into a coverall pocket; of all the things she lacked, "fast-thinking" was one of several which she lamented most not having. Especially now.
She was about to make a run for the closet, desperate for cover, when something like rustling caught her ear. The back of her neck prickling with a sudden chill, she stood stock-still under the crushing realization of being watched. If she was caught, then what was there left to do? Surrender? She could try running, but what room did she have for that? And going for the door when someone already stood between her and it was a long shot at best. Something in the back of Devon's head told her to turn around, and with nothing else to lose, she obeyed that impulse. She turned.
One of the last things she expected—although was ecstatic—to see was a single, three-fingered depression on Sulley's left pillow caused by an invisible weight. A sharp gasp sounded, and then the impression disappeared as movement like soft padding ensued on the wall above the bed's headboard and beyond. As the invisible thing reached the door (which was already a crack open) and began making a hasty exit, Devon felt the urgency and chanced a cry of, "Randall, wait!"
Abruptly, the movement stopped. Then a lengthy piece of empty space at the top of the door fleshed itself into view—revealing not Randall, but a similar-looking lizard creature with peach-colored scales, red speckles, and a coppery head of hair. One hand was on the door and its gray eyes presently looked Devon's way, swimming with confusion.
"Randall?" the creature echoed questioningly, its voice feminine. She smoothly maneuvered down along the door's frame and turned toward Devon, standing upright like Randall but on six legs instead of four. Her gaze was still confused, yet beneath that Devon could sense a flicker of recognition. But wouldn't that mean—?
"...Honestly, Sulley, I don't see any reason why I can't have a look-see in your—!" The whiny voice paused as its owner—a short, green, cyclopean creature shaped like a beach ball—stepped into the bedroom beside the female lizard creature. His mouth fell open at the sight of Devon. "...Room," he finished faintly.
A frantic thumping of feet drew near. "Mikey, please, you don't underst—AAAHH!" Sulley had appeared in the doorway and now gawked at the scene before him with rising dread etched on his face. He looked from Devon to "Mikey", whose bottom eyelid was twitching, to the lizard creature. The latter crossed her arms, scowling up at the furry creature.
"If you have a good explanation for this," she said in utmost seriousness, "I'd love to hear it."
Sulley cracked a nervous smile. And the green creature promptly—and quite unceremoniously—fainted.
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Two Hours Earlier...
"'23-19s'?!"
The furious scream resounded throughout the empty, metallic halls underground. The facility from which the scream originated was located deep in the bowels of the Monstropolis CDA Headquarters, a sector which belonged to a previous technological era and had been abandoned for decades. Abandoned, that is, until Team Red made the old facility its home base.
Presently, in what had been the old "Wreck Room", the screamer leaned threateningly over another monster, both of which—like everyone else in the room—were uniformed in their standard-issue, yellow CDA suits. The screamer's number was "04509", and the one he was angry at was "00035".
"I-I'm sorry, Four-Five-Oh-Nine," Number 00035 babbled, visibly cringing. "But i-it was the only thing I could think of off the top of my head—"
"An obsolete code?! That's the best you could DO?!" Number 04509 growled as he turned from Number 00035, curling the tip of his tentacle into a fist. "Now do you see why I hate these 'rank-and-file' prissies?" he questioned loudly, apparently addressing the entire room.
"Aw, give it a rest, Niner!" snapped a female agent, seated with four others at a table playing a game of cards. "If nothing else, guys like him'll give us extra monster-power if and when the time comes."
Niner exhaled gruffly. "That don't make 'em any less annoying," he grumbled.
From the room's shadowed perimeters, a small agent with four arms and a single pair of legs stepped into view. "It's my fault, Niner," he said, his tone soft-spoken yet firm. "I should've taken the initiative and radioed Six-Two-Six myself."
"Yeah, you should've," Niner replied curtly. "Your 'bosom buddy' along with that half-wit Thirty-Five coulda blown our whole operation outta the water."
"Which is precisely why I ordered for Six-Two-Six to be pulled out of the Refinery in the first place," the other retorted, keeping his cool. "Though, again, I'll admit I should've been the one who radioed. As it is, I don't think Six-Two-Six will report down here in a very,uh, agreeable mood."
"That's just great," Niner groused sarcastically. He then contorted a tentacle so its tip could reach back to scratch near his tailbone. "Gah, and this suit is so itchy! Why in Monstropolis can't we take these things off?"
The small agent sighed. "Megnon's orders," he said. "It's for confidentiality—to protect against needlessly revealing identities."
Niner snorted. "Oh, as if everyone doesn't already KNOW each other—O'Ferrell," he answered, shoving the small agent as he spoke the last part. Several others in the room couldn't resist a few snarky chuckles.
Backpedaling a couple steps, O'Ferrell halted and straightened his crooked visor. "What I meant was that the rule protects against needlessly revealing certain identities, such as that of Megnon himself and—"
"Agent Six-Two-Six," Niner interrupted in a singsong tone. "Mr. Mysterious, Cool-as-It-Comes, blah blah blah...yeah, I get the point." He emitted a sudden, evil laugh. "And Mr. Cool is in trouble for losin' his cool..."
"Not if Megnon doesn't hear about it," O'Ferrell noted pointedly. "So I won't have anyone breathing a word of what happened in the Refinery, understand?" He turned to face the remainder of the agents. "Everyone...?"
They exchanged glances and soon mumbled their reluctant consents, Niner included and the most begrudging of them all. The peace, however, didn't last long.
"And about that suit rule," piped up another female agent, coming across as rather shrill, "isn't it self-defeating? I mean, since we use our radios to talk, then what's stopping some other CDA dope from picking up our frequency? We'd be caught with our pants down!"
There were some murmurs of concern before a new male voice quelled them all:
"We won't be if we use our speakers down here like we're supposed to. Otherwise, there's no need to discuss Team Red plans while on duty."
Heads turned to see the new arrival. "Well, lookie who's here!" Niner drawled tauntingly as Number 00626 stalked toward his general direction. "The Refinery scene a little too hot for you to handle, eh?"
"I'm not in the mood, Niner," Number 00626 said briskly as he stopped beside O'Ferrell. "All I'm interested in is finding out who the heck called me down. And just what was with the whole '23-19' thing?"
In unison, gloved fingers, claws, etc. around the room pointed at Number 00035. "It was his idea!" they accused simultaneously.
"Oh, PLEASE don't hurt me!" Number 00035 pleaded even as he cowered. "I'm only a bureaucrat!"
"That's quite enough!" O'Ferrell bristled, which sparked the immediate effect of stunned silence. Clearing his throat, he said more calmly, "Six-Two-Six, I think we should have a private talk concerning this, uh, matter. If you'll come with me..."
Number 00626 obeyed wordlessly, following O'Ferrell out of the Wreck Room into a short hallway which led to the old gymnasium. Once inside, O'Ferrell tried flipping on the lights and only one of the fluorescent bars above glowed to life. It bathed everything in a ghostly pall, a sharp contrast to the yellow, oily iridescence which lit the Wreck Room.
"What's this all about, O'Ferrell?" Number 000626 asked suddenly, turning to face the other agent. "Who pulled me out of the Refinery?"
O'Ferrell sighed. "I was the one who ordered it, I'm afraid."
Number 00626 stiffened. "But why—?"
"I know what you were trying to do down there." O'Ferrell's voice had changed from regretful to stern and reprimanding.
The long-tailed agent shrugged. "What? Megnon told me to investigate Monsters, Incorporated's CEO and to get the scoop on last night's call about a possible security breach, and that's exactly what I've been doing. You listened in on the show just a while ago—there IS a human running around, and Sullivan's still lying through his teeth." He paused, continuing more tensely, "He knew about that human, O'Ferrell. It was another dirty little secret of his, and we could've nailed him for it!"
"And that's the rub, I fear," O'Ferrell said. "You pursued condemning Sullivan right then and there—which, I must point out, was NOT part of the original mission, and in fact would've undermined our entire operation."
Poignantly, Number 00626 stretched out his arms. "I had him squirming; he was this close to cracking—!"
"You were outside your right—"
"I almost had him, O'Ferrell—"
"—You exceeded mission parameters—"
"—I almost had him!"
"You jeopardized everything we've been working for!" O'Ferrell had caught hold of Number 00626's shoulders, and now made sure his visor looked straight into the other's. "If you had pursued your course with Sullivan and Megnon found out about it, we would've both been labeled as traitors. And both just as good as dead."
As O'Ferrell's words sunk in, Number 00626 turned his head away shamefully. "I...I didn't think..." Subconsciously, he ran a hand over the top of his head. "In the Refinery...I don't know what came over me..."
"Indeed." O'Ferrell's simple statement wasn't accusatory, but matter-of-fact and somewhat bewildered. "You weren't acting like yourself—just a moment ago is a good example, too. Short-tempered, snappish, at the mercy of deep-set emotions...why, now that I think about it, I'd say your recent behavior has many parallels to that of a certain Randall Boggs."
Seeming thoughtful, Number 00626 turned from O'Ferrell. "Yeah...I guess lately, I've been starting to understand why Randall acted the way he did. Really understand, I mean—the frustration, the anger, the—" He broke off, wrapping his arms about himself almost protectively. "...The sadness," he finished, his voice wavering.
O'Ferrell placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You still grieve for her, don't you?"
Shrugging off the touch, Number 00626 walked to one of the sideline benches and took a seat, hunching over and clasping his hands. O'Ferrell approached him after a respectful interval, sitting next to him.
"She shouldn't have gone out that way," Number 00626 spoke up, his quiet words laced with bitterness. "It wasn't fair."
"Kage was a brilliant agent and a good friend," O'Ferrell asserted kindly. "You must remember her for how she lived, not how she died."
Number 00626 snorted. "Easier said than done." He then laid his right forearm across his knees, propping up his other arm so he could rest his chin on his left hand. "Y'know, when I first joined Team Red, I thought I was only in it to see justice done and to expose the CDA for the embarrassment it's become. But...well, now I can see how revenge ends up playing a part for a lotta folks—one way or another, the fight becomes personal." He looked O'Ferrell's way. "I still don't like the idea of ruining people's lives to get what we want," he went on. "But if that's the only way to change things, to make everything fair, then I want in."
With a lower arm, O'Ferrell patted Number 00626's right one. "We'll get both Sullivan and Wazowski, I promise you that," he assured. "Remember, Megnon's planned everything in such a way as to have all the puzzle pieces fall together gradually, and Sullivan's part in the scheme of things doesn't come into play just yet. So be patient.... Besides, it would be a shame if our soon-to-be new recruit doesn't get the chance to savor Sullivan's downfall along with you."
"Randall can savor it if he wants," the long-tailed agent said, "and I'll probably get my own share of pleasure out of it, too. More than anything, though, I want to see it done—and I want to see Number One get cut down to size." His voice had grown quiet and fierce at the last statement, and his hands had balled into fists. But the moment passed, and he continued more optimistically. "The best part is that we'll finally prove our merit, me and Randall—we'll finally show everyone what we're made of. And this time, no one will be able to deny it."
"Something I very much look forward to," O'Ferrell concurred. "You and Boggs deserve to shine for once."
Number 00626 sighed. "Randall more than me," he muttered. "He's the one who doesn't have anyone's coattails to ride on."
"Well, then, you'll make a name for yourself!" O'Ferrell proclaimed, hopping off the bench. "After all of this is over, I can't see why you wouldn't be your own monster in the public's eyes."
Standing up, Number 00626 laughed warmly. "Thanks, O'Ferrell. It's nice to know someone still believes in me."
"Isn't that, as the saying goes, what friends are for?" The two began making their way out of the gymnasium. "Besides, I much prefer the mild-mannered you to the hot-tempered you."
Number 00626 chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are something, you know that?"
"I'm just trying to help," O'Ferrell answered simply. He switched off the light as they headed into the hallway and back toward the Wreck Room. The sounds of multiple conversations wafted their way, one in particular catching Number 00626's interest as they reentered:
"...But whaddya think is takin' her so long? Da guy's supposed ta be easy pickin's for her."
"Of course he was, and I'd bet fifty bucks she's just been busy all this time cleanin' up after herself!"
"Who's been cleaning up after herself?" Number 00626 asked casually, stopping at the card table where the conversation was taking place.
The female agent who'd spoken to Niner looked up at him from her hand of cards. "Shirley, o' course," she answered. "Last time she reported here was yesterday afternoon, an' nobody's seen or heard from her since."
"Oh. And do you guys happen to know what she's been up to?"
"I do," a broad, bafoonish-looking agent chimed in. "She's been in da factory, takin' care o' dat Boggs character."
"'Taking care'?" Number 00626 queried, sounding baffled and wary at the same time. "You mean she's the one who's escorting him here?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," a thin-framed, weaselly-voiced agent replied silkily. "Let's just say she had to tie up a loose end, an' that loose end happened to be Mr. Boggs."
"Den Shirley's done tied 'im up GOOD!" the big agent exclaimed. All the card players burst into a raucous round of laughter.
Number 00626's body grew rigid. "What do you mean by that?" he asked slowly, his tone becoming dangerous.
"Ain't it obvious?" the weaselly agent snickered, clearly enjoying this. "Unlike the rest of us, she ain't a volunteer—she's hired help! And as ya know, she was hired for her particular skills...of which she's already given that Lizard Boy a nice little demonstration of—on him."
Louder laughs began to resound when—in a flash—Number 00626 leaped upon the weaselly agent with a snarl, snapping the card table in two. All conversation halted immediately, everyone's focus upon the present grappling. There wasn't much actual grappling, however: the two agents lied in the broken table's crevice, Number 00626 on top with both hands at the other's throat and leaning threateningly into the weasel's concealed face.
"Tell me what Shirley's done to Randall!" he shouted. "And this time," he went on, lowering his tone to a warning hiss, " you'd better be straight with me."
"All right, all right, I'll talk!" the weasel blurted desperately. "But may I add the disclaimer that the likelihood of you not likin' what yer about to hear is VERY high?"
With a ripping fwick, Number 00626 extended a black claw through the layer of suit covering his right index finger. He then idly tapped the clawed finger on the underside of the weasel's jaw, near his throat.
"Try me," he dared.
The weasel gulped.
-------------------------
Back in the apartment, the swooned Mike had been laid on the couch, propped up by pillows against an armrest while the two other monsters hovered over him concernedly. Devon sat a little ways off, ensconced in an old beanbag chair looking equal parts thoughtful and uncertain.
With a sudden moan, Mike brought a hand to the area above his closed eye, rubbing it groggily. "...Sul, I had the worst nightmare..." he murmured, grimacing. "You were all up in arms 'bout me going to your room...then when I went in, there was a human..."—his eye fluttered open—"...and I coulda sworn standing next to me was a liz—" His dazed look disappeared as his vision focused on Janis. "AAHHH!"
Both Sulley and Janis gave startled yells as Mike scuttled backward, clambering atop the couch's backrest and knocking away pillows with his feet in the process. "Who's...what's she...WHY—?" Then Mike's eye darted toward Devon. "AHH!"
As if in a wince, the girl tucked up her legs against her chest, shyly peering at the green monster over her knees.
"Calm down, Mikey," Sulley assured, stepping forward. "Everything's okay—"
"Okay? OKAY?!" It was hard to tell whether Mike was on the verge of a nervous breakdown or a conniption fit. "You call hoarding a full-grown human in our apartment okay?!"
"Cool your jets, Cyclops," Janis reproved sharply. "For one thing, Devon's still pretty much a kid by her own right. And second, if you don't stop shouting the news to the entire city, you won't be 'hoarding' her for very long!"
"Whoa, whoa, time out!" Mike started climbing down from his perch, then jabbed a finger at Janis once he stood on the floor. "Where the heck did she come from?"
Nervously, Sulley rapped his fingertips against each other. "Well...do you remember that new friend I told you about?"
Mike blinked at the two monsters as disbelieving realization dawned on him. "You mean she...and you...?"
Sulley nodded.
"Perfect," he spat sarcastically. "We go from hosting human strays to making nice with whatever lady monster you happen to come across downtown. We're definitely on an upward swing NOW, Sulley!"
In a lightning quick movement, Janis stood before Mike. "Are you saying you have a problem with me and Sulley being friends?"
Mike's bravado melted under her glare. "L-look, lady, I'm just looking out for my pal's best interest," he said, taking a step back as she leaned into his face. "He's an important guy 'round these parts, and out of good conscience, I can't have him running around with strange lizard monsters—EH!"
Janis had grabbed hold of Mike's horns, jerking them downward and staring daggers at him as he squinted back fearfully, his teeth gritted.
"I see..." she spoke, eyes narrowed in disgust. "He's a little coward AND a little bigot!" She then released him, her motion rough enough to propel Mike backward several feet.
"C'mon you guys, cut it out!" Sulley ordered, as though to misbehaving children. "We're losing sight of what's important here. Mikey, my friend Janis says she'll help us get Devon back to the Human World."
Turning to him, Mike raised a skeptical eye ridge. "Oh? And why would she do that?"
"Because I WANT to," Janis enunciated irritably. "Do you really need a better reason than that?"
"Well pardon me for not being very trusting of people who've taken charm school lessons from Randall!" The words had streamed out before Mike knew it, and as soon as he'd blurted them, he gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth. Sulley grimaced and quickly looked to Janis, watching for and dreading her reaction.
"Whoa whoa, hold on a sec," she said, gesturing in a "stopping" motion and then placing a hand on her forehead, her eyes briefly shut. "That's the second time I've heard that name today."
"Second?" Sulley and Mike chorused. "Where did you hear it before?" Sulley continued.
"From me."
Heads turned toward Devon, who'd spoken up for the first time during this conversation.
"Janis came into the bedroom invisible and...well...I kinda mistook her for somebody else."
"Invisible?" Sulley's gaze flicked to Janis. "You can camouflage yourself?"
Uneasily, the lizard monster averted her eyes and twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "I-it's not something I like to tell a lot of people about."
"But if you mistook her vanishing act for Randall's..." Mike turned toward Sulley. "Sul, unless there are any other chameleon monsters named Randall crawling around in the Human World, then this kid's talkin' about our Randall!"
Devon's face lit up. "You guys know about Randall?"
"Yeah, we do..." Sulley started uncomfortably, then let his sudden spark of curiosity change the subject. "How did you come across him?"
Janis looked at the girl, giving her an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.
Standing up, Devon began to rub the back of her neck. "Well, me and my dad found Randall in our backyard Friday night, and then the other night—right before I got stuck in this world—I'd followed him to my old school. If it helps you guys any, he told me his name was Randall Boggs."
Mike's eye went wide. "Wait—he spoke with you? Civil-like?"
Devon half-shrugged. "Well, yeah."
Meanwhile, Sulley silently digested this news and felt a strange feeling of elation surge within him. If she'd seen Randall that recently, then he was still alive! And if he was still alive, that meant he HADN'T died in that godforsaken swampland after all! Heck, he'd even managed to travel all the way to California while he was at it!
—And then Sulley's joyous train of thought hit a snag.
"Wait a minute," he said, face falling. "Did Randall happen to be with you when you went through the door?"
Devon wrung her hands. "I didn't think so at first..."
Sulley and Mike leaned forward expectantly.
"...But when I stepped inside and looked around...I thought I saw Randall in there, too. Just for a second."
The two friends exchanged meaningful glances. "You mean...Randall's back?" Mike asked.
Devon pushed her glasses back up her nose. "I guess so."
"Terrific." Mike shot Sulley an exceedingly gloomy look. "With our luck, I shoulda known this new life was too sweet to last."
Janis raised an eye ridge. "What's with you guys and this Randall Boggs?" she queried, just a hint of deliberate prying in her words.
Sulley sighed. "We...kinda have some history with him," he confessed.
"BAD history," Mike emphasized.
"What other kind is there?" Janis stated dully. "Even so, you guys seem pretty jumpy about running into him again. What's he got against you two?"
For a moment, all they could offer were blank stares.
"Lady," Mike began emphatically, "you have NO idea!"
"Oh, really?" she replied, folding her arms. "Throw me a bone."
"All right...how 'bout the fact that Randall Boggs holds the Mother of All Grudges against us?"
"Fine. But just why?"
Mike hooded his eye. "Sweetheart, guys like Randall don't need a reason to hold grudges. They're just plain jerks!"
"He did some lousy, really bad things to us," Sulley supplemented, though without Mike's vehemence.
"Yeah—so that makes him a louse, too!"
"He's bad news, Janis," Sulley went on in grim sincerity, "and it's probably best if we all keep away from him, if we can help it."
Her magnified eyes wide, Devon stepped toward the monsters. "But...Randall didn't seem like that to me at all," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe he made some mistakes, but...he can't be that bad, can he?"
Mike's expression grew indignant. "Kid, why do THINK he was banished?"
Inwardly, Sulley cringed.
"'Banished'?" Devon asked, looking puzzled. "What's that mean?"
"Banishment is the worst kind of punishment in our world, honey," Janis explained. "It's when a monster is sent to the Human World to live in exile."
"And only the worst offenders get that kind of rap," Mike added. "So, as you can see, Randall is guilty as sin. Case closed."
Janis rubbed her nonexistent chin. "Hmm...banishment, huh? It's good to know, since I was beginning to wonder how Randall ended up in her world in the first place."
"Heh...yeah. That's it, all right." Now even Mike seemed slightly uncomfortable with the way he'd just made his claim.
Seeming disappointed, Devon cast her eyes downward. "He's really that bad?"
"Bad enough that he'll probably want to off us the first chance he gets." Mike made a noise halfway between a groan and a sigh. "Well, at least I can safely say it can't get much worse than this."
Sulley's mouth twitched awkwardly. "Uh, Mikey..."
The green monster lidded his eye. "It just got worse, didn't it?"
With a sigh, Sulley began pacing the room. "The CDA's looking into a possible security breach that was called in last night from the factory," he said. "One of their guys caught up with me today, but...he just really got into my face, like he already knew I was guilty of hiding something. And he told me 'this isn't over' right before he left."
"So lemme get this straight," Mike said. "There's an entire government agency out there looking for this kid, and there's also an agent who, by the way, hates your guts and would jump at the first opportunity to nail you for having said kid in possession?"
"...Basically," Sulley confirmed.
His expression deadened, Mike turned and started walking away. "That's it. Life is officially unfair." He then whirled around, pointing an accusing finger at Sulley. "And it's all YOUR fault!"
The furry monster started, taken aback. "My fault?!"
"You bet your bottom dollar it is!" Mike shot back. "If you weren't always so OBVIOUS when it comes to keeping secrets, we wouldn't be in this much of a fix!"
"Me 'obvious'? You're the one who produced an entire PLAY based on classified events and then glorified your role so that it looked like I did squat!"
"Well, it sure didn't seem to bother you then—just like it didn't bother ME when you mistook me for a stool and SAT ON MY HEAD BACK IN KINDERGARDEN!"
The two continued their shouting match, Devon and Janis soon exchanging uncertain and bored glances, respectively. Then, smirking, Janis approached Mike and Sulley while keeping a safe distance between herself and them.
"Say, Mike...didn't you mention something about losing a mike earlier today?" she asked smoothly.
The green monster shut his trap a moment. "Yeah...and I bet you were lying about that TOO, you over-sized Throw Rug!"
Sulley crinkled his nose. "I did not lie! I didn't have it in my room before, and I still don't have it now! So there!"
"I dunno, Mike..." Janis warbled, stringing him along. "Maybe you should check his room yourself and find out."
Childishly emboldened, Mike straightened. "Y'know what? I believe I will." He then strode in the direction of Sulley's bedroom.
"Mike, you take ONE STEP in there—!" Sulley quickly stomped after him, Janis following in his wake unnoticed except by Devon.
"I'm taking a step inside, Sulley!" Mike called. "In fact, I'm searching through your sock drawer right now!"
"That's it!" Sulley yelled, stepping into his bedroom. "I'm gonna knock your keister all the way back to—!"
SLAM!
Janis pressed her upper torso against the closed bedroom door, exhaling in relief. As muffled voices of argument continued to clash behind her, she returned to the apartment's living area, running a hand over her fronds.
"While those two duke it out..." she said, settling into a comfortable position on the rug next to the couch, then—as an invitation for Devon to sit—patting a couch cushion above, "why don't you tell me more about this Randall Boggs...?"
-------------------------
Several minutes later, Sulley and Mike had exhausted their anger and their rather pointless argument finally ran out of steam. Now in a more rational mood, Sulley explained to Mike how he'd come across Devon in the Refinery, what she'd told him about her arrival into the Monster World, and of his unpleasant encounter with Number 00626.
"...And that's about all I know," Sulley finished, presently leaning on his dresser like earlier. "Since her door was on the Laughfloor so late last night, I doubt we're ever gonna see it again."
Sitting on Sulley's bed, Mike began bouncing his weight absentmindedly. "So what do you propose we do now, Genius?"
Sulley scratched his head. "I found out from Devon where she lives—so, even if we can't get the same door, we can try sneaking her through another kid's door located in the same city. And because she's old enough to find home on her own, all we have to do is make sure the door we take her through is within walking distance from her house."
"Only one problem, Sul," Mike said. "All the doors are at the factory, and you said it yourself—the CDA's sniffing her out and they're not stopping till the trail runs dry. If those scanners work as well as that Six-Two-Six guy says, then it's not gonna run dry. It'll lead straight to us—right here—'cause I can guarantee you that one guy's not gonna stop until he's got you where he wants." He paused, actually seeming a bit sorry for what he had to say next. "We can't keep her here, Sulley. We're already putting a lot on the line by having her in the apartment right now."
Running a hand over his face, Sulley sighed. "You're right," he admitted reluctantly. "But where else can she go?"
Mike sat in thought a moment, rhythmically kicking his legs with his bottom lip sucked in. Then, breaking into a triumphant grin, he suddenly hopped on top of the bed. "I've GOT it! We'll call Charlie!"
Sulley frowned, equal parts skeptical and confused. "Charlie Tinkler, the mailman?"
"No no no no—my Uncle Charlie!" He slid off the bed, landing in front of Sulley. "He just moved back here to live close to the rest of the family, and he's involved with this huge 'human rights' type organization now. If those activists are anything like the newspapers describe 'em, they'll take in Devon in a heartbeat!"
"I dunno, Mike," Sulley said. "How do we know we can trust them?"
Mike waved a dismissive hand. "Pffft, believe me, these monsters wouldn't hurt a fly. Besides, word is they hail you as some kind of 'enlightened, progressive' something-or-other. They practically worship the ground you walk on! So think of what it does to their psyche to have YOU behind the induction of an actual human to their club."
Sulley looked away; something in his gut warned him against making such a move, but what other choice did they have? He hadn't seen Uncle Charlie for quite a few years, anyway, and if he was anything like Sulley remembered him to be, then they could count on him being willing to lend a hand. His being a human rights activist, hopefully, would soften up the shock of coming face-to-face with a real-live human.
At length, Sulley consented. "Sure. What else have we got to lose?"
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Hmm...can anyone say, "Famous last words"?
Anywho, I've been REALLY looking forward to finishing this chappie, since the next one is when the real fun begins! I won't say much, except that next time we're gonna be doing a bit of time traveling. So stay tuned to find out.;)
As for voice talents, I've pretty much settled on Whoopi Goldberg for Janis, since this match seems to fit really well.:) I'm also considering matching up Number 00626 with Jeff Bennett (since he's done so many voices, think Brooklyn from Gargoyles more than anything else). Any other suggestions? I'm ALL ears.:)
As always, thanks for reading! And keep up the writing and reviewing, people!