The Chocolate Girl
Part One
If you were ever a freshman in high school – or if you were ever in band - you know that there are always some form of fundraiser going on. Usually, freshmen are the only ones who put in work on such fundraisers while the seniors ride on their underclassmen, using them to their advantage.
Not in this band class. Everyone pulled their own weight around, and everyone was required to sell at least two boxes of chocolate this year – lest that person receive about five demerits.
So the freshman piano virtuoso girl was degraded to selling chocolate. Normally, she wouldn't care, but she had just moved to the neighborhood about a year ago, in eighth grade, and she still couldn't figure out where her house was in relation to the freeway.
Dragging a cart full of chocolate down the street, the raven-haired girl's goal was to sell her required boxes today.
At the end of the day, her goal would be much different and have nothing to do with chocolate.
-
Life in the Griffin household was no different that usual today. Meg, on a whim, decided that today was mall raiding day and split; Chris was with his friends, attempting to write some form of music that didn't send the cat into convulsions; Lois was tuning the piano; Stewie was trying to fix his mind reading device, which could only translate thoughts into Aramaic; Peter was watching "My Big Fat Greek Life" and God only knows why; and Brian the dog was doing what he always did: drinking a martini.
The doorbell rang. All autonomous action ceased, for someone actually wanted to see the Griffins for some reason. Peter turned off the TV, Stewie hid the mind reading device (in case the uninvited stranger thought to look inside), and Lois emerged from the pit underneath the piano. Brian did nothing, because if a dog was seen answering the door, the world would be turned upside-down and Brian's picture would be plastered all over the Internet.
Lois answered the door to find a tall teenager with short black hair, blue dusted eyelids, and a giant cart trailing behind her.
"Hello," Lois greeted the girl in her usual squeaky voice. "How can I help you?"
"I'm selling chocolate for my band fundraiser," the teenager said in what could only be called mock enthusiasm. "As you probably know, band classes promote the cultured enjoyment of music, and students in band take –"
"Chocolate!" Peter yelled as he came to the door with his wallet in his hand. He looked at the girl's cart. "How much for that entire cart?"
The girl's eyes widened. "Oh, well, um, it's about twenty dollars a box, and I have ten boxes, so it would be about $200, sir…"
"Done!" Peter yelled, handing over ten twenty-dollar bills to the girl. The teenager was unloading the cart and handing cases of chocolate over to Peter when Stewie took notice of the three-ring circus going on by the front door.
"What are those rash imbeciles doing yelling at such an ungodly volume?" Stewie murmured vindictively. "As if I needed another reason to fuel my own matricidal tendencies… damn these moronic sociopaths known as parents…"
Stewie toddled over to the door in even steps; managing to catch a glimpse of the many cases of chocolate that Peter was attempting to stack near the front door.
"So those are the cause of this demented fervor…" Stewie muttered as he turned his head to the doorframe. His mother's leg was blocking the view of the visitor. After dispelling some of his normal rage, Stewie, pretending to be the innocent little boy, tugged on Lois' pants. Lois, as if psychic, was already reaching to pick him up. When the domineering baby was lifted to his mother's eye level, he gasped.
There was a slender, tall, and black-haired Bohemian beauty standing on his doorstep. She wore a tee shirt that promoted Vanessa Carlton in tan glory and faded cutoff shorts that went a bit higher than the dress code would have wished them to be. Her eyes were surrounded by soft blue eye shadow and dangling from her ears were mushroom-shaped charms (supporting the Mario Brothers). She looked a bit surprised by Peter's voracious chocolate buying, but she seemed more than satisfied with the cool $200 lying in her delicate, outstretched palm.
The cases had finally been packed away by the front door, something Stewie was completely unaware of. He was actually daydreaming – something that rarely happened to the genius baby. Meanwhile, while Stewie was in la-la land, the teen thanked Lois and Peter for supporting band, and Peter thanked the girl for the chocolate, and the door closed.
Stewie blinked as Lois set him down beside Brian on the living room carpet, in front of the couch broadcasting the Nia Vardalos flop TV show.
"Where am I?" Stewie asked stupidly. "Where is she?"
"You're in your house, dumbass." Brian sipped the martini. "Where is who?"
"That girl!" Stewie repeated, as if Brian was dumb. "The raven-haired goddess, the only one who could truly be called beautiful in this inadequate commune of Earth, the –"
Brian slapped Stewie very hard before taking another sip of his near-empty martini. "Shut the hell up, please."
Stewie sat up. "You think you're so great… damned dog! One day, when I rule the world, you will be shoved through a wood chipper while I film the gory bloodshed for my own perverse enjoyment!"
Brian raised an eyebrow. "If you rule the world. We live in Seth McFarlane's creative consciousness simply to entertain the millions of viewers around America that have grown to know and love the Griffins for their own ways… and if you rule the world, ratings might plummet."
"What the hell kind of drug are you on, dog?" Stewie asked in a crazed tone. "Who is this McFarlane you speak of? And what the hell do ratings have to do with this?"
Brian sighed before draining his drink. "Never mind, stupid little baby. Now, about this raven-haired girl…"
Stewie knew that Brian was toying with him, as he always did, because only he could get away with it (he was a dog, for God's sake. Who'd believe you if you said a DOG forced you to murder your family?). But at the mention of this chocolate seller, Stewie collapsed into his own murky fantasies again. Brian poked Stewie repeatedly as the infant lay on the floor, not paying any attention to the world around him.
Brian went to take a sip of his drink before realizing there was nothing in it. "Crap… I need more booze."
Brian left Stewie on the floor to be found by Lois about five seconds later. Lois cocked her head, for Stewie was splayed on the floor and was in the center of the living room for no reason at all.
"Stewie… Stewie…"
Stewie was still not paying much attention. The noxious dictator could wait for later. At the moment, Stewie knew he had to see that chocolate girl again, just one more time.
-
"Ah the park," Stewie muttered. "I hate this place."
Stewie had to admit, if you wanted a child army, the best place to recruit some unsuspecting patriotic suckers was the park. Unfortunately, the only thing that interested Stewie was the swing set, yet, try as he might, he could never reach the lip of the plastic basket swing. But, in an effort to try and assimilate into the surroundings without Lois thinking something was wrong (thus making her less likely to be caught unawares if Stewie happened to find a sharp rock somewhere), he began to mold sand into some sort of hill.
Stewie, for a second, looked longingly over to the swing set, wishing he were slightly taller and/or had a mother he actually liked… like that chocolate girl. Stewie saw that all the swings were full before turning back to his mound of sand. He, after a few seconds, did a double take.
The chocolate girl was swinging on the swings. She wasn't in a basket; she was on that bendable plastic strip kind. She was going awfully high in the air, but seemed never to lose her equilibrium or her grip on the swing's chains. Today she wore a black tank top that clung loosely to her stomach and tan Dickies that had clothespins attached at the edges.
Stewie stared at the girl, blankly warping the sand beneath his small fingers. It sifted between his fingers, helpless as the infant was to this teenager.
She was there, in his general vicinity… the one girl that he could love as an equal… or perhaps a mother.
The girl jumped off her swing rather unceremoniously, landing in a pile of leaves. Someone sitting behind a tree yelled at her to hurry up, and the girl turned red and followed a brunette that must have been her mother. Stewie, blindsided by whatever it was that made him attracted to such an unremarkable girl, toddled after them, leaving his pile of sand to its own devices.
-
"Cassandra!"
She thinks she can rule me, does she? Cassie thought with a hint of disgust tingeing her brain.
"Have you gone on your chocolate rounds today?" Cassie's mom, a brunette prep named Samantha, asked hotly. Her white capris clung to her thighs and her lime-green sleeveless turtleneck looked remarkably good on a forty-year-old body. Of course, Samantha worked as a supermodel in her youth and retired after marrying three times and divorcing four. (Don't ask.)
Cassie smirked, her red lips rising a bit higher than usual. "This family bought all the cases I had of the stuff. My rounds are over."
Samantha nodded. "Fine then. Your sister is at dance, so you have a half-hour to yourself. Don't mess with your sister's hamster, hear me?"
"Yeah, mom."
Cassandra closed the door to her room. The dank and cluttered room would have looked like an absolute dump to anyone else, but to Cassie it was home. She rooted through a disorderly CD rack to find her karaoke CD to sing along with, popping it into a dust-covered CD player.
Cassie blew the dust off of the CD player before pressing the play button and letting the soft French words roll off of her tongue playfully and gracefully, surrounding her body and giving her room an inviting glow.
That was, before her mom screamed.
Cassie forcefully pressed the pause button on her disc player. "What now, mom!"
Her mom said nothing. Cassie ran out of her room, into the living room, to her mother's side. Standing before the two was a standing baby.
"Um… mom… is this one of your ex's children?" Cassie asked unsympathetically.
Samantha shot her daughter a venomous look before turning back to the baby. "Do you think that he can talk?"
"How do you know it's a he?" Cassie screeched. "It has about seven hairs on its head!"
"A baby girl would be wearing pink, not red!" Samantha shot back.
"I wore red when I was a kid!" Cassie yelled.
"Red and yellow and blue?"
"And black, baby, back in black."
"Cassandra Yvonne…"
The baby's head seemed to move with the conversation. Cassandra noticed this and stopped arguing with her mother long enough to pick up the baby. It seemed to smile.
"Whose are you?" Cassandra asked the little baby with the football-shaped head and red overalls.
Samantha
sighed. "Babies don't normally talk, dear."
Cassie ignored
her mother and instead gently moved the baby back and forth in the
air.
"How'd it get in the house, though?" Cassie wondered aloud.
"It must have come in after us," Samantha sighed. "We did leave the door open for quite some time."
Cassie kept moving the baby back and forth before singing again. "Somewhere along the beach is a place I want to see… far away from the city lights in a small personal sea… hold my hand tenderly as I watch the sky turn blue… you will always be my shepherd, for it is known that I love you…"
The baby was slightly red in the face, so Cassie stopped moving it back and forth. "Did you not like the singing…?"
A thought struck Cassie "We should get you home…!"
Samantha stood up forcibly. "Of course we should get him home! We need to call the Missing Persons Hotline!"
Samantha reached for her cell phone and began to dial as Cassie placed the baby on the ground to turn on the TV.
Instantly a barrage of drug commercials battered the disaffected teenager, telling her that her erectile dysfunction and her arthritis could be cured with a simple visit to her doctor and a prescription.
"I hate commercials," Cassie frowned. "It's like people are trying to get dependent on drugs…" Cassie turned to the mildly interested toddler sitting beside her, realizing what she had said in the presence of the child. "Just forget I said anything, little guy… I wish that you COULD talk, but you don't look over eight months old… babies don't talk at eight months…"
From the other room, Cassie heard Samantha on the phone with the Missing Persons Hotline.
"Yes, an infant… about seven or eight months old, with a football shaped head," Samantha explained. "Its eyes are black, just like the rest of us, you fool…! I believe it's a boy, but this baby is disturbingly genderless… No I haven't changed his diaper! It isn't my baby! It followed me into my house! …I am not crazy! What -? Don't hang up, you yellow-bellied -!"
Samantha pressed the clear button on her phone, ending the call.
"They didn't believe you, did they?" Cassie murmured in shock.
"No," Samantha huffed. "Bureaucratic idiots…"
Cassie turned to the baby, who was smiling as if he had no idea how much trouble he could cause. Either that, or the baby was staring at her chest. Cassie knew that the baby was just being oblivious, like most babies.
"I hope it doesn't start to cry," Samantha pondered. "What'll we do?"
"I hope it doesn't get hungry," Cassie added. "That is something that we can't do anything about…"
Cassie and Samantha stared at the tot, fearing the worst: that it had been abandoned, and it followed the first humans it could find.
"Do you think that maybe… maybe he was abandoned?" Samantha thought aloud. "Or that it ran away?"
"Babies don't run away," Samantha retorted. "They'd crawl away, but a mother wouldn't be stupid enough to leave her son alone in a street."
"Right."
The TV stopped milking the recent prescription drug boom long enough to start the afternoon news with some high-and-mighty studio executive filling in for the usual calm and somewhat appealing anchorman.
"We at Channel 217 news interrupt the regularly scheduled advertising and the soap opera 'All My Cousins' to bring you this special Amber Alert bulletin… yes, a child has gone missing and is presumed kidnapped… his name is Stewie Griffin, and he was last seen at the community park…"
Samantha looked from the picture of the baby on the screen to the baby sitting in her living room. She turned back to the TV.
"Oh… my… God!" Samantha shrieked. "It's him! That kid is Stewie Griffin!"
Amidst mother and daughter shrieking in fear and horror, Samantha's other daughter, Jean, walked into the house and took a seat on the couch, seemingly ignoring her sister and mother. Jean had reddish-brown hair, done into a tight ponytail, and was wearing a body clinging black tank top that showed off… um, well, actually, this girl had nothing. Of course, she was only eleven… the problem was, she thought she was in high school and acted like a spoiled brat.
Jean dangled her feet off the couch, watching the Amber Alert thing for a few seconds, which was being watched intently by Cassie and Samantha.
"Stewie is about thirty pounds… he has black eyes… he has very little hair. If you have any information, or if you have seen him, call 313 – 555 - "
The channel switched to The Fairly Oddparents, where a deranged, bespectacled teacher gave the pink-hatted kid an F.
Cassie and Samantha turned to the couch and saw Jean.
"Jean!" Cassie yelled, lunging at her sister before Samantha yanked the back of her tank top.
"Hold on," Samantha frowned, turning her sights to Jean. Jean winced, waiting for her sentence.
Samantha yanked the remote away from Jean and switched the TV back to the news. However, they'd moved on to a crazy who had murdered his family with a printer cartridge that was finally put into custody.
"No!" Samantha yelled. "We needed that number!"
Cassie turned to the baby, who was staring intently at the footage of the printer cartridge killer. Was he intrigued, or was he just being like all babies, and just watching the television?
Jean sighed. "Why'd you need that number?"
Cassie stepped away, revealing the baby to Jean. Jean's eyes widened.
"Is that…?"
"Yep," Cassie interrupted. "The baby wandered into our house… we thought it might have been abandoned, but it looks like it got lost and followed us home."
Jean thought for a second before snapping her fingers. "Why don't you look up Griffin in the phone book? I'm sure you'd get the number through that!"
Samantha hugged her daughter. "That's a great idea! You're so smart, Jean!"
Cassie looked at her mom and sibling, who were lugging the phone book out from the kitchen cabinet. She then turned to Stewie, kneeling down to his level.
"There has to be a reason that you came here, though," Cassie stated in a rather blunt fashion. "I think I've seen you before… perhaps you're an angel or something…"
Jean screamed. Cassie cringed.
"What now!" Cassie yelled at her sister.
Jean slumped her head on the kitchen counter. "There are about seven Griffins in the city!"
Cassie
sighed. "This couldn't get any worse…!"
"Can't the
baby talk?" Jean asked.
"It's only eight months old!" Cassie yelled. "Do you honestly think that he can just up and tell us his address? You're crazy!"
"Actually, if I may say so, I can indeed tell you my address, but I don't really want to return to the totalitarianism that my mother instills upon my household."
Cassie, Samantha, and Jean turned to the baby. He stood erect, frowning.
"Why are you staring at me with such anxious faces?" Stewie asked.
Cassie breathed heavily, Jean bit her lip in fear, and Samantha dropped the phone book on her foot.
"Oh… Lord," Cassie breathed before lapsing into a clean faint.
A/N: All right, just so I don't get flamed about this, I don't know the name of the town that the Griffins live in. At one point I knew it, but I can't think of it off the top of my head and I didn't think that it was a vital detail to the story… If you know it (which you probably do), please tell me so I can remedy this problem.
A/N 2: If it isn't painfully obvious, I'll tell you that I haven't seen very many episodes of Family Guy, but I really do like the show. It's just that, by 12:00 midnight, I've turned in for the night and don't feel like watching Adult Swim. So I wait… every Sunday at nine… for Family Guy episodes! I'm sorry if I screwed up anything… (Whenever I write a fiction for a section I've never dabbled in before, I always end up groveling to the readers. I have to stop that.)
A/N 3: There will only be about two chapters to this, because I didn't want to make this the longest one-shot ever.
DISCLAIMER: Oh, I don't own Family Guy. Obviously… (sigh) Boy, Seth McFarlane is so cool…
