Christmas is in one week! WHOO! Anyway, about the accents of Joanna and Chris; I have decided that they're now going to be just generally Southern, but because their part ends in this chapter, it would just be too much effort to make them sound really authentic. I've tried my best, but the accents certianly won't be perfect. I want to thank Pitbulllady, though, for giving me and others all the information we need about Southern and Cajun accents.
And, since this is the last chapter to be posted before Christmas,I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!
Chapter 6- Escape To The Wilderness
Randall sat up.
It was dark, shadowy, but a strip of light still managed to leak through the gap in the make-shift curtains created out of plastic shopping bags covering the window opposite him. The light was orange and warm, the colour of a nectarine, and sliced through one of Randall's eyes. He didn't mind, though- it gave him the chance to have a look around without having to disturb anything unnecessarily.
Everything was in a terrible state. Broken plates and crushed beer cans littered the floor, as did clothes and an assortment of pure junk, and a sour smell drifted about the air. Randall tried hard not to breathe in. A dog was snoring soundly in a corner of the room, and in the other corner…
A bed. And, what was more, this bed was occupied.
Randall bit his bottom lip. He was in the same room as a pair of humans. A pair of adult humans.
Acting as a child would in absolute wonder, Randall continued to look about himself; there wasn't much else he could do. There were only two rooms leading off of this one, one being an open-plan kitchen of sorts, though basically equipped and gloomy, and the other being a bathroom. The door to the bathroom was closed, but if it had been open, Randall would have been able to see the space in which a toilet had once lived. Luckily, it wasn't, as the stench might've been a bit too much for Randall's already turning stomach.
He leant forward even more, so as not to be resting on his hands. Pain swept through his body in shuddering bouts, but, in some ways, it wasn't as bad as he first expected. The movement made his arm hurt horribly, and so he clutched it suddenly with another hand, clenching his teeth.
This was when he first realised that, rather than lying on the floor, he was in fact situated on the sofa. It wasn't a particularly comfortable sofa, but this didn't matter.
Randall then prodded the blanket that he was wrapped up in, and found that, though dirty, it was soft, with a rich texture, and was reassuringly heavy. And although it made a lot of noise and was a struggle to pull off, Randall found that he loved the way it made him feel, because it reminded him of all the things he should have experienced as a child but hadn't, one of which were the motherly hugs of a parent.
These embraces, as far as Randall knew, were also strong and reassuring, like the blanket, but the lizard-monster knew that the cloth didn't really come close. He clutched the blanket in a fiery grip, pulled it back, and rolled off the sofa. He couldn't stay long here- these humans obviously knew of his intelligence, and this was proven even more so by the extensive care that they had taken in tending to his wounds- but getting away was not to be easy.
The second he had fallen to his feet, Randall winced, placed a hand around his mouth to muffle a groan, and threw up. He retched disgustingly and held his stomach, trying to stop this reaction, but nothing he could do managed to control it. Before he knew what was happening, a white light had been flicked on and the humans had clambered out of bed.
Well, one human had. The other turned over and put his pillow over his head in annoyance.
"Jo, turn that bloody light off!"
"No! The…thing's poorly!"
"Oh, get RID OF IT!"
"NO!" Chris rose out of bed like a zombie, his eyes flashing, and pulled a coat on over his underwear. Jo's brow furrowed. "Where ya goin'?"
"Ma," he mumbled in reply, before striding out and slamming the door. It bounced back open.
"Spawn o'…" Jo muttered, staring at where her boyfriend had been moments before. A violent retching noise behind her made her snap back to reality. "Oh…heaven upon the earth…"
Randall had collapsed and had curled up, but his chest was heaving and his eyes were squeezed shut. Panicking slightly, Jo got down on one knee, cleared a bit of space on the floor, and pulled down a pillow that she had put on the sofa earlier on. It was half empty because of a reasonable-sized hole on one side of it, and it had the vilest pattern on its cover to match the sofa's colours, but Jo figured that it was the thought that counted.
Randall was now lying still but breathing heavily, and his body shuddered now and then as though an electric current was passing through it. Jo leaned down closer, lifted his head up and slid the pillow under it as quickly as she could, licking her lips as she aided the monster. She eyed the vomit centimetres away from where she was kneeling, slid a cloth off the table to her left, and laid it on top of what Randall had thrown up. Then, she waited, hoping that everything would be alright…
"How…y'all doin'?" It sounded stupid, sure, and even more so to the thing…person, she was saying it to, but Jo was still worryingly unsure about whether or not this creature actually had a human intelligence. But she was sure of one thing- now was the time for her to find out. "Hello…?"
Panting, Randall curled up into an even tighter swirl, and then finally relaxed. The nausea had ceased, and though he still felt terrible, he was now trying to focus on the voice that he could hear in front of him, and behind him, and everywhere around him, it seemed.
"Hello? You hear me?" It made sense for Randall to answer this question, but his body was screaming in protest. On the other hand, his brain was telling him that this was a ripe opportunity not to be missed. Balling his fists, Randall decided to give it a try- what did he have to lose, other than his life, which he didn't value as highly as one should anyway?
"…H…h…help…" Jo's eyes widened and her face soon broke out into a manic grin.
"You talk! You really talk! Say somethin' else!"
"…Oh…" Jo blinked.
"You need help, don't you...?" she said in a tender, caring tone of voice. She grabbed the blanket that Randall had savoured so much when he had first woken up, and laid it over him gently. "There ya go. Get a bit o' shut eye- ya need it." Randall nodded slowly, but then shook his head. The blanket was so comforting though…it was inviting him to the Land of Nod…But he was to resist.
Trying with all his might to sit up and ignore the spinning room before him, Randall rested against the side of the sofa, pulling the blanket up with his lower set of hands and shakily smoothing back his fronds with an upper hand.
"Jeez…" he whispered under his breath, reeling at his headache. As his hand felt his face to smooth back his fronds, he touched something. It was like a groove in his head, his skull, and he gagged as he looked at his hand upon feeling something wet, watery, but thicker than water. It was blood.
"Sorry 'bout not bandaging ya head there- my ma always taught me to leave cuts like that wide open. I had to mop it up at first- there was that sticky stuff all over the place! And Chris was complaining like Flipp with a belly ache…" She drifted off, but caught herself quickly. "Where ya from?" She said this quietly, as though it was a touchy subject, and although it indeed was, she couldn't possibly have known that for certain, could she?
Randall gulped for two reasons- one, because he had just opened his eyes again, and he hadn't liked what he had seen, and two, because he didn't want to answer to the inquiry.
"Do…do you have any water…?" he said, gritting his teeth. He shouldn't have been talking to the human, and he knew it, but on the first impressions that he had of her, she seemed relatively stupid.
Well, apart from the fact that she had realised that he was as intelligent as her, or maybe even more so…
But that didn't matter. She was a human, and it was common knowledge in the Monster World that all humans, whether they be young, old, or rotting in the ground, are stupid.
Jo had got up and gone outside to return five minutes later with a bucket of water. She dipped a crusty dirt-covered mug in the pail, scooping up the murky liquid, and sat back down next to Randall, offering him the cup. He didn't thank her for it, but this wasn't because of a lack of manners. Instead, the very idea of having a drink was so overwhelmingly satisfying that when he actually came to gulping it down, the relief of some fluids going down his throat, no matter what they may have been, and the possibility that they might improve his condition overrode any other thoughts or feelings he might have had at that moment.
He drank every last drop and, once finished, sighed. The hand holding the mug dropped down. Jo watched with intrigue.
Randall swallowed again, wishing that he had more water, but didn't want to ask; it seemed a better idea to build a friendly relationship with this human, because if he managed to do so, she might be of some benefit to him. Exactly what sort of benefit was beyond him at the moment though- he was still groggy.
Randall did manage to remember his manners eventually and, now feeling a bit better, he looked at the human properly for the first time.
She was quite tall, though this was only noticeable as she was kneeling by the length of her legs, and the bright orange shock atop her head that was her hair was held back scruffily by a large clasp. Her eyes were a darkish shade of green and her lips were thin and pale, as was most of her skin. Something else that Randall had noticed of this woman was that although she was showing all the usual traits of the emotion of concern, her mouth still looked as though it was smiling. It clearly wasn't, but there was this aura surrounding her person that made it seem as though it was.
This semi-smile remained as Randall began to speak. His tone was soft but edged with pain, and was greeted not with shock or horror, but with a balanced amount of expectancy and acceptance.
"…Thanks…" Jo grinned outright.
"No problem, mes amis! My name's Joanna, but since you've scared Flipp so much that he's now livin' the natural way, outside with all his other lil' animal friends, you can call me Jo."
"Randall." The lizard-monster held out a hand- one that was shaking badly- but he received a pat on the shoulder instead. It was a very painful pat on the shoulder, but it proved that he was indeed making progress. "So…" he began after a long pause. He swept a hand through his fronds once more, trying not to touch the groove in front of his foremost frond, but coming across a new stream of blood beginning to rush down the side of his face. "What happened?"
Joanna was confused for a few seconds, but then understood. "Oh! Ya mean at Aunt Susannah's?" She chuckled, if not a little balefully, and stood up, talking as she walked over to another dirt-covered side-table. "Well…She didn't wanna give ya up- figured that since you were in her house, she was yours. But I knew that ya ain't as ya seem, so I showed her what's what." Having retrieved what she had been looking for, she sat down and handed over a damp, cold piece of rag to Randall, eyeing the cut on his head. He dabbed the blood away lightly and narrowed his eyes at her.
"What's…what?"
"Let's just say I changed her mind 'bout…whatever y'are being a good mix with jambalaya." Jo folded her arms. "You?"
"What about me?"
"What's your story?"
"My story?" Randall shook his head, surprised by the sudden rush of emotions that surfaced along with the question that had just been asked. "You don't wanna know my story." Thinking that it was better to be straight with Jo rather than completely dismiss her queries, Randall let his answer evolve accordingly. "It's all very confusing…Sometimes even I don't know what happened." He said this last remark with an added touch of resentment- something that he certainly hadn't expected.
"I guess you've got a real life and everythin', then? Before all o' this?" Randall nodded, confirming this, and added to himself, 'if you can call what I was doing before a 'life'. "Do ya wanna go back?" Now, this was something Randall really had to consider before replying.
"I…don't know."
---------------
Three long weeks had passed.
Randall had been in a sorry state when he had arrived at Joanna and Chris's house, (or, rather, when she had taken him home) but now, after a few weeks of solid but gradual recovery, he was feeling a lot better. The food hadn't been brilliant, and the comfort factor of the place hadn't been pleasing, but Randall had been incredibly satisfied with the company- Jo had spent all of her time with him when she was not at work, and would entertain him with stories of her past and present.
In some ways, Randall felt as though he could live there forever. There had been no sign of Chris since his departure all of that time ago, and Randall had complete control of the whole place when Jo was out, so he could do as he pleased. He even ventured out once or twice, if he was feeling in the mood physically and mentally, and bumped into Flipp as he explored. These meetings were quite entertaining for the lizard-monster, although Flipp would probably say the contrary if he could talk- the second he saw the slightest sign of Randall approaching, he'd run down the road as fast as he could and disappear in a shot.
Once, though, one of these meetings didn't end very well, and basically involved Flipp gathering all of his doggy friends in the area and…well, hunting Randall down. This concluded in Randall nearly getting a hand bitten off, and several dogs gaining some broken limbs.
So, to get back to the point, Randall had had a very entertaining three weeks. Joanna never realised that Randall had been going outside until that evening when she had returned to find the monster nursing a bleeding hand. He had turned around with a bit of a jump at the sound of the front door slamming shut, and when Joanna had given him a fair equivalent of Twenty Questions about what had happened, he soon gave in to the truth.
But Joanna had reacted in a way that he had not expected- she accepted the fact that Randall was going mad with boredom having to be stuck indoors all day- and, soon enough, she was talking about what he should do next. She listed every option possible on the earth, even things utterly ridiculous, like Randall helping her out at the Gator Farm, but she steered clear of the subject of Randall actually leaving the swamp.
This worried Randall greatly; the first idea that had popped up in his mind when the question of what he was going to do next now that he was mobile was to get out of this place and find his way back into the Monster World.
Yes- he wanted to go back. He needed to go back.
How else would he be able to reap his revenge over the two people that had been the cause of so much unbearable pain?
----------------
It was night time. Randall was curled up on the sofa, tucked under the heavy blanket that he had certainly become attached to over his stay, and was pretending to be asleep.
He looked up at the clock in Flipp's bed. The clock only had one hand, probably because of Flipp, and was almost inevitably wrong or broken (everything in that room seemed to be wrong or broken in some way) but Randall looked at it nevertheless. He really wanted to know what the time was, but nothing in the room helped him find this piece of information out, so he sat up on the sofa and brushed a plastic bag curtain to one side to reveal a window. Peering out, all that Randall could see was a little glint of light in the distance and, deducing that this was probably just a lone 4-wheel drive travelling through the swamps, he smiled.
It was very dark and so therefore probably very deep into the night. Randall let go of the plastic bag swiftly, which was a big mistake in itself as the rustling and movement caused someone outside to cock a gun, and crept onto the floor. Luckily, Flipp wasn't there at the moment, (unsurprisingly) and Joanna was fast asleep.
Randall, in a way, had wanted to say a proper farewell to her, but this would've meant revealing to her what he had planned for tonight- escape- and he was afraid that she would find a way to stop him. He did, on the other hand, manage to give his thanks to Joanna for her services; one evening, as she had returned from work, he had persuaded her to let him have a look at her car. He fixed any faults it might've had, including the dodgy radio, and received the highest of praise- something that had really made his heart feel alight.
This had been, of course, after the incident with the dogs, which had happened several days before.
Randall made his way across the room, positioned the little note that he had written next to Jo's head, on her pillow, and crawled towards the door. His actions were light-footed and smooth, and his purpose firmly burnt into his brain- revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.
He got up onto his four feet as he approached the door, but did so slowly, (at least, compared to his other movements)- lifting his head quickly would start yet another one of his infamous headaches up, and this would spoil the whole mission. A firm hand grasped the tightened door handle (Randall had done other odd jobs around the house) and he pulled, ready to relish freedom.
It wasn't as he expected. Definitely not as he expected.
Because, of all the things that could have happened, even being abducted by aliens was something that he expected more than having a large gun shoved in his face.
Chris didn't say a word, and Randall didn't expect him to.
One thing that he now did expect was for a piece of metal to pierce his scales and make a home for itself somewhere in his heart region. He could even imagine this piece of metal waiting, preparing, in the gun, looking forward to its new life. It was like going abroad- sure, you can't talk the language, but who gives a damn about not being able to speak when you've got sun, sea and sand, or, in this case, vessels and blood?
"Hold still," Chris muttered, peering down the right end of the barrel.
Oh, what the hey, was the first thing that Randall thought upon hearing these words. What kind of shooter tells his prey to 'hold still'? Did this somehow imply that Chris wasn't a good shot? So, before performing some astounding acrobatics around the room, Randall decided to test his luck. This is where the 'what the hey' comes in; just before Randall does something that anyone would HAVE to say 'what the hey' before doing, since it is, in some ways, utterly stupid.
He moved very quickly.
First, he dodged to the left as a bullet ricocheted off the sofa, missing him by more than enough. He then clambered up the wall to his left side and slithered across the ceiling, using the darkness to his advantage. It wasn't to stay dark for long though- Jo had woken up at the loud bangs and had rolled out of bed.
"CHRIS, WHAT THE F-" She was cut off by yet another gun shot.
The sudden movement was taking its toll on Randall and reminding him that though he had made such wonderful improvement, he hadn't recovered fully. His head was thumping like never before, and any logical thoughts that might've been flowing through his mind beforehand were lost. He was now running on instinct, on an autopilot of sorts.
A window suddenly came up before him, and before he knew what he was doing, he had ripped off the plastic bags taped to the wall and had thrust a fist through the glass. It shattered into hundreds of tiny little fragments, several of which embedded themselves into his hand. He didn't care, instead just carrying on to climbing through the window and falling onto the ground. He rolled, trying to soften the impact, but the pain still increased. Trying to shift colours, he knew, was a stupid idea, and he hadn't shifted in the past three weeks for two very plausible reasons- firstly, because he wanted to keep his gift a secret, and secondly, because he couldn't.
He had tried a few days before, and nothing had happened. But, instead of dwelling on the matter, he had continued, deciding that he would try later, after his escape.
Therefore, for the first time in his life, shifting wasn't the first thing he had resorted to get out of an awkward situation. Subconsciously, he was trying with all his might to turn invisible, but it was wasted energy.
He slithered away quickly into the undergrowth, hiding in the greenery, dodging between trees. Chris had stepped outside and had looked around manically, Jo clawing at his arm trying to stop him, and he eventually decided to continue the chase into the swamp. But, first, he hit Jo with the end of his gun, knocking her around the head. She fell to the ground and did not stir.
Chris's nose wrinkled as though he was hoping to follow a scent of sorts, and he started to stomp past the rough road into the bushes, going where he thought Randall had been headed.
Meanwhile, Randall was going the opposite direction of the random gunshots. He paused for a moment, as did the bangs, and thought of how stupid Chris was to continue shooting at nothing. A few birds in the tree above him squawked, leaving their branches to scatter about the sky- they were afraid of the noise.
An idea came to Randall; he could climb a tree, and there was no way that Chris would be able to find him if he went up high enough. Randall immediately put this plan into motion. There was a tree inches away from where he was lying on the ground, but it looked weak and unstable, so he began to crawl to a tree he saw several metres away.
Suddenly, an excruciating dagger of pain travelled up his arm and spread through his torso, and it took him several seconds to realise that Chris was a lot closer to him than he had previously thought.
Randall scolded himself. How could he have made such a stupid mistake, letting Chris- or rather, Chris's gun- leave the centre of his thoughts, even for a few moments? Now he had to pay the price; carrying a bullet along with the pain that it would inevitably cause.
"Got'cha," Chris muttered under his breath. His eyes were boring manically into Randall's face as he rose his gun up, preparing to fire another shot. Randall's shaking body came into focus. Chris's finger squeezed the trigger.
He was too slow- although Randall had needed a second or two to come to terms with what had just happened, his instincts came unto their own, making him move and clamber up the target tree. The pain seemed to have been numbed as Randall tried to escape a more terrible fate than just suffering, and he managed to climb a good few metres up the tree. He wasn't able to scale it- his injury prevented him from doing so- but he was at least relatively safe.
Chris's eyes darted about and he stomped forward a few steps before gritting his teeth in anger. The creature was gone. He had lost his only opportunity to get rid of the thing that had, in his opinion, destroyed any chance of a relationship between him and Jo. He felt utterly bitter, and to try and disperse his anger, he went over to a nearby tree and kicked it.
Unfortunately, this was the tree that Randall was currently perched in, and as it wobbled slightly, sending some of its leaves drifting to the ground, he hung on even tighter, shutting his eyes to block out the outside world, hoping that the thumping would end soon.
It did. Chris had left, disappointed, and had gone to visit Joanna to try and rekindle their love, which left Randall halfway up a tree.
Randall looked about himself blearily. There wasn't much to see, really; a few trees, some assorted plants, and Jo's scraggy little house in the distance. The branch he was clinging onto was quite thick- thick enough, at least, to support his whole body comfortably. Clutching his injured arm, he inched forwards, curling his tail around the branch behind him, and laid his body across the length of the wood. Randall groaned and winced in pain, but this was the best that he could do.
He shut his eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass.
---------------------
The stream bubbled pleasantly over the pebbles and rocks of the shallows, reflecting the rays of sunlight that had managed to peak through the trees.
Randall leaned over the sparkling water, allowing his tongue to lap up some gulps in relief. He lay in the mud of the bank, letting the liquid pass by the scales on his face. Slowly, his eyes began to close and fatigue overcame him…
A twig snapped several metres away. Randall suddenly jumped up as best he could, his eyes scanning the scene immediately in front of him. He couldn't see much- he was tired and hungry and wasn't feeling his best to say the least- but he figured that appearing as though he could see everything would make whatever it was that had made the noise feel no less than relatively nervous.
He stood, completely still, for a minute before relaxing. It was gone, whatever it had been, and that was all that really mattered- Randall couldn't afford to take chances, not now he had managed to live a good three years in the swamp. The first thing that he had thought of upon escape from the human's house was somehow getting back to the Monster World, back home, but, in the condition that he had been in, it had been practically impossible to just walk to the nearest town or city. And, after trying to do so, it seemed as though the closest network of civilisation was, in fact, a lot further away than Randall had first expected.
Unfortunately, his condition hadn't got any better since, and now, his main aim in life was to survive. He felt like an animal, and acted like one too, but a small part of his brain- or heart- somehow handled trying to keep him going. Sometimes, he relived a memory of his previous life, so to speak, when he had lived in Monstopolis, just to remind him that there even WAS a Monstropolis, a Monsters, Incorporated, a Fungus, a Waternoose…a Sullivan, and a Wazowski.
He didn't think of Sullivan and Wazowski much anymore- survival had become his life. But he certainly hadn't forgotten about them; he hadn't had his revenge yet, had he? And Randall knew that he wouldn't be able to live the rest of his life satisfyingly without some kind of payback…
Randall sat down. He felt very ill, and didn't really want to do much other than sit down. Well, actually, sleeping was an option, but not one that he was particularly keen on- the nightmares that he would have were not exactly fun experiences. He leant against a tree by the stream, his torso sinking, squelching into the mud. His arms ached, his legs ached, his head pumped with pain, and as ants began to troop onto his body, making his scales tingle, Randall felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.
Snap.
Another twig went.
Randall didn't react as instantaneously as he had done before, only opening his eyes at the noise at first. Soon enough, though, he lifted himself up onto all eights and crawled forwards, back to the bank, heading towards the noise. His reflection scowled at him. It was a horrible reflection- worn and weary- and was not a patch on what had been previously.
Randall stopped looking.
Three eyes peered out at him through a thinning bush. Then, the creature dived forwards, knocking Randall over. The lizard-monster didn't fight purely because he didn't have the strength to become a formidable force, but this being certainly knew what it was doing.
It grabbed Randall by his fronds firmly, making him grit his teeth in pain, and lifted him up. Movement ceased.
Randall looked about himself.
Everything was suddenly different. He was lying on the ground, and this wasn't a soft, squelchy ground. Instead, it was hard and solid and supportive. It also wasn't the ground.
High up in a large tree, someone had placed some smoothed logs across three strong branches, creating a platform of a sort, and some branches directly above had been tired together with vines, making a roof to protect anyone underneath from the rain or the sun. A fire was burning in a metal drum, cooking something that smelled absolutely delicious, and there was a monster stoking the food momentarily.
Randall sat up slowly, clutching his head as a fresh headache swelled inside his skull. With one hand, he pulled back a blanket that was covering him, and with another, he took hold of a lower arm- the one that had been hit with the bullet. Something was familiar about this situation- or rather the feel of the situation…
Of course. The blanket. The blanket that was heavy, reassuring, that reminded him of motherly hugs that he, as a child, should have had but never had.
Of course! Patterson. Patterson- the monster that he had known for two months, but that he had completely forgotten about.
Of course…His memory. The memory that once had been pretty good, but now…
"Pat, what's that you got on the drum?" Randall got up, feeling utterly embarrassed- he kept forgetting about what had happened in the past couple of months with Patterson, but the monster seemed to understand that this wasn't Randall's fault. The lizard-monster also felt distinctly guilty- Patterson had helped him so much recently, and the best Randall could do for thanks was to forget all about it.
"Rat." Randall nodded, eyeing his friend appreciatively. Patterson was large, very large- even taller than Sullivan- but, regardless to his size, he was very light; he had a hole, in a sense, in the centre of his upright body, and this kept his weight to a minimum. He looked slightly human-like, with pale pink skin, but his three eyes and single arm distinguished him from any every-day homo-sapian. And, atop his head were three horns, all twisted and curling. Randall had been, admittedly, incredibly frightened the first time he had seen Pat, but with the offer of food and safe accommodation being presented, he couldn't miss the opportunity.
Also, Pat had become a more than welcome friend. Neither of the exiled monsters talked of their past, but they had both agreed that it was far better that way, rather than have their history get in the way.
"How are you feeling?" Pat's voice was quite etched and sharp, and was very cold, no matter what he would be saying.
"You don't wanna know," Randall replied, taking a deep breath. The rat smelled nice.
"Sit down- it'll be ready in a minute." Randall did as he was told, wrapping the blanket around himself.
"I still don't believe you managed to get this thing," he said, smiling and motioning towards the cloth.
"Yes, well, those humans are more idiotic than I ever dared to believe." The rat was cut in half and served. It wasn't much of a meal, but for Randall's grumbling stomach, it was more than enough.
