Author's Note/Disclaimer: This is the only input I, azuretears, have in this chapter. Don't all start cheering. I'll be back next chapter (though I couldn't resist naming the chapter).
Yes, Dude13 penned this one. I'll pass all reviews onto him.
Oh, and Foster's, Mr. Herriman, Frankie, and Madame Foster are property of Craig McCracken, Cartoon Network, and whoever.
Chapter Two: Pride
"…dinner for tonight is all ready as well. It's in the refrigerator as we speak, all you need to do is turn on the ovens at around five o'clock, and then you…"
Before the petite old woman could jabber on any further, her finely-attired imaginary rabbit cut her off with a wave of a gloved hand and a smile.
"Please, please, Madame!" he chuckled warmly. "Must you really treat me so as if the house will turn into anarchy the moment you leave? It's not as if you haven't left me in sole charge of the residence before. I assure you, I think I know my way around all of our kitchen appliances at this point. I doubt I'll manage to burn down half the mansion in your absence." He joked in his usual dry manner.
Madame Foster grinned as she hobbled across the porch to give her imaginary friend an affectionate hug.
"I just want to make sure that my Funny-Bunny is going to be alright, that's all." She cooed jokingly in the manner of a toddler.
"Oh Madame, please!" Mr. Herriman laughed, his silvery-gray fur managing to hide his blush. "Believe me, one night away from Foster's will not spell out the death of our establishment, I assure you! Now, if that's the biggest worry on your mind, then I do believe you may have your priorities a bit fuddled, if I do say so myself."
Before Madame Foster could reply, the pair became abruptly interrupted by a shrill shriek emitting behind them from inside the house.
"EEEEEK! Oh my God, it's ten o'clock already?" someone yelled in absolute horror.
This squeal of dismay was immediately followed by a hideous clamor erupting from a staircase, supplemented with plenty of agitated moaning and the odd curse thrown in the midst of all the racket. The old woman and imaginary friend turned around just in time to spot what resembled a large bundle of various bags and suitcases making its way across the foyer and towards the doorway. Just as the pile was about to exit the old Victorian mansion's front doorway and step onto the porch, Madame Foster immediately pulled herself away from her creation to yell out a sharp warning to the haphazard luggage heap.
"Frankie, watch out for that step-"
However, the old woman's caution came far too late. With a scream of dismay, the heap came crashing down in an avalanche of duffel bags, travel cases, and a diverse variety of odds and ends, scattering across the wooden deck and managing to spill out onto the lawn in a hideous mess. As soon as the air cleared of falling bags and assorted clothing, the wreckage cleared to reveal among the calamitous mess a young, eighteen-year-old redheaded girl lying face-down amongst the mess, lying in a position oddly reminiscent of a shoulder struck down by an artillery shell.
"Oh, gracious me!" Mr. Herriman cried in appall as he instinctively hopped to the fallen teenager's side. "Miss Frances, are you alright-"
Before he could get any further, the girl shot back to her feet in an instant, a look of the utmost terror stamped across her features.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no! No, no, no, no, no! Not me, not now, not when we're already late! Oh God, oh God…." Frances "Frankie" Foster began to lament pathetically as she scrambled to gather her badly scattered possessions together.
"Frankie, please!" Madame Foster called as she quickly hobbled over to her badly-frazzled granddaughter. "Dear, relax, it was just a little accident! Don't worry, I'll just call some of the friends down, and-"
"Relax? Relax? RELAX?" Frankie cried with an armful of clothing. "How can I relax? Grandma, we have to leave, now! The letter from Montclair State University said all freshmen need to arrive there today, by four o'clock!" the badly stressed college-bound girl practically screamed in her dismay. "It's already ten o'clock now and the college-"
"Is only a three-hour drive away!" her grandmother reminded her dutifully with an exasperated sigh. "Dear, please, I know you're feeling a little nervous right now about leaving, but that gives you no right to-"
"Hold on, hold on? Only a three-hour drive?" Frankie yelled in utter disbelief. "Does "traffic" mean anything to you? "Unexpected weather?" Maybe "possible flat tire?" Grandma, will you please just stop and think for a moment?"
With this rather ironic statement, the agitated girl scrambled off to her grandmother's car in a huff, preferring to toss her possessions haphazardly into the trunk in her extreme anxiety.
"Oh goody, and I was planning this to be one of my more treasured memories. Good thing I won't be disappointed, I see," Madame Foster groaned sarcastically in exasperation as she watched her granddaughter resemble a cartoon character in her flamboyantly frantic behavior. Mr. Herriman just chuckled good-naturedly as he gave his creator a reassuring pat on the shoulders.
"Oh really, and it isn't as if this runs in the family? If I do remember correctly, we had quite the hassle with one particular little lady when it was her special day to leave and finish her education at an all-girl's university. Now, my memory may not be as good as it used to be, but I do believe that frazzled young woman's name was-"
"Oh please, don't remind me." Madame Foster snickered like a naughty schoolchild. "You and my father practically had to pry my fingers off the door. Hee hee! Why, I don't think I would've ever gone had you not-"
HONK HONK!
The two turned around as the shrill beeping of a car horn abruptly halted their conversation. Lo and behold, Frankie had already managed to cram all of her things into her grandmother's vehicle within a matter of minutes and was now reaching through the driver's window to blare repeatedly on the horn to grab hold of their attention.
"Let's go, let's go!" Frankie yelled, doing a little dance of impatience. "C'mon, we gotta get on the road, now! I don't-"
"Frankie, aren't you forgetting something?" her grandmother inquired dutifully. Groaning loudly to make no secret of her annoyance, the girl stormed up the walkway, rubbing her temples furiously.
"Grandma, what is it?" she whined in the most pitiful manner. "Please, can't we just-"
"I said, aren't you forgetting something, dearie?" Madame Foster asked again with a bit of a playful grin.
"I already went to the bathroom." Frankie muttered irritably.
"No, it's not that."
"Did we forget to pack sandwiches for the ride up?"
"Oh, no, you're very off." Her grandmother laughed with a fiendish smirk. "C'mon, you know…"
"Grandma, puh-leeze!" Frankie begged. "We really, really gotta go! What on earth-"
"I think you forgot to say goodbye to a certain someone." Madame Foster laughed, shooting a glance in the direction of her imaginary friend.
"What? Why do I-oh, fine." Frankie huffed grumpily, cutting herself off in mid-protest. With a heavy sigh, she tromped over unwillingly and wrapped her arms around a broadly grinning Mr. Herriman.
"Farewell, Miss Frances." He laughed as he felt the half-hearted embrace. "I sincerely hope your studies will-"
"Yeah, yeah, studies, don't smoke, peer-pressure, blah blah blah, I know, I know! C'mon, let's just go!" Frankie babbled frantically, eager to leave. With that she tore herself away from the imaginary friend and grabbed hold of her grandmother's hand, practically dragging the old woman along with her to the car.
"Bye, Bunny! I'll give you a call tonight to check up on things!" Madame Foster managed to yell out as she was whisked towards the driveway. Mr. Herriman flashed her a warm, reassuring smile as he waved off grandmother and grandchild.
"Don't you worry! Everything will be just fine, I promise!"
Mr. Herriman paused for a moment after stepping out through a back door, taking a few seconds to enjoy the cool, crisp evening. This only lasted for a moment however, as the aged imaginary friend, businesslike as ever, quickly hopped off to complete his routine nightly stroll around the Foster's grounds.
Usually, he preferred to use this period of evening solitude to clear his mind after a long day of managing a rather expansive home for imaginary creatures. Tonight, however, proved to be quite an unusual exception to his routine. Much to his delight, he found that there was actually very little to bother him. Rather than feel burdened by any woes, Mr. Herriman had to admit a little guiltily that he was feeling quite proud of himself at the moment. Even with his creator gone for the day to tend to her granddaughter, it seemed everything at Foster's today had gone without a hitch under his watch. All of the friends seemed quite well-behaved today; he had barely emitted so much as a few stern reminders to a few residents close to violating a few house regimens. There had been no accidents, no serious injuries with the obvious exception of a few bumps and bruises from the inevitable roughhousing, not even a minor spat or argument that had to be broken up. Lunch and dinner had also hardly been a hassle at all, He found that he had been able to take care of both meals with little trouble, and also both times all the friends had dutifully carried out their assigned chores during clean-up without a problem. Of course, to top it all off, he had just gotten off the phone minutes before with Madame Foster to assure her with the utmost confidence that all the imaginary friends had just gone to bed, leaving the entire residence as quiet and peaceful as a graveyard.
As he traveled along the edges of Foster's extensive property in his usual dignified hop, Mr. Herriman couldn't help but let his stomach swell a little in pride. Today had actually been one of the best in a long time, besides Frankie's "episode" earlier that morning, everything else had gone off almost perfectly, and it had all done so under his sole command. His creator and Foster's founder had hardly been present there at all today, yet this had been one of the smoothest days Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends had seen in a while. Mr. Herriman let a hint of a smug grin take root on his face; where on earth would the home be if it weren't for his own-
His moment of self-appraisal came to an abrupt halt as his large rabbit ears picked up a peculiar noise. At first, all that could be heard was the night air gently rustling the nearby trees along with the chirp of a solitary cricket, the usual sounds to be expected during his nighttime strolls. However, just as he was about to brush it aside as a mere figment of his imagination, again his acute sense of hearing discerned again; the sound of some creature stumbling about rather clumsily nearby, whimpering occasionally through ragged gasps for air. Sensing that it was coming from a few yards into the forest bordering Foster's property, Mr. Herriman wasted no time and bolted off through the trees.
The rabbit was hardly worried; to him the whole situation seemed to be business as usual. Foster's had seen more than its fair share of beaten and battered imaginary friends showing up exhausted on the front steps of the mansion. What it also had, however, was a considerable amount of friends who arrived in such bad condition that they weren't even able to make it all the way to the door in their pitiful conditions. These particular cases were given the necessary care only after being spotted unexpectedly by a wandering resident or member of the house staff. In all his years at Foster's, Mr. Herriman himself in his nighttime walks had come across at least a half-dozen imaginaries stumbling about in delirium about the outskirts of the home's property, barely unable to stand upright much less make it all the way to the entrance.
Dodging about trees and hopping through brush, Mr. Herriman hurriedly made his way in the direction of what he naturally assumed to be yet another abandoned imaginary friend, who for some unknown yet horrid reasons hadn't even been able to make it to the end of Foster's lawn. Following his dutiful instincts, the rabbit determinedly made his way towards the sounds of distress and finally a blur stumbling about crazily through a few trees a couple yards ahead. Upon finally catching sight, Mr. Herriman put on an extra burst of speed to what he thought was yet another imaginary victim of abandonment and thus a creature in desperate need of Foster's care.
"Excuse me, excuse me!" he called out clearly as he drew near. "Sir, or Miss! Please, are you alright-"
His good-natured inquiry abruptly died in his throat as the silhouetted creature turned into his direction…and growled. Confused and now feeling a bit wary, Mr. Herriman instantly came to a sudden halt a few yards away, narrowing his eyes as he tried to get a clear view of the creature. What had just happened? This was indeed most unusual. Why on earth would a destitute imaginary friend, of all things, growl in such a harsh and threatening manner towards someone offering nothing but aid? Mr. Herriman found himself to be utterly confused and confounded, it didn't make any sense why-
Up above, the clouds parted to allow a weak ray of much-needed moonlight shine upon the darkened world, and with a frightened gasp all of Mr. Herriman's questions became answered within an instant. The imaginary friend was growling at him…because it wasn't an imaginary friend.
It was nothing more than a stray dog, roaming about in the woods near the residence. Or at least Mr. Herriman thought it was a dog; at the moment it looked more as if someone had left the gates of Hell open by accident and a horrific beast from the underworld managed to get loose. The creature was a mongrel, a hound made from a crossbreed between a timber wolf and a boxer, with bursting muscles and a huge barrel chest making it a large and fearsome looking beast of the likes which Mr. Herriman had never before seen in his life. Its body was covered with a layer of thick, scruffy, dirty black fur, supplemented however with bare, mangy blotches of raw flesh that managed to glisten sickeningly in the moonlight. Every one of its paws was adorned with a row of vicious-looking bearlike claws that looked as if they could slice through sinew and bone with ease. However, these paled in comparison with the rows of a sickly yellow, razor-sharp fangs that the beast displayed in a fearsome snarl, causing the creature to somehow resemble a furry great white shark with legs and a tail. Even worse than the teeth that were so prominently shown like swords and knives in an armory was the disgustingly sick layer of filthy foam that decorated its pitch-black lips and jaws. This, along with its blood-red eyes that seemed to glance about wildly yet somehow managed to remain fixated on the furry, new-legged newcomer seemed to point directly to a deranged animal deeps in the grips of a nightmarish case of rabies.
Trying his best not to scream in shock and utter horror, Mr. Herriman bit down so hard upon his lower lip he drew blood. His rabbit legs shaking uncontrollably as if they were made of Jell-O, he tried to focus all his energy upon keeping hold of his badly-rattled senses and more importantly, trying to back off without provoking the hellish hound that fixated its gaze upon him and bared his fangs. Within a matter of moments, all his heroic thoughts of coming to the aid of a derelict imaginary friend had become absolutely shattered, and now escape became the main objective on his mind.
Especially since he just noticed the dog's ribcage poking through its mangy fur.
And it looked hungry.