That Which We Seek the Most…
A "Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends" Fanfiction
Chapter One-Hidden In Plain Sight
Author's Note: This is the beginning of a sort of "sequel" to my previous Foster's fanfic, "Every Picture Tells a Story". This fic will delve just a bit further into a relationship between two of the series' main characters, Wilt and Frankie, so if the notion of a non-human sentient character having a relationship with a human character, a relationship that eventually MIGHT lead to other things...if that bothers you in the least, best to give it a miss. At this point, though, I do not intend to rush things, but will let things develop at a slower, more natural pace, like most real relationships do. Things won't get too steamy, though.
The usual disclaimers apply here.I do own any of the characters from the tv series, "Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends", including Wilt, Bloo, and Frankie. They were created by Craig McCracken, and belong to Cartoon Network. I DO own a couple of original characters in this one, namely Frankie's two human friends, "Kathie" and "Elena", as well as a few miscellaneous individuals who may show up.
I must inform my readers that this first chapter is not the most exciting, probably even is a bit dull, but its purpose is to set a tone for the rest of the story. Things will pick up, I promise!
Frances "Frankie" Foster could hardly believe her luck. It was a Friday afternoon, barely four o'clock, and she was actually finished with her chores. On top of that, her "supervisor", Mr. Herriman, seemed to have been in an unusually good mood that day, and had even complimented her on a job well-done, rather than finding endless faults as he usually did. It was almost enough to make her wonder if this whole day were really a dream, and that she was going to wake up soon enough to the sound of his seemingly-endless complaints. The real clincher, though, the one thing that made her certain that this HAD to be a dream, was when Herriman approached her shortly after three thirty, clearing his throat. Frankie had been certain that the dream was going to end, and that he was going to light into her about her poor job performance, but instead, he delivered what had to be the biggest shocker of the 22-year-old woman's life.
"Miss Frances," the oversized bipedal rabbit began(he almost never referred to her by her nickname, "Frankie", unlike everyone else) someone has called my attention to your on-the-job performance status as of this afternoon."
"Oh-oh," thought Frankie, "here it comes."
"And I must take this effort on behalf of the entire population of Foster's to commend you on a job well done!"
Frankie actually thought for a second that she was going to faint. This couldn't possibly be real. THIS sort of thing only happened in dreams and fairy tales.
"Come again, please?" she asked with considerable surprise and skepticism in her voice.
"I came to congratulate you on a job well done…for ONCE! Far be it from me to fail to give adequate recognition to workers who have performed their tasks admirably. If only this could be the NORMAL situation…"
"Wait…you're actually telling me I've done a GOOD job? You're not going to find something wrong or lecture me on how to put the toilet paper on the holders or something?" This just didn't seem right.
"I shall have you to know that I never fail to recognize success, nor to withhold praise when it's due. Now, are you going to take heed of the remainder of my words, or stand there gawking at me with that absurd expression plastered all over your face?"
Frankie remembered to close her lower jaw, figuring that maybe Herriman DID have a point about her looking rather absurd with her mouth hanging open like that. "Sure, whatever. Just pinch me before you leave the room, OK…so I'll know I'm not dreaming!"
Herriman paused to adjust his monocle, seemingly ignoring her last comment. "As I was saying, you have done such a commendable job this afternoon, that I have decided to let you have this evening off to pursue your usual pointlessly inane activities with your equally inane 'girlfriends' of yours, so that the lot of you may elect to spend the evening listening to that horrendously cacophonous noise that you deem 'music', gossiping about hapless male humans who are not present to defend themselves, and whatever other insipid distractions the lot of you find so amusing. AND…" he added seriously, "if you shall insist upon being pinched, you will have to call forth Pinchy from his quarters, for I shall, as they say, give that a miss!" Without even waiting for any further reply from Frankie, the six-foot-tall rabbit turned on his rather large heels, and hopped away.
For a few more minutes following his departure, the red-head just stood and stared, still not quite sure whether to believe her good fortune or not. Then, as it began to sink in that maybe this WAS real, after all, a smile started to install itself upon her face, slowly and hesitantly at first, then eventually taking a good hold. Frankie pumped her fist in the air, "YESSSS!" She tried to head off in three different directions at once, quickly discovered the futility of that, then settled on ONE-the direction of her room-before Herriman could return and change his mind. She had plans to put into place, phone calls to make, and she just hoped that at least one of her friends would be available on such unexpected short notice, but she really had to get out of sight before somebody found something else for her to do, which in this place, was a frequent road block towards any night off. She deserved this, darn it, and NOTHING was going to get in her way!
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
A couple of hours later, something DID get in her way. Not the usual suspects, like a sick resident, or a backed-up toilet, or a door knob that needed replacing and couldn't wait, or even something Bloo had done, but something much more mundane and just as irritating.
Frankie could not find her keys.
She'd looked everywhere for them that a set of keys might possibly be, and even looked in a couple of places that she figured no one would ever think to look for keys, having experienced the phenomenon of things turning up in extremely odd places no one would ever think to look before, especially in THIS house- STILL no keys. This was not helping her stress level one iota. WHY did things like this have to happen? WHY couldn't it happen when she had to make a trip to the supermarket on a busy day, instead of waiting in ambush for the ONE evening in a million that she had an extra night off? If nothing else, this was conclusive evidence to Frankie that life, officially, was not fair.
Her exasperation and moment of self-pity was interrupted by the sound of feet descending the stairs behind her in the main foyer, where she'd come to stop and re-think her moves after being given the good news by her furry supervisor, in the hopes that doing so would jog her memory and lead to the errant keychain. Turning around, she spotted Mac, the eight-year-old kid who'd created one of the home's more notorious residents, crossing the floor and heading for the doorway. He was obviously on his way home, this late in the afternoon, after his daily visit with his Imaginary Friend, Bloo. Once he realized that she'd noticed him, he spoke up.
"Oh, hi, Frankie! How's it going?" he spoke with a wave.
Frankie groaned out load before answering, "Don't ask! I swear, why can't my life go the way I want it to, just ONCE!"
Mac stopped in his tracks, an expression of concern crossing his young face. "You seem pretty upset; what's wrong? Bloo didn't do anything dumb today, did he?" Mac was well aware that one of the primary thorns in Frankie's side was his little blue Friend.
"No, Mac, it's not Bloo's fault-THIS time. Agghhh…Mr. Herriman gave me the evening off, for ONCE, and of all the times for something to go wrong, it WOULD just have to be NOW!" She threw her hands up in the air for emphasis.
"Well, if you could tell me what the problem is, maybe I can help. If not, I can at least be there for emotional support!"
Frankie sighed. For a little kid, Mac could be amazingly intuitive and mature sometimes. "It's my keys. I need them to drive to go over to Elena's, but I can't find them, and I've looked EVERYWHERE! I even looked in the refrigerator, for Pete's sake!"
"In the refrigerator? Why would you look for keys in THERE?" The puzzled eight-year-old asked.
"Well, you see, I'd lost the remote control this one time…oh, never mind. I guess I might as well go call Elena and tell her I'm not going to make it after all!" She turned to leave the room.
"Frankie, WAIT!" called out Mac. "I'm not trying to be a smart-alec or anything, but uhm, aren't those your keys in your sweater pocket?"
Without even turning around, Frankie reached into the right pocket of her green sweater. There, nestled comfortably inside her pocket, as smug as can be, was her keychain, with all her personal keys on it. Frankie felt the heat rush to her cheeks with embarrassment as she turned towards Mac, knowing it had taken the eight-year-old just minutes to find something she'd been seeking, unsuccessfully, for hours. Still, she was grateful that SOMEBODY had found the keys, so that her plans would not have to be scrapped due to lack of transportation, at least.
"Thanks, Mac. Sometimes I feel like I'd misplace my own head if it wasn't attached! I don't understand HOW I coulda missed them if they were right in my pocket all that time, though."
Mac smiled, "No problem, Frankie. My teacher does stuff like that all the time. This one time, he was looking all over the classroom for that red pen he uses to grade tests with, and we could all see it sticking out from behind his ear, right where he'd put it himself; it was really funny! Everybody was starting to laugh at him, and he couldn't figure out why! I read this story once, though, in the library, and there was this one line I can really remember, something like, uhm…oh, yeah, "that which we seek the most, with the least success, is usually hidden in plain sight right in front of us. I can't even remember the name of the story I read it in, though."
Frankie looked thoughtfully at the eight-year-old, then replied, "Yeah, that makes sense, now that you mention it. Usually the thing I'm trying hardest to find DOES turn out to be right in front of me the whole time, or in this case, right in my pocket! Anyway, have a safe walk home, and I guess I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"
"Yeah, thanks, and you have a fun night out with your friends. You deserve it!"
With that, the boy headed out the door and down the walkway, leaving Frankie only a few minutes in which to collect her thoughts and leave the house herself.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
As it turned out, Frankie was not the only resident of Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends who was having trouble with misplaced items. Following his daily visit with his best friend and creator, Mac, a little blue Imaginary Friend was returning to the room he shared with three other Imaginary residents, to find one of them already inside. As Bloo entered the room, he spotted one of his roommates, and one of the house's tallest inhabitants, Wilt, who was apparently so engrossed in searching for something that he'd totally failed to take any notice of Bloo's arrival. Bloo observed the seven-foot-tall –plus red Friend curiously for a few minutes, deducing that Wilt must have lost something, before announcing his presence by clearing his throat.
"A-hem!" cough, cough- no reaction.
"I said, 'A-HEM'!"
Wilt jumped a bit, startled, and looked back towards the source of the interruption from peering behind a chest of drawers. "Oh, sorry, Bloo-I didn't hear you come in!" He then lifted up the lid to Eduardo's toy chest, still looking for something. Bloo stared at him still, a bit annoyed, but decided that maybe the best way to remain the focus of attention was to instigate a conversation. Besides, his own curiosity was piqued now, and he HAD to find out what Wilt was searching for.
"Whatcha lookin' for? Anything important?"
"Well, yeah, it IS sorta important. I can't find my basketball; you haven't seen it anywhere, have you?"
Everyone in the house knew of Wilt's fondness for basketball, whether for playing it or watching it. Indeed, basketball was literally one of the reasons his creator had thought him up in the first place, so Bloo knew that a misplaced basketball was a major crisis where Wilt was concerned. He had not, however, seen a basketball anywhere, not within recent memory, anyway. Nonetheless, it entered his mind that if he found the thing, perhaps that would sorta make up for an earlier incident, just a few weeks prior, in which he'd done something rather mean-spirited to get back at Wilt for something which now seemed rather trivial.
"OH, mind if I help look for it? I'm a natural at finding lost stuff!"
"Sure, I'd love to have some help; the more eyes we have lookin' for it, the better the chances of findin' it, I guess."
A rather unpleasant thought crossed Bloo's mind, and he started to say something, but wisely(for him)kept it to himself. It had to do with the fact that Wilt, due to some misfortune that befell him long before Bloo ever met him, and probably long before he even came to live at Foster's, had only one eye. The right eye was perfectly normal, IF you can consider being positioned on top of a stalk that protruded from its owner's head "normal"(and in the world of Imaginary Friends, pretty much anything, physically, could be considered "normal"), but the left eye was AWOL, having been replaced by a googly fake one, and the eye stalk itself was bent sharply. Wilt adamantly refused to discuss just how this had happened, but whatever had happened to him, it had also left him missing most of his left arm, and inflicted nasty scars on both sides of his face. It seemed to Bloo that someone with only one eye to be looking for anything was a waste of time, anyway, but he held the thought in and didn't mention it.
"Now, let's use my powers of deductive reasoning here-WHERE was the last time you saw this basketball? He questioned, as he crossed the floor, rubbing his more-or-less non-existent chin with his fingers.
"That's just it; I CAN'T remember exactly. I must be getting old, I guess" Wilt replied with a chuckle, both amused and somewhat irritated at this particular effect of his "old age". "I've looked in the closet, and you just saw me look in the toy chest, but I honestly can't remember where I left it after I finished shooting hoops yesterday."
Wilt sat down on Bloo's bed, the lower bunk, sighing. Bloo continued to look the room over, high and low. Given Wilt's height, it wouldn't have been unreasonable for the ball to have wound up stuck inside the light covering. "Now, where would I go if I were a basketball? Ah, I know…did you look outside on the basketball court?"
"Sure I did; that was the first place I looked, matter of fact. It's not out there, though. I'm pretty sure I brought it back inside yesterday, but I can't recall what I did with it after that."
"How about under the bed? I know Mac used to lose stuff all the time, and that's usually where it would be."
"I think I looked under there already, but you can check again, just in case."
Bloo ducked down to peek under his bed, into the space where Wilt actually slept. "BINGO", he called out almost immediately, causing Wilt's remaining eye to open wide in surprise.
"Naw, now I KNOW I looked under there already! Don't tell me…" his response was cut short by the sight of his basketball rolling out from underneath the bed, the result of a push by Bloo. Wilt grinned sheepishly and shook his head in disbelief.
"See, whatdidItellya about my amazing powers of deductive reasoning? Am I good, or WHAT?" Bloo boasted as he crawled out from underneath the bed,
"Yeah, that WAS good, if I say so myself! Thanks for helpin'; I probably wouldn't have found that ball until I went to bed tonight if it hadn't been for you! What I wanna know is, what made you look underneath the bed, especially after I told you I'd already looked under there, or at least, I think I did?"
"It's simple, really. I knew to look in the most obvious place, since that's the place most people overlook when they're trying to find something. AND, I remembered how many times Mac found stuff he'd lost under the bed, or actually, I found it FOR him. AND, I totally ignored you when you said you'd already looked under there."
Wilt stood up from his seat on the bed, and with one graceful sweeping motion of his long arm, scooped up the ball from the floor, cradling it against his side. He strolled out into the hallway with his characteristic saunter, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor. Maybe he'd at least have a little time for a good workout on the basketball court, after all. Still, though, he couldn't help but be a bit intrigued by Bloo's words of wisdom, mainly because it wasn't often that anyone was so privileged as to actually hear Bloo say ANYTHING that could be remotely considered "words of wisdom", but partially because the whole "most-obvious-place-to-find-something-you're-looking-for-being-the-most-often-overlooked" bit. Wilt couldn't quite put a finger on it, but for some reason, he'd been having a vague, nagging feeling of something else missing from his life, besides an errant basketball. It was as if there was a void, of sorts, almost like that feeling he'd experienced for so long after being abandoned, but not quite. At least in the case of the missing basketball, he'd known what it was he was looking for, but in this instance, he was completely in the dark. He had a feeling, though, that whatever it was he was trying to find, or needing to find, it was right there in front of him all along, just hidden in plain sight.