Disclaimer: This story is based upon characters created by Bob Schooley and Mark McCorkle for Disney. If you recognize the characters, they aren't mine.
If Disney wants the rest, I'm willing to negotiate.
I will never make any money from this.
"I really appreciate you seeing me, Mr. Paisley."
"It's a pleasure to meet someone who appreciates plush art, Mrs. Renton," said the elderly gentleman as he escorted her into gallery.
"Please, call me 'Monique'," she smiled and winked.
"Careful, Monique," he teased. "You are liable to give an old man a heart attack."
"You look stronger than that to me." Monique did turn down her natural charm a little, "But I will be careful, at least until you have sold me that gift for my friend."
"Your friend also appreciates fine stuffed works?"
"Much more than I do, I admit." Monique waved a hand in the air, "She is a die-hard cuddler!"
"Ah, the Cuddle Buddy line," Mr. Paisley sighed. "Truly the best of the best." He paused thoughtfully before returning to Earth again. "Does your friend have a favorite?"
"The pandaroo," Monique nodded. "She's had one practically forever. It's showing it, too." Monique looked eagerly at him, "I'm hoping you have one in better shape than hers."
"That is quite likely," he grinned as he turned the display lighting.
One wall was then lit from multiple angles, spotlighting various stuffed crossbred animals. Each in a condition that suggested they were new, instead of thirty to forty years old.
"T.A.T.B!" Monique gasped. Then at his quizzical look, she explained, "Too Amazing To Believe."
He nodded, "Thank you." He reached up and brought down one of the pieces carefully, "Pandaroo First Edition in fine condition." He began to present it to Monique, and then paused. "Your friend will take good care of it?"
"The only reason hers is so damaged is because she slept with it as a child," she nodded. "I'll be storing this in a special case until Christmas."
He smiled, "May I ask her name?"
Monique smiled at the man, unable to rein in her charm any longer, "Kim Possible."
"I once met.." He said thoughtfully. "Yes. Red hair? Sweet girl? Very athletic?"
Monique beamed, "Best known as a 'Teen Hero'. That's my girl!"
"I had the pleasure of having her here once, helped me out of real problem."
"Now I am sure that was her," Monique chattered.
"Excuse the interruption," came an oddly familiar voice. "But I have a little shopping of my own to do." She flipped down into view from above.
As they watched, the green-haired teen carefully sifted through the collection of animals, muttering to herself. "...Sea Lion, Elegator, Otterfly, Naked Polecat..."
Monique didn't know which seemed stranger, that Kim would arrive while being discussed in some fulfillment of the 'speak of the devil' superstition, or that this person was not Kim. She resembled Monique's long-time friend closely enough to make Monique truly worry that this was not a coincidence. It looked as though a picture of Kim from the Middleton High yearbook had come to life and dyed her hair.
Keego spun on Mr. Paisley in frustration. "Where is it?"
"What?" asked Mr. Paisley, obviously frightened.
"The Flamingoat!" Keego snapped.
"My most valuable possession?" he whined.
Monique spoke as softly as she could, "Mr. Paisley..."
"You can't have it!" he spat with venom that surprised Monique as he reached into his pocket.
At the far end of the room, multiple red beams shot out from the walls and ceiling at various angles. In the beams own light it was just visible, sitting upon a high pedestal under glass. The most rare Cuddle Buddy of all, a Flamingoat.
"Mr. Pais-ley," Monique sang softly. She did not believe it wise to anger this girl.
"No fear, Mrs. Renton," he said firmly. "Only one person has ever made it passed this system." Then he added sweetly, "Your friend, actually."
Monique wondered why the girl smiled at his comment.
"No big." Keego then cart wheeled into the intricate web of laser beams, jumped over a nasty intersection of them, bounded off the wall and knocked the glass case off the pedestal with one extended arm as she flew by.
Both the onlookers gasped. It appeared for an instant that the prize itself would fall into the path of the laser beams.
The flamingoat had not yet moved, however.
Keego pushed off another wall into a back handspring, continuing to barely dodge the beams. She then grasped the valuable plush toy against her abdomen as she launched upward by the pedestal again. She then tucked and flipped once more before pushing off the ceiling into double flip, to then land just outside the grid.
There was not a mark on her. She happily examined her new plush friend, which was also unharmed.
Mr. Paisley fainted.
Monique quickly knelt to help him.
Keego walked by them quickly, "Bye. Hope you enjoyed the show."
As Trent set his lunch tray down, Kate was talking to Anne with a wide-eyed expression. "Let me get this straight."
Kate took a deep breath as she stabbed her mystery meat with her fork, leaving it upright. "Your folks are going to pay for you guys to go to Paris on a date?"
"Yeah," Anne was beaming. Kate's reaction made her realize further that her folk's consolation was just as generous as it seemed.
"We'll see some of the Louvre and have dinner and come back." Trent chimed in as he started into his creamed corn.
Kate gave Trent a look, "The Louvre?"
"What?" Trent glanced blank nervously, "Too much?"
Kate smiled and turned back to Anne, "Where'd you find him again?"
"C Hall," Anne smiled. "It's not as expensive as it sounds, since the agency will transport us," said Anne.
"Hypersonic transport sounds cool, though," Trent smiled.
"Now he sounds like a guy," said Kate.
"I always sound like a guy." Trent's voice lowered, "Don't I?"
Anne giggled.
"I just meant that it's such a romantic - and rather refined - idea," Kate said apologetically. "Most guys don't go for that."
"I like art," Trent said almost defensively. "Why else would I be in the A-V club?"
"All the electronics?" Kate asked.
"Well, there is that."
"So when is the big date?" Kate asked. "Saturday?"
"I'm not off restriction 'til Monday. Friday, I sit with Cindy and Frankie," Anne whined the boy's name.
"There's something ominous about rhyming names," Trent observed in a scholarly tone. "Frankie Mankey. It just sounds evil somehow."
"I know Cindy can get that way," said Kate.
"She's not the one that put somebody in traction," Anne pointed out.
Kate got a shocked look on her face, and then looked down in embarrassment. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."
"It's cool." Anne started into what appeared to be mystery meat, but was small enough to be a brownie. "I'm dealing with it."
"So you and she are getting along?" Trent asked warily.
"She doesn't complain about what I did anymore," Anne's mouth turned down only slightly. "Just how well I help her at her place. Frankie is our common enemy now."
"Is he that bad?" asked Trent.
Anne swallowed. "The first night was the worst. I'd already met them all at the hospital. Cindy had just been home a few days."
"Hi, Mrs. Mankey," Anne said as brightly as she could manage when the door opened.
The dark-haired woman just frowned at her. She then called back into the house, "She's here, Josh!"
"Hi!" Little sandy haired Frankie squeezed between the open door and his mother's body. "I'm Frankie!" He grabbed Anne's hand and pulled, "Wanna see my troll?"
Mrs. Mankey stepped away as Frankie pulled Anne into the living room. He dragged her to the living room, where some sort of clay monstrosity lay on a newspaper-covered coffee table. It was vaguely round and had some sort wiry fabric sticking out of the top.
Frankie pointed at it proudly.
"Hey," came a weak monotone voice. Cindy was sitting in an adjustable reclining chair with a straight, high back. Her feet were up. She did not seem relaxed in the slightest.
"Hi, Cindy." Anne attempted to sound friendly, but it came out pathetic.
"What do you think?" Frankie asked loudly.
"He looks very scary," Anne said sweetly.
"But she's a nice troll," Frankie sounded disappointed.
"Oh," Anne said nervously. She couldn't help notice Cindy's little smile.
"Well," continued Anne, "It must be very difficult for her when inconsiderate humans make that mistake."
"Yeah," Frankie agreed softly.
Mr. Mankey smiled as he came with a couple prescription pill bottles and placed them on a moderately high shelf. "These are Cindy's pain blockers."
"Over here, Dad," said Cindy.
"I realize you can take these responsibly, Hon," said Mr. Mankey. "But we can't have them where Frank can reach." He turned toward Anne. "Anne can get you what you need."
"Absolutely," Anne tried her best smile.
Mr. Mankey seemed pleased by that. "Cindy wasn't very hungry at dinner-"
"Dad!" Cindy whined.
"So there's leftovers for any of you." He finished.
Mrs. Mankey appeared near the foyer, now fully dressed for the evening. "C'mon Josh, the senior executives will only wait so long," she snapped.
"Frankie did get his pill, right?" Mr. Mankey asked as they headed to the door.
"Of course," smiled Mrs. Mankey.
"Bye!" they waved together before closing the door behind them.
Cindy then lifted the remote control from a pocket attached to the chair. "So what do you want to want to watch?"
"Dishjoe Starshirt!" Yelled Frankie.
"I was talking to Anne. I already know what you want." Cindy rolled her eyes.
"See!" Frankie complained to Anne. "She won't let me pick the shows. She won't let me have a turn in the new chair, either."
Cindy leaned forward almost too little to notice and screamed, "It's a medical chair!" She then groaned and tried to get comfortable.
"Frankie," Anne kneeled down and tried to explain on his level. "Cindy can't get too upset right now."
"It hurts," the boy was staring at his sister.
Cindy was trying to steady her breathing.
"That's right," Anne nodded. "Any movement hurts her."
The boy turned and looked at Anne, "Mom said you did that to her."
Anne froze a moment. She didn't know how to answer the boy, except plainly. "Yes," she said softly. "Y-yes, I did."
"Why?" he asked innocently.
Anne had no idea how to explain to a seven-year old that she had been in a cyberneticly altered state at the time, functionally insane.
"Because I made her mad," Cindy interrupted. "Don't make her mad, Frankie, or you'll need a hospital."
Anne gasped.
Frankie's eyes went wide.
Cindy then turned on the TV. "Go ahead and watch your toon," she frowned as the screen showed a dishcloth, who was laughing at himself as he left his apple house to go to work.
Frankie sat on a large, mono-colored beach ball and bounced lightly as he watched. Judging only by him, it seemed as though Cindy had not made the remark.
"We'll have to deal with that crap for about an hour," Cindy whispered to Anne. "Then his medicine usually has him sleeping."
"What's that for?" Anne asked softly.
"He's mildly autistic," Cindy said like it was old news. "and rather hyper without his pills."
Anne watched the boy a few minutes as he sat on the ball watching television. He often bounced, rolled and even fell off the ball a few times, only to get back on continuing watching.
"How are you doing?" Anne finally asked Cindy.
"Better," Cindy said in a non-committal fashion.
"Has Ken been over?"
"Don't think there was anything really there." Cindy pouted.
"It's times like this that show you who your real friends are," Anne said absently.
"So what are you doing here?" Cindy was wearing a wry smile.
"I'm taking responsibility for my actions," Anne said frankly. "You must have hade some visitors."
"Suki was here yesterday," Cindy admitted. "She's leading the squad now."
"Until you get back?"
"Do you realize how long it will take to dance again, much less jump?"
Anne bit her lip, "Cindy, I am-"
Cindy raised a hand between them, palm out. "We've already done this." She said testily, "No need to harp on it."
"O-okay."
Frankie then fell off the ball and collided with the coffee table, half-catching himself.
"Are we sure that ball is safe?" asked Anne.
"He's tough. My aunt got me that thing to use for therapy," Cindy explained. "I'm not ready for it yet. Nobody can get it away from him, anyway."
-
A Little flashback to more mundane horrors continues next.