"Wait a minute, Frances and the little girl?"
"But Master Gaga is currently in the guest room along with Master Mac!"
"Nope, she's currently waiting in the staircase as well. She left the house without notifying the others."
"During such terrible weather? Without telling us? I don't believe it!"
"I'm afraid she did. They both look very exhausted and worse for wear. Just wait until you see them."
"Oh dear."
"But, but..."
"Miss Frances said that... well... after what she said to that poor girl..."
"Goddamnit, please don't recall that."
"Oh Martha, I was just saying, no need to get hissy--especially that we now know she's safe and alive."
"But--"
"Just for your information, the two of them seem to be getting along now."
"Wait, what?"
"Madame Foster, Mr. Herriman... if I had to guess, it looks like Goo had a little "talk" with Frankie. Wait here."
- - -
Goo Goo Gaga sat on the lowest rung of the spacious central stairway, hearing the faint but growing voices soar across the pale Saturday sunlight in which the adoption home's foyer currently bathe. A mild feeling of relief swelled in her chest, savoring the fact that she was no longer within the hazardous confines of the public bus - which drowned utterly within the sensation of dread that now overwhelmed her entire body.
The girl's eyes softly craned towards the left, from which she felt a larger shadow cast over; only to see two slender legs streaked in dry filth. Though her left hand was still locked in that firm grip, Goo saw that the young lanky woman was now standing upright with eyes that were as attentive as they were exhausted.
Eyes that glared right towards the direction from the ominous shadows that lurked in waiting.
The first of which; a very tall crimson-stitched fellow with stalk eyes arched straightly above his furred oval-curved head.
"Goo." he said plainly.
"Yes...?" the girl inquired, kind but faintly.
The non-human being would no further respond to the child - as he now shifted his attention to the full-grown figure that stood next to her.
His eyes went completely cold. "...Frankie."
It would be a long while before any of them would speak again. He just stood there with progressive horror, examining what had become of the young woman he'd known for years: her once-sparkling red hair was mucked and beat down to shoulder-length, dripping liquid filth onto the stair rungs; the trademark emerald jacket and purple skirt were still intact, but now soaked in rain water, ground dirt, specks of dust and a unsavory concoction of stenches arising from every side of her body; and her skin was either wintry pale or - he began to slightly wince - caked in stale iron blood across her legs and hands. No longer desiring to linger on her lack of physical health, he directed his gaze straight towards her face, bracing himself with a fairly deep breath.
And reacted with an open grimace. Her nose, crooked and breathing erratically. Her eyes, bloodshot in the brightest imaginable shade of red. Her mouth, thinned sharply and with a trail of red dried across the left end of her lips. Her facial skin trickled with more of the weather's filthy roundup, was so thin that he swore he could see her cheekbones sticking out, and seemed so flaky that one good punch would be good enough to kill her this instant. And worst of all--amidst it all, despite it all--
She was smiling.
Battered. Broken. Fragile. Saddened and entwined with remorse, to be sure.
And smiling.
"Hiya, Wilt."
The foyer grew so silent from the agonizing pause that the resulting echo from the woman's voice seemed to swallow the entire hallowed mansion. Those words, delivered so calm and modestly - and they struck icy daggers in the heart of the figure named Wilt. "I..." He tried desperately. His lungs ached to find the right words, but all he could muster were hisses as erratic and husked as the woman's breathing.
Finally, he sighed and placed a quiet foot on the bottom rung. "I guess I should just leave you two alone with them." And he shifted his attention from the two girls to the slightly altercated staircase he now swiftly made his way across.
"Them? Who?" Goo asked, in a bizzare round of confusion that lasted all of two seconds - when the answer dawned on her at the exact same time she stared directly towards it.
From the same direction in which Wilt arrived now came a old lady of short stature with wrapped-up silver hair and a very tall hare in a elegant tuxedo/hat combo. Except now, all happiness was pruned from both of their faces, replaced with what could be novicely described as sedated shock.
"Miss Frances," the rabbit named Mr. Herriman began, in the most bittersweet of baritones. "Welcome back."
- - -
A dull light filled the whole of what happened to be Foster's spacious main office suite. Whatever yellow and blue shine could be seen from the large window vista was mellowed into a slightly colorful gray thanks to the parade of clouds. Under these circumstances, Mr. Herriman's bare parts would blend seamlessly against his desk's backdrop - if it weren't for the fact that his white fur was accompanied by a row of purple gashes around his arms, and that dried blood was visibly splattered around the makeshift bandage patch covering the eye that once held his trademark monocle.
For once, his desk was devoid of all his everyday work materials; papers, schedule notes, quills et al. The only thing present as the two weathered girls strode in was an antique antenna radio, and even that was for brief, as Mr. Herriman slid it into an opened desk before shutting it firm enough to cause a brief bang to snap across the room. It would be enough to wake both of them from their walking trance and attract them towards him.
"Si-sit down." he spoke, beginning with a stutter that was quickly suppressed by the fragments of confidence slowly inching back into his tone. He motioned towards the other, far younger of the two females. "Both of you."
There were two seats to be found in the office other than Mr. Herriman's... and one of them happened to be an old rocking chair occupied by Madame Foster, placed right next to her creation's side. This would leave the typical lone visitor chair, which the young woman wearily slouched against as the little girl became aware of the discreptancy. Her mouth sprang open to speak - when the redhead's voice beat it to the punch. "Uh, Mr. H," she spoke shyly. "There's no seat for her."
"I--" the hare's voice trailed off as quickly as it began. He stared dumbly into the woman's eyes before slowly slunking down and burying both of his paws around his face, the small slits of his fingers bristling with the inaudible remnants of his embarassed cursing. Such a blatant error from his part, especially during such an important moment. Just plain stupid. Stupid, stupid, stup--
And he pulled back the paws and recomposed himself as those words sprang into his conscience.
...such an important moment...
The full extent of right now harked back to him.
He would linger on the trail of filth streaked across his tidy room for some seconds, following it towards the end destination; and at last, he found himself face-to-face with the woman, and took a thorough look at her. Nothing could possibly brace his unshielded eye for what lay before him.
Frances Foster.
On his office.
Sitting.
Coughing.
Wheezing.
A wreck.
A complete, utter, perfect wreck.
The messy swoon of crimson hair and her dirtied green jacket/purple skirt attire were all that served to remind him that this was indeed the granddaughter of his creator. Everything else was unrecognizable. Completely familiar and yet so unrecognizable. She--well, she... why...
Mr. Herriman thought back to just a minute or two ago, to when she pointed out that utterly trivial hold-up. Her voice. Reaping the remnant shards that coiled in his eardrums, he realized it still bore all her trademarks and touches: casual, sensible, mature, matter-of-fact yet kindly - even with the newfound tinge of raspiness and gruff, of dread and fear.
Bitterness and sorrow.
Although his monocle eye was wounded - possibly beyond repair - the hare's other eye was still in fine enough condition aside from sore veiny lines. But the woman's pair eyes had a few white veiny lines - set sparsely across what was a frightengly perfect tone of bloodcurling red, so much that they creased slightly but noticeably across her eyelids. All of this, it became apparent as he bore further into her... as she bore into him.
Finally, this round of silence would be broken. Not by the young redhead. Not by the hare, or the elder woman--
By the little girl.
"I guess I should explain this now." she said, now drawing Herriman and Mme. Foster's attention away from the woman and towards her, both of which appeared to be more than a little taken aback partly because they'd forgotten that somebody else was accompanying the woman - also because of the unexpected rush of maturity in her tone.
"Explain?" Herriman gasped. "Master Gaga, you were supposed to be with Master Mac. He told me that you would be in the main guest bedroom with him, as a result of... you... she..." his eye examined the girl's sincerely grim face, contrasting Frances' blank glare--which looked so forced that it's wrinkled lines appeared on the last throes of containing an emotional outburst. Eventually, Herriman began to feel as if he put the final touches on a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle--and then discovered it was only part of an even bigger puzzle.
Upon noticing, Goo Goo Gaga just flashed a weak smile. "I left the room."
"I know that already, Master Wilt told me." the hare inquired. "The question is why. Why did you leave during such awful weather? Me and Madame were grief-stricken as it was, I'd hate to imagine what would happen if we learned of your disappearance earlier. With all due respect," and his eye went cold. "It's a blessing that you're not dead."
"Well," Goo replied. "I took one of your umbrellas before leaving."
Aware that the little girl's clothes were thoroughly soaked and her hair still dripping erratically, Herriman didn't appear very convinced. "Really? You don't look awfully dry to me."
"I..." there would be no quick response this time; lines of red streaked across Goo's pale cheeks as she struggled for words. "...dropped it."
Big mistake, the girl frowned. The moment she finished, Goo flinched some inches back, feeling Mr. Herriman's hazy shadow grow over her. "Dropped it?" he barked. "Master Gaga - you're even more of a nutcase than I thought! We're currently under a huge crisis, and you just choose to waltz around?"
The sudden welling of tears in Goo's eyes went unnoticed within the specks of rain in her face. "I... I'm--"
"Sorry?" Herriman sneered. "Oh, 'sowwy' yourself'. I'm having enough trouble as it is dealing with your reckless imagination, little girl. And then this happens. Why, just wait until your parents--"
"SHUT UP!"
All of a sudden, a raspy voice rocked the office like a gunshot. The hare glared at the girl in bewilderment; but merely saw a saddened face whose features slightly twitched in instinct. He turned to just a few feet sideways, towards the seat... and, with a sudden bottomless sensation across his heart, saw that Frances Foster had risen to her feet: she leant firm onto the desk, her fist slammed down onto it so tightly that cracks poured in the foundation.
That would be enough.
Mr. Herriman's stern face was reduced to plain fright. "Miss Frances! I--"
"You want to know what happened, eh fuzzbutt?" I'll tell you, and I'll make it as brief as possible." Her tone was barely able to contain the emotional whirlwind that violently grumbled inside. After the deepest of breaths and quick sharp glances at the hare and Madame Foster(Who'd remained quiet in her seat with frightened paralysis), Frankie would continue to speak in her gravely tone.
"I was in the bus. From the moment I ran away to now, I was there, this whole time. I'm sure you would've looked for me there, if it weren't for the crowd of clients, or that severe rainstorm. I did not leave for somewhere else, and I certainly didn't die - though I could've." Noting the darkened looks on their faces, Frankie's voice became sincerely somber. "I could've, if it weren't for her." And her right arm detached from the grimy jacket, the index uncurling from it's hand - pointing straightly towards the dark-skinned girl next to her.
"She went to look for me." she said, quite simply and directly. "Yes... she."
She.
Any remaining anger in Mr. Herriman's expression was no longer present. With trepidation, he turned back towards the little girl, who was barely able to mantain a blank face. "Master Gaga, is this true...?"
Goo nodded. "Pretty much."
Madame Foster gained enough courage to slowly rise from the rocking chair to get a closer view of her granddaughter. "The little girl talked with you?" she spoke sadly. "The same girl you singled out for insult--"
The elder stopped when Mr. Herriman cocked his head towards her with a harsh glare. She flinched, well-aware that she said something she shouldn't have... and saw that his face deteoriated into a frown.
"Very ironic, isn't it?"
Frankie would never respond to either of their queries. She would instead continue in her semi-awkward position of leaning towards the desk, with both hands clasping at the edge - utterly ignoring the revolt of pain from the many cuts - alternating gazes with her supervisor and her grandmother. Grizzled eyes, exhausted, hardened, soured.
Glittering with tears that stood clearly from the specks of raindrops across her battered features.
"I... I'm..."
Again, she would not finish. The room was swallowed by the silence; moments of complete silence, interrupted by the gnawing of Frankie's nails into the desk's hull, of her slow but growing seesaw sensation, and her shaking arms and wobbling knees, as well as the continuing drips of watery filth onto the once compulsively-clean floor - all the while letting out slight hisses in her attempts to find those right words--
When, all of a sudden and with nary a warning, her knees buckled harshly. Weakened as she already was, the redhead basically had no way of pulling herself back up. Her body slunked around, until her legs were widely spread around the floor structure; and with the hare and grandmother denied from her sight, Frankie found herself at the same height as the girl.
"Frankie!" Goo cried out, hurrying onto the fallen woman. "Are you alright? Tell me you'll be alright! Please..."
Frankie just cast an arm over the girl, and laid out a bittersweet smile.
"I'm sorry." she sniffed. "To you, and to everybody."
And she crumpled weightlessly onto the floor, her mind lapsing into complete darkness.
- - -
This is Mr. Herriman, and I have an important announcement:
Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends will be shutting it's doors to the outside world for an indefinite amount of time. This means that there won't be any adoptions, new residents or any of the other usual activities today, nor will there be such until I give further notice. Of course, considering the plight that has befallen all of Wilson Way, we would've nonetheless had to close down for the moment - but it turns out, strife has engulfed our staff.
At precisely 8:00pm yesterday, Miss Frances Foster had a massive and public emotional breakdown, stemming from the plain fact that her duties as caretaker have turned her very bitter. There were many present when the unfortunate event occured, but for those unaware, I'll make it as brief as possible: she assaulted yours truly with a barrage of punches, slapped Madame Foster across the face and broke into a venomous screed that utterly denounced her heritage and all of our residents. Shortly afterwards, she ran away and wasn't seen for the rest of the night.
Frances returned just this morning - she happened to be hiding on the bus - and met with me and Madame on my office, to reconcile. Due to the harshness of the weather conditions last night, Frances was in a very unhealthy state... so much that the meeting didn't last long before she fainted of exhaustion.
As I speak, Madame Foster and I are preparing to place Frances into her Pontiac Firebird. We will be leaving so that Frances can be treated at the nearest hospital. In our absence, Master Wilt will be in charge of mantaining the house. Perhaps for the entirety of the day - we don't know how long it'll be until this is settled, and how much the current barren conditions will affect us along the way.
Simply put, we don't know what will happen from now on.
- - -
As she wait within the pallid shadows of the mansion's garage, Goo didn't know what to make of that intercom speech. It wasn't going to be known for being eloquent and well-planned; she could hear the anxious hops of Mr. Herriman's from the distance literally the moment after that harrowing final sentence. By the time he arrived, an unconscious Frankie was already loaded inside the car with Madame Foster right beside the opened driver's door.
"That was..." she whispered, also looking a little stunned of the speech's content.
"The residents have been alerted, Master Wilt's been notified, everything's set." Mr. Herriman said, ignoring the perplexed look in the old lady's face, and instead urging her with a tense face as he swiftly made his way towards the car's other side. "Let's go."
"Herriman," her stare became very stern. "Did you have to scare--"
"COME ON!"
And she budged quickly. "Ok, ok!"
Everything was happening in an uneasy flash: the gate was only a quarter raised when the rabbit claimed shotgun position, Frankie lay motionless across the middle and Madame Foster's prodded the set of keys and was about to slam the driver's door shot--when the little girl, without having fully gathered her thoughts, placed her arm to stop it from doing so.
"Miss Gaga?" the elder said bewildered.
"Madame Foster, Mr. Herriman," Goo said in a shaky silence. "Won't I be going with you?"
She stammered timidly, her mouth slowly opening to speak. "Well, I--"
And the rabbit's voice quickly filled the car. "No. You stay out of this."
"What?" The girl was very taken aback. "But, Mr. H--"
"You're staying with Master Mac and the friends. And that's final." Without even noting the sudden shock in the girl's face, he swiftly turned to his creator. "Time to leave, Martha."
"I think we--"
"NOW!"
And Madame Foster would interrupt no longer; she shut the door from Goo's weakened grip and activated the engine. With the gateway barely opened, the Pontiac slowly but firmly streaked through it and away from the little girl's eyeshot. All that was left was a trail of engine smoke, which was thick--and unwilling to easily vanish amongst the outside world's barren moistness. When it dissipated at last, the car was nowhere in sight.
A single tear streamed down her face. "Goodbye, I guess."
- - -
The girl could not believe it.
She found herself in the bottom rung of the foyer's central staircase - only this time, it was near-literally teeming with many of the house's imaginary residents; pouring up and down from the sides and hurrying left and right behind her back. A nervous buzz filled the air. Many of the imaginary friends were vocally communicating with one another: whispers of what exactly was going on between the staff, talks of what they were going to do for the day--and cries. Panicked cries. Cries of defeat, cries of armageddon. Cries that declared the end of Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends.
And for the moment, it had escaped her.
All of it.
Numb. That was the best way to describe the current state of her mind. The foyer's palettes blended seamlessly with the colorful array of beings that currently strode it. The clockwork of noises, powerful elsewhere, did not reach the girl's own two ears. For they were shut down. Shut down, just like all of her other senses. Right now, she was contained.
Contained all to herself.
What she did see, it self-contorted into different things entirely; the wintry light and the remnant swirls of some random huge furred friend mended to form a barely-recognizable representation of Mr. Herriman, and the hallowed scratches across the handles united with a very stout racoon-like being to create Madame Foster in her veined eyes. And what she did hear, well, what could've been the confused remarks of two fellow friends changed into distant echoes of moments ago.
"No, you stay out of this."
"But, Mr. H--"
"You're staying with Master Mac and the friends--and that's final."
They looped. For what seemed like infinity, the three sentences ran repeated circles across her head, each new completed lap only harboring more unvarnished seethe. Her brain drummed at the pace of her heartbeat, and the blood felt as scathing as lava and as caked-dry as paint - and yet flowed onwards at the speed of sound. Her soul and demeanor were so furiously enraged that they became as thick as steel, but her heart... oh, her heart--
It was broken.
"How could they?" Goo was unaware that her lips just uttered these three words, but they nonetheless burnt deeply inside her.
Madame Foster and Mr. Herriman--how could they?
Now thinking back to the brief meeting at the office, Goo realized it was an unmitigated disaster. After all, she's the one who decided to risk her life by venturing into such callous weather to find Frankie. She's the one who convinced the woman that that maybe life wasn't so hopeless and that the residents of Foster's didn't take her for granted - even despite having known them for only a week! Whatever silly rules broken by the girl be damned; what mattered is that the matriarch's great offspring and the mansion's housekeeper was safe and alive. Surely, Goo would've added much needed mending between Frankie and the two of them; show them that they did care.
But what she saw was different: the elderly lady seemed weary instead of worried, and oddly never did show any genuine reaction to the fact that her granddaughter was left a physical and emotional trainwreck. And Mr. Herriman seemed less interested with the well-being of the very person who kept the place he presided over running as he was with the circumstance that his rigid style of living was about to be put on hold for an indefinite amount of time. At no point, not once, was there anything resembling compassion or remorse in his scruffy voice. That intercom announcement had no iota of sincerity to it. To her, it was a slightly more considerate way of saying that they might need to replace one of their staff soon.
They're concerned about you, Frankie... that sentence howled inside Goo, all the way down to her toe's hairs--except the feeling of warm fuzziness turned a complete one-eighty. It was no longer reassuring, but instead cruel and mocking. All those words; so comforting, sincere, forgiving and accepting... and they were going to be rendered pointless? After all she went through?
Goo spent this entire night making that point clear, trying to restore peace and redeem herself for her wrongdoings. She thought the strife was settled and the personal demons quelled. She thought everything would return to normal. She thought that, after years of bullying and name-calling and mindgames--she would find some sort of sanity in her short but fractured life.
But she was dead wrong. The name "Goo Goo Gaga" was to be forever associated with some retarded girl with a hopelessly overactive imagination. Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends was nothing more but a glorified nuthouse, a sanctuary for the rejects of a concept that itself is widely rejected by modern society. And, the worst of it all--
She would never see Frankie again. Nope, not at this point. Never.
So it would end in vain. Her so-called soulmate was an hallucination that would be shortlived. And all of these other people, human or imaginary, they were nothing more than... well--
And before she could go on any further, her head bounced some inches to the left. Her cheek at first was unfeeling, but seconds later, small but growing aching sensations spread around the moist-wrinkled features. Goo quickly learnt that something impacted firmly with her face, something very much resembling a hand.
Her hand.
The numbing sensation that shackled her was gone.
"Nonsense, nonsense!" she sternly repeated to herself, able to hear herself speak.
Realizing everything she'd just thought, Goo couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. That "Madame Foster and Herriman don't care about Frankie"? Ridiculous. Of course they care about Frankie! Their concern may have not been readily apparent, but they were so focused on getting the unconscious woman to the hospital that they didn't want to waste precious time with pointless mourning. She'd wanted to accompany them to the hospital, and she was very disappointed that she wasn't... but maybe fate simply didn't want her to. Maybe Goo's role today was done with, and it was up to them to mend the wounds on their own.
Glad to have that out of my way, she thought with a faint but genuine smile. She didn't exactly feel fully relieved, but at least she didn't feel so needlessly uneasy now. Amongst all this, Goo saw that she now stood at the center of the foyer's staircase, with second rows attached to both sides. She didn't move at the moment, nor did she try to--they were still overflowing with imaginary friends, hurrying down and up, zagging to the left and right. Gulping in whatever remained of the fuzzy breeze not soaked in by them, she took a clearer look, with heightened attention and a sharpened eye--
And suddenly became very ill.
There were indeed whispers and husked-down discussions about what was going on at the moment, but it wasn't proper, it was misinformed views and outright lies taken as the truth - merely what they thought was going on. Some did talk about what they were going to do amidst the pandemonium, but it wasn't terribly helpful; most of them considered leaving while the entire staff was wiped out at the moment. And this is where her bowels began to quiver: some of them spoke with contempt and vitriol so wide open, that they seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. It was almost as if they'd been holding it back for years, and relished that they were finally alloted to make their true feelings clear, with the apparent bane of their existences "taken care of". It was, as if--
Voices. Right next to Goo, they howled.
"Good old Frances finally croaked, I take it?" said a friend with a vertical arrow-shape and dullish grey palette. The round crimson-furred being next to him stepped in with a hearty nod. "Wasn't the scribbles incident many years ago also thanks to her--?" and the two of them were interrupted by a tiny emerald stick-shaped figure with one eye. "As well as the cookie binge, Bendy's unpunished spree, the fact that she's 22 yet still has no boyfriend and--OMIGOD, LOOK AT ME, I'M A WACKY MAKE-EM-UP!" The stick friend threw his arms into the air to imitate as if he were knocking an object onto the floor, and then plunged them onto his frame to scratch himself while his tongue stuck out in a buffoonish fashion, illiciting chuckles from the other two.
"Quite frankly, my friends--I'm not surprised." the figure said, reverting his goofy pose into a callous smile. "That girl is a certified nutjob."
And they rejoined themselves in their teasing remarks and cruel laughter, not caring about whomever else heard them, not caring that a certain girl saw and heard them in full from a fair distance - or that she would've probably throttled all of them if she weren't crippled by the emotional ennui.
"...that girl is a certified nutjob..."
"...certified nutjob..."
"...nutjob..."
Nutjob. How ironic. How oh-so bitterly ironic.
Goo wanted to escape all of this, and badly. The brusque footsteps. The disappointed scoffs and whiny refrains. The inconsiderate one-liners and self-important speeches disowning the place willing to give them a home when the rest of the world didn't want anything to do with them. The beggars. The ingrates. The spoiled brats.
Oh, there wouldn't be any more of the numbness, but right now she longed for it: the disappointment that reigned in Goo's soul was barely summarizable, and would only add further to the bloat of this current long-winded prose. Because that's what she was feeling at the moment; bloat and confusion. All that needs to be said is that the girl couldn't believe it. She couldn't. It was something she didn't want to come to terms with--but quite frankly, that's what they were. All that night spent trying to convince the poor woman that life didn't hate her so much, but now she was gone, taken away from her. All that night spent trying to argue that the imaginary friends were something worth sticking it out for--but now, as she stood small and helpless on the square center of the foyer staircase's two-way area, she realized that they... that they... that they--
No.
She didn't want to think so. As much as it looked otherwise, she couldn't.
Goddammit, she didn't.
And it was a good thing she would keep up the undercurrent of self-doubting inside herself running because, all of a sudden and much to her relief, she felt the familiar chestnut brown hair flicker softly across her face and mature yet innocently childlike words whispered in her ear - her body had been clutched by two small but loving arms.
- - -
"Oh Goo, you're alright! I was really starting to worry..."
Eight-year-old Mac Warhols was overwhelmingly joyed as he tightly hugged the girl. Never mind that about hundreds of questions crisscrossed through his puny body, or the accompanying thick fog of confusion engulfing his soul, because he was reunited with her. Yes, her; that obnoxiously loveable same-aged girl who, in just a week, has become perhaps his closest human friend. After a nice long minute, Mac broke the embrace with a childlike jitter typical of his age.
And then he saw her face.
"Oh dear." the elation in his tone faded. "Goo..."
She sighed. "I..."
Goo trailed off without finishing, and slowly lowered her gaze onto the floor. Quickly noticing this, Mac latched onto the girl's arms and tugged himself firmly but gently within earshot.
"Wilt woke me up just right now. He told me that Mr. Herriman did a speech over the intercom, that he and Madame were going to leave for the day--with her..."
He lined his index against the girl's chin to raise it upwards, but there was no need because she'd raised it herself, meeting the boy's eyes with a less-than-enthused glare.
"Her?"
"Frankie, of course." Mac said, his nervous smile quickly turning grim. "...Wilt said that you came here with her."
"Well, yes--" Goo said with exhausted nonchalancy - and then felt an utter frown press against her left ear.
"You left the house, didn't you?"
His voice echoed into infinity.
"...you left the house, didn't you..."
"...didn't you...?"
He knew.
Goo backed away from Mac, lining herself against the wall. He knew, she thought, over and over and over again with a forlorn face. With shoulders sagged and eyes drooped back down to the floor, she nodded as to say yes to his question. But it was, of course, pointless - she was too tired to even squirm as the boy's shadow slowly cosume her.
"You talked to Frankie." he said, not as a question but as plain fact.
Goo nodded again. "Yes..."
Mac stalled for a few seconds. Even though her eyes were fixed on the floor - more specifically the boy's feet, which oddly were clothed in only a pair of grey socks - she could still read him clearly. The pain in his expression, the retracted hooves of his breathing, the dreaded eye-before-the-storm calmness of his motions as he plunged both of his arms to the girl's sides, about to snap--
And instead clutched her in a very affectionate bearhug.
"OH, GOO! THAT'S GREAT!" Mac exclaimed with sudden joy. "I knew it, IT WAS YOU--IT WAS YOU!"
Goo was utterly shocked. "Huh? What do--" before she could finish, she felt her midsection tightened by the two arms - and and an intense moistening sensation on her left cheek. It was a kiss, pure and simple.
Her first.
And then her second. Then her third. And then another, and another, and another. An uncontrollable salvo of kisses.
If his demeanor was anything to go by, Mac was overjoyed. "You sneak, you dirty little sneak!" he let go of his grip with a smug smile, barely caring about the blankness in the girl's expression. "But you're a good sneak! Oh, that was wonderful!"
As Mac would settle down a little, Goo finally found some words to speak - in an utterly shocked tone. "Aren't you mad at me?"
The boy took all of two seconds to ponder these words before locking her in yet another embrace-and-smile combo. "Mad? Goo, I'm proud of you!" he said. "Frankie is back, and everything will return to how it once was! And it's all thanks to you..."
Goo's only response to the continued rush of joy was an unwilling chuckle. "Well..."
"What?" All of a sudden, some of the elation in Mac's face faded. "Everything did go well, right?"
Upon noticing - Goo somewhat convincingly forced a smile. "Yes, it did." she assured, and the beam in the boy's face returned. And she took a deep breath and gathered her memories to speak them in the briefest way possible. "Frankie was hiding in the bus this whole time. I talked to her; it wasn't easy, but I eventually convinced her to come back. She..." Goo withdrew a little. "...told me many things."
Mac cocked an eyebrow. "What things?"
"Many - don't worry, they weren't anything bad." she quickly pointed out. "In fact, she said that she..." and blush lines formed across her thickly grim face.
He closed in with a curious smile. "That she loves you? In a sisterly way, I mean?"
And the lines burst into a crimson sea that covered nearly her entire face. "Yeees..."
Dusting off the moist strands of hair to kindly curl his arm around her neck, Mac chuckled. "Well then, what's the problem?"
Goo simply hung her head and stared squat onto the floor. "She fainted, Mac."
"Fainted?" he asked somewhat confusedly. "When?"
"In Mr. Herriman's office." she said. "He and Madame Foster were there, Frankie was talking with them. She was just too exhausted at the moment..."
Mac rubbed his chin for a few seconds in thoughtful contemplation. "I guess that explains why Wilt said they "loaded" Frankie into the car rather than her consciously accompanying them."
Goo smiled weakly. "Yeah..."
Things lapsed into a brief but painstaking silence. The traffic of imaginary friends that surrounded them seemed to be thinning somewhat; the familiar tall, crimson-stitched being known stood near the foyer entrance, with things comfortably under his newly appointed control - he gave directions and spoke to the friends in a firm but highly optimistic and uplifting way. Eventually, he turned his gaze to the middle of the staircase and motioned towards the two kids. "Mac! Goo!"
The boy smiled in return. "Hey, Wilt!"
Goo, however, gave a lazy shrug. "Yeah..."
Wilt would not really notice the girl's response as his attention dove once more into the continuing wave of residents, but Mac seemed very displeased by the girl's extremely half-hearted tone. "What was that about?"
"Huh?" Goo inquired. "What do you mean?"
Mac's face blanked. "You know exactly what I mean. Goo - is something wrong?"
"Wrong? How?"
"Perhaps in the way you're acting," he scowled suddenly. "Or perhaps the way you completely shrugged off Wilt, perhaps?"
The sudden accusingness in his voice struck fright in the girl's heart. "Mac, I'm ok--"
"No, you're not." and he closed in with steadfast swiftness. "Tell me, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, I--"
"Please, tell me--"
And without warning, Goo latched onto the boy and hugged him very tightly.
"Ah yes, I'm glad that Frankie's ok!" she said with a suspiciously sudden - and forced - surge of joy and cheeriness. "See, Mac, I am happy! Why would I--"
UUMPH.
Goo flew a few inches away, barely managing to land on her feet. When she straightened herself and instinctedly met the boy's eyes - pangs of intense chills instantly shot up and down her spine - she realized Mac was now bordering on irate.
"No, Goo," he gritted. "There's something you're not telling me. And I want to know. Please, tell me." and both of his eyes lurched coldly. "Now."
That did it. Goo would hesitate no longer; she guiltily dropped her gaze and slumped in defeat.
"You want to know what's wrong?" she asked simply.
Taking in his own row of breath, Mac settled down a bit and reapproached the girl, this time with considerate kindness. "Of course..."
"Let me guess." Goo retorted. "You think that I don't care about Frankie."
Upon hearing, Mac appeared a little startled. "Well, I--"
"If you want to know, Mac--no. That is not the problem. I care about Frankie. A lot." she glanced to the left and right, loomed softly into Mac's eyes - and sighed. "...too much."
"Care too much?" Mac was taken aback. "How?"
She ignored that question, and instead threw in her own: "Do you care about Frankie?"
The absurdity of these words caused Mac to throw his arms into the air. "What? Goo--of course I care about Frankie!" he bristled. "Wasn't I acting very giddy about her return just moments ago? Seriously--"
"I wanted to be sure." Goo interrupted, now with a somewhat odd smile. "Because..." She was about to abruptly raise her finger and point it at a random member of the still-sizeable crowd of imaginary beings that surrounded them--when he appeared.
It was a small blob-shaped being with an azure cover and eyes that were very wide and sparkling - even as they were actually somber as he shyly approached the boy, with what looked like a cellphone in his stubby hands.
"Here, Mac." he said in a glaring way rare of his mischievous, unaware of a particular little girl just a few feet shy from him. "I changed the ringtone toRamones. Not so sure if that's the one she originally had, but that's the only punk rock song I could find amidst the available ringtones."
"Huh?" Mac appeared a little confused. "Bloo, why did you give me Frankie's cellphone?"
"So that you can give it to her. If you excuse me..." was his immediate response. He then turned around to leave as if nothing happened - but was swiftly blocked by the boy's hand grabbing at his small figure and yanking him back.
"No, why?" he demanded.
Red lines creased across his blue tint. "Uhhh, I have to go--"
"BLOO!"
"Nothing! I just that'd you--"
It was very sudden. Goo stood there a while, watching the bantering between the two beings degenerate into depressingly pointless bickering. She examined the confusion in the boy... and bore into the creation named Bloo, whose attempts at looking innocent and well-meaning were about as unconvincingly hidden as the sudden surge of rage swelling inside her. So much, in fact, that the moment Mac seemed to return to Goo, he was about to speak--
When she beat it to him - eyes bristling with pent-up anger. "I'll tell you what happened: Bloo changed the ringtone of Frankie's cellphone."
Mac initially was startled by the assertiveness of the girl, but was more puzzled than shocked by her words. "What do you mean?"
On the other hand, Bloo looked like an iron stake had suddenly been driven into his heart. "WHAT?"
Although Goo kept his attention fixed on Mac, she seemed to bitterly relish the horror in the blob's face. "One of Frankie's friends called while it was changed." And at last, she spun towards Bloo, wagging a violent finger at him - her face a sickly swirl of victory and defeat. "You changed her ringtone to Black Eyed Peas."
More silence between the three of them. For Goo, the seconds crossed very tensely, rows of scalding sweat rising from the remnant drips of rain water on her blanching face. For Mac, however, it was just more confusion with hints of a goofy chuckle dancing on his lips.
"Black Eyed Peas?" the boy inquired. "That sounds more like a prank than anything--"
And as fast as light, things clicked into place and realization dawned on him. His face rapidly withered as he hurried to meet the gaze of his small but high-maintenance friend - and saw that his expression was already deeply sullen.
"Bloo... you..."
The living blob's mouth sprang open to speak on his behalf but, once again, it was the girl's voice that arose first.
"Bloo set it up in hopes of the cellphone ringing in public." Goo's eyes lowered darkly. "...he configured it so that the call itself would be heard out loud."
Somewhat baffingly, the influx of residents seemed to greatly narrow at this point, heightening the tension that now clearly rubbed off from all three. Mac was briefly tempted to ask the girl for more specifics, but he didn't need to; because he'd put the pieces together himself. And what he saw was something that horrified him to the core.
At the very least, Bloo did not try to hide anything. He slouched in bitter defeat... but was also a little confused. "How do you know that?"
The girl dwelled on that for some seconds, savoring the threads of horror across his azure build - but also somewhat appreciating the obvious remorse in his tone. After which, she breathe deeply and said: "Frankie told me."
The horror in Bloo's face was instantaneous. "What? But, how can--"
But his puzzlement was cut off by another question; this time from Mac, who'd regained the courage to speak. "Goo - is that the reason Frankie snapped?"
And this time, Goo responded quickly. "Nope. It's only one of them."
- - -
"Seven-o-clock morning?"
The giant being - at least seven-and-a-half feet tall and with the build of two football players - with ape features and multicolored fur frowned as he snatched an alarm clock from under the bed and waved it in front of his expressive maroon eyes. It wasn't because the room was way too small for his liking; he actually enjoyed it, particulary the feeling of kingship and his extremely odd(and oddly satisfying) position of his back bent against the pink bed, sprawling his legs across one side and allowing his head to doze snuggly in the other.
It's because things didn't exactly go as expected. Where the hell is Frankie?
Indeed; her absence was very puzzling. Whether that matriach lady chose to punish her or whether she got off, surely she would have eventually come here... the ape was so confused that he had to take a few good looks to confirm that, yes, he was still in the bedroom of that poor redhaired girl.
It took a few more moments before he also remembered his whole plan. Well - not really a plan; he was simply waiting for her to arrive so he could continue screwing around. But she didn't. He examined the alarm clock again. So I fell asleep? It was indeed what happened, but it was also odd: the door was left unlocked, and he blared some rock 'n roll through an old Sony CD walkman with headphones that miraculously fit his large head - he realized he was still clutching it with the other paw.
Well, I never liked The Offspring that much anyway. He sprang open the player, chucked away their latest CD and sprung to his feet... only to collapse back down some seconds later, this time next to what was a messy pile of CD jewel cases, all of which he'd carelessly knocked from the plastic tower holders.
A toothy smile quickly enveloped on him. The ape was still captivated by the redhead's musical taste, and found her selection of those one-of-a-kind artists to be amongst the best he'd seen from anybody. The one that caught his eye, however, happened to have a rather distinctive black-and-white drawing of a young man and woman with sunglasses, with text on the upper-right explaining things in a comic-book like form. He was a little puzzled: Sonic Youth was not exactly punk rock.
And he was reminded of a different girl entirely.
Goo.
That girl. That infernal girl, the being thought angrily as he slumped back onto his awkward position on the bed, though this time with the CD on his hand, yet memories of a hyper little girl flashing into his mind. He was not a follower of Sonic Youth or similar "overly pretentious" bands like them, but he was not surprised when he flipped to the back of the CD case and saw that the tracklisting also had a song with the album's title in it. More specifically and chillingly appropiately: My Friend Goo.
Ah, yes. His friend.
Or was.
The ape was torn. One side of him wanted to throw away the CD case and forget that sniveling hag ever existed, not wanting to suddenly deny himself of the fun he's had ever since she left his life-- but his other, dangerously curious side won out: he opened the case, popped the disc into the player and fit the headphones across his ears--and skipping right to the aforementioned titular song.
Pretty good, he thought. As the song began, he shut his eyes and began thinking of the girl.
He was quite surprised at how the lyrics matched with her. Not exactly, of course, but he nonetheless pictured her as it went, sometimes producing funny images: Goo playing drums, wearing green underwear, lying around the floor, and a crowd of nondescript boys saying "Hey Goo, what's new?", whom he chanted with. He lowered his voice to a mock falsetto and was about to utter the next few words--
When a small but firm hand knocked the headphones from his ears.
Eyes blazing open, he saw her; adorning a frown that, from his upside down view, was a very sick smile.
"Hey, you."
- - -
A/N - Ah yes, the dreaded cliffhanger!
I do not own Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, nor do I own Sonic Youth or whatever other real life things referenced in this chapter.
And yes, I regret that I once again took long in updating. So I'm just going to say this: I hope to have this story finished by the end of the month. Now, I'm not promising, but I'm STRONGLY HOPING. This story was originally meant to be a one-shot, but has become something far more than I expected. I have plans for other stories and I do not want to spend the entire year focusing on just this one.
I can guarantee that I'm nearing the end with this. It has been a great experience for me, as this is my first serious fanfic and has already gone far better than I thought it would've. I send my thanks to everybody who took the time to read and review this, even if you didn't like it(I'll freely admit that it has flaws, and I'm aware that some of the character portrayals are different from that on the show).
Once again, see you next chapter!