Chapter 2

Plot Exposition For The Well-Adjusted Reader

In the words of a well-known science fiction author (as well as a left-handed guitarist and answerer of the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything), "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression 'As pretty as an airport'." The airfield in Burbank was no exception; on a good day it was crowded, the ground was covered with dirt, the airplanes were late and you might end up at a nearby tie rack by following the directions to the bathroom.

Perfect cover for a pair of lab mice to sneak into the baggage compartment of the European flight the following morning.

"Hurry up, Pinky!" Brain urged, pulling his partner up into the small doorway just as the plane took off. Making a massive gymnastic leap inside, Pinky landed, once more, on top of Brain. Brain's army-green knapsack flew off, skittered to a stop against the wall and burst open, scattering several complicated-looking gadgets across the floor. With a grumbling sigh—he had expected that this would happen before they took off—Brain heaved Pinky off of him and retrieved the contraptions, stowing them back in his pack. While his companion was doing that, Pinky plopped himself on the floor of the compartment.

"That's a lot of stuff to bring, i'in't it, Brain?" he inquired once Brain had closed his knapsack.

The Brain scoffed. "Well, Pinky, we're going to need all of them," he replied. "After all, this isn't going to be anything easy." The Brain paused as a sudden thought crossed his impressive mind. "It might be a bit late for me to ask this, Pinky, but are you completely prepared?"

Pinky waved the question away. "Of course I'm prepared, Brain!" he laughed, as though the question was an especially stupid one. "I know where my towel is!"

To prove his point, Pinky patted what he suddenly realized was empty air. "MY TOWEL!" he gasped, then tried to hurry to the compartment door. However, Brain restrained him, seeing as the plane's motors were warming up for takeoff.

Back in the airport, people passing the baggage-claim wondered why a lone, pastel pink washcloth was heading down the conveyor belt without an accompanying suitcase in sight.

As the plane took off, the shock of leaving the ground temporarily incapacitated Pinky's ability to mourn the loss of his towel. And, as such was the case, once he'd recovered he didn't even remember that he had had a towel in the first place.

"So what're we going to do when we're in France, Brain?" he asked.

Brain stared irritably at him, rubbing his eardrums. Bigger ears means bigger internal popping. "How many times must I tell you?" he demanded in exasperation. "I already told you the entire plan last night!"

After a short stretch of silence, Pinky began to laugh uncontrollably for no reason readily apparent to his companion. "Oh, it's not for me, Brain," he explained, still giggling, "it's for the readers. They missed that big part in between where you told me the plan, so we've got to give them some plot exposition! Troz!"

"What—" Brain started, then shook his head and decided to let it go. "Oh, all right, Pinky."

Giving a theatrical sigh, he pulled a diagram out of his knapsack and set it up on a small easel. Picking up a stick, Brain pointed at a picture of a pink diamond and launched into his speech. "The Pink Porcupine Diamond, as you should know," he began, "is the most valuable diamond in the world. It's a massive pink diamond, completely perfect except for a small flaw in the center that looks almost exactly like a crouching porcupine."

"Fjord!" Pinky interrupted, stifling another giggle. "No relation to that one with the panther, right Brain?"

The Brain gritted his teeth. "Nobody will notice, Pinky," he admonished his companion. "This is the MTV generation. Who even remembers Peter Sellers?"

"Well, they did remake it with Steve Martin," Pinky reminded him, showing one of his rare moments of intelligence. "I don't think he's dead yet." He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the Brain from the floor. "Actually, he just turned 61. Poit!"

Though it annoyed him to no extent, Brain was forced to surrender the argument to Pinky and simply continued narrating his plan. "At any rate," he went on tersely, "the Pink Porcupine Diamond is much harder to acquire than that...unrelated panther one. Thankfully, it is not inconveniently owned by anybody, so the plan won't come crumbling down around our ears."

Pinky scratched his nose. "Why's that?"

Brain cursed his friend's stupidity as he whacked Pinky with his pointer. "Because it would take a lot of effort to steal it from someone, and when it appeared in my claw machine we would both be put away for thievery and fraud!" He shivered ominously. "Then we'd end up on Oprah."

The Brain braced himself for another interruption by Pinky, but none was forthcoming. However, this was because Pinky had stopped paying attention and was now playing with a claw machine stowed in the compartment. Just like the one Brain had built, it refused to give Pinky the prizes no matter how many times he tried to grab one.

"PINKY!" the Brain shouted, the force of his yell knocking Pinky off of the machine. He was thoroughly fed up—after all, it was somewhat early in the morning. It had taken some effort to sneak undetected out of the lab, but he thought that a year's worth of back issues of Mitochondria in Action would be enough to distract them for the remainder of the day. Brain glared down at Pinky. "Do you want to inform your 'readers' or not?" he threatened imperiously.

"Narf!" Pinky answered sheepishly, sitting back down again. "Sorry."

Brain glared at his companion for a moment as if to dare him to interrupt again, then continued his narration. "Unbeknownst to the common man—or the common mouse," he added quickly before Pinky could interject that point, "the diamond was the property of French noble Pierre Guillame le Gendarme de Frou-Frou-Poo-Poo-Too-Tee-Lou until it was stolen." He pointed to a picture of a haughty-looking man with a turned-down nose and graying hairs, posing next to the diamond. "The diamond passed through many hands before French inspector Jacques Mousseau tracked it down and recovered it, apprehending all of the crooks at the same time." At this point, Brain rolled his eyes in anticipation of the next line he was about to deliver. "However, Jacques was a rather stupid man, and attempted to transport the diamond back to its original owner himself while he was driving the same carriage transporting the criminals."

Despite the Brain's precautions, Pinky broke in with a raucous laugh that lasted for an entire minute. The Brain tapped his foot impatiently. At last winding down, Pinky wiped the last tears from his eyes and chortled, "Zort! Boy, he sounds pretty dumb, Brain. What did he look like?"

Brain produced a photograph of an individual who could only be described as a mustachioed, human version of Pinky. Pinky chuckled a bit more as he looked at the picture.

"My, surprisingly good-looking fellow, i'in't he?" he remarked.

The Brain caved in again and conked Pinky over the head with the rolled-up photograph. "If I may continue," he growled, then stiffly pointed his stick at a location on a map attached to his diagram. From the best that could be seen of it, the location appeared to be an insignificant little quadrant of unpopulated, rural land. "Mousseau's carriage was hijacked approximately here, by the criminals he was conveying," Brain narrated, tracing an "X" in the air above the map. "He was struck on the head by a blunt object and left for dead while the criminals escaped. They were caught soon afterwards, however, and arrested, but the Pink Porcupine Diamond was never recovered. As for Mousseau, after a few days he was found wandering aimlessly some miles away thinking he was a chicken. Apparently the blow to his head had given him amnesia, making him unable to tell the police anything about where his carriage crashed or where the Pink Porcupine was!"

Still somewhat dazed from the loss of his already-deficient brain cells, Pinky applauded loudly. "That's some story, Brain!" he commended, then leaned forwards expectantly. "Poit! What happened to, uhmmm, 'Moose-oh' after that?"

"He did the only thing to be done in those situations, Pinky," Brain replied. "He sold the story to Hollywood and became a burger-flipper at the nearest fast food restaurant."

"With FRENCH fries!"

Brain rolled his eyes. "Yes, Pinky," he answered sarcastically, "with FRENCH fries." Switching back into business mode, Brain concluded, "Though Mousseau's carriage has been found since over in this location"—He pointed at a spot on the map not too far away from the other place—"the Pink Porcupine still has not been found...though several dozen jars of rotten escargot were stored in the back. The carriage has not been removed from the spot it was discovered in, which makes it much easier for us to search in those places clumsy humans might have missed, giving us the PINK PORCUPINE!"

His speech concluded, Brain folded up the diagram and easel and put them back in his knapsack. As he was doing this, Pinky sat thinking—no small task for him. At length, he asked, "Ess-car-goh...that's that stuff with the snails in it, right Brain?"

Brain shuddered, reshouldering his backpack. "Yes. A ghastly concoction. Frenchmen like the most disgusting foods imaginable."

Pinky shrugged, plopping himself down on the floor. "I dunno, Brain," he disagreed, "I like snails. Troz! Especially if they're fried up in paste...Ooh, and with those little green vegetable-things that look like maggots on the side!" He licked his lips hungrily, rubbing his stomach. "Can't get much better than that, Brain!"

Brain looked up at Pinky again from an airsick bag with a greener face and more pronounced bags beneath his eyes. "Pinky," he wheezed, "you'll be a genius in France."

"Narf!" Pinky's eyes lit up happily as he began to dance around. "D'you think they'll let me wear a poodle hat?" he asked.

Brain sighed and used the bag again as their flight over the Atlantic drew onwards.