The Powerpuff Girls: PSHAW!
or
Powerpuff School Hijinks And Wackiness
A Powerpuff Girls fanfiction by Andrew J. Talon With contributions from Scriviner, Ryuugi, Fanboyimus Prime and others
DISCLAIMER: This is a non-profit fan based work of prose. The Powerpuff Girls are the property of Cartoon Network. No copyright infringement is intended, please support the official release. The Narrator's Voice is in Italics! Just so you know! And no, I'm not out to steal any princesses. Geez, you can only make so many actor's allusions at a time you know!
This one written by scriviner, to help flesh out Townsville a bit better.
The Suburb of Bedrock! In the City of Townsville! A quiet community that's a great place to raise a family, especially if you like dinosaurs. No one's entirely sure where they came from, but they just started showing up one day and everyone's had to learn to adapt. They never leave the limits of the suburb, no matter how anyone tries and boy, do they try. In a town where some of the most celebrated members of the community are flying superheroes made with sugar, spice and everything nice, a neighborhood where velociraptors dig through your garbage and kids keep pet baby brontosauruses doesn't even seem all that strange in comparison.
TC's was a bar and grill. It was not exceptionally classy, nor was it specifically a dive. It was a nice enough bar for people who wanted a quiet drink and some excellent grilled fish. It got a bit of the tourist trade, but mostly it was a local bar that catered to people in the neighborhood.
A man came into the bar. He was built big and tall. Hefty like a foot ball line backer gone to seed. He was dark-haired, beetle-browed and sported a five o'clock shadow. He wore a dark orange track suit, with an incongruous old-fashioned blue neckerchief peeking from under the half-way zipped jacket. Curiously, the man wore only a pair of thin flip-flops.
To his right side and a step behind him was a shorter blonde man in a brown suit and tie. He was also heavily built, giving anyone looking at him the impression of a miscolored fireplug. He reached around and opened the bar door for the larger man. Alert eyes scanning the place, watchful for any signs of trouble. Seeing nothing, he nodded to the first man, "All clear, Fred."
"Thanks, Barn." The larger man rumbled, clearly pleased.
Fred stepped into TC's and noted the person manning the podium next to the door. The place wasn't high class enough to actually have a maiter'd nor low-rent enough to have a full-time bouncer. Instead what it had was a two foot tall tubby blue cat in a suit-coat and showing a friendly, cheerful smile, standing on a stool next to the podium. Next to the podium was a violin case.
"Hey, Mr. Flintstone, Mr. Ruble. Good to see you both!" The cat called out cheerfully.
Fred chuckled and patted the cat's head who seemed to accept it good naturedly. "Good to see you too, Benny. How's things?"
"Great, Mr. Flintstone!" Benny responded cheerily. "We got your private room all ready for you! TC says the rest of your guests'll be here toon."
"Glad to hear it, Benny. Here." His hand dipped into his pocket and pulled out a roll of hundreds. He peeled one off and handed it to the cat who accepted it gratefully.
"Thanks, Mr. Flintstone!" He snapped his little fingers and another cat, this one three feet tall, brown, and wearing only a white scarf and a self-satisfied expression sauntered on his hind legs up to the door.
"Fancy'll show you to your table, sir." Benny said gesturing to the new arrival.
"Fancy." Fred rumbled by way of greeting.
Fancy nodded and grinned, "Great to see you, Mr. Flintstone. And, of course, the inestimable Mr. Rubble."
The blonde man gave a small nod in greeting, but didn't return the cat's grin.
"Right this way, sirs!" Fancy caroled leading them to an unoccupied private room.
The two men sat and the cat with the scarf was also tipped extravagantly. Two stone-looking novelty mugs of frothy beer from the tap were set in front of the men and they'd both just settled in when another man in a fussy green suit entered the room. He was middling height and his hair was parted in the middle, with a slight curl at the ends. He had a pair of glasses that rode low on his large nose. "I was worried I was late." He spoke with the pinched, nasal tones of a man destined for accounting.
Fred waved it aside dismissively, "Naw, me and Barn just got here. How's it hangin' Sly?"
He gave a small, tightly controlled smile and looked at Fred over the tops of his glasses. The action lending a vaguely sinister air to the otherwise innocuous man. "Now, Mr. Flintstone, please. I would appreciate it if you'd at least call me Sylvester. You'll give everyone the wrong idea entirely if you kept calling me 'Sly'."
Fred chuckled and after a moment so did his associate. He held both hands up in mock surrender, "Oh, no! We wouldn't want that! I mean it's not like havin' Sneakly as your last name ain't an obvious enough hint about you."
Sylvester dutifully chuckled along with Fred as he took his seat. "Most people never notice."
Fancy hustled in with another novelty rock mug of beer before slipping quietly away again.
"So who else are we expecting?" Sylvester asked.
Fred shrugged elaborately and glanced over to Barney.
"Pretty much everybody." The blonde man supplied. "At least they'd better if they want to sit in."
Sylvester nodded.
The door opened quietly once more. This time a smaller man stepped in. He was even shorter than Barney Rubble. He was sharply dressed in a dark suit and he had an old fashioned fedora. He had a prominent chin and dark stubble covered his cheeks.
He walked in, doffed his hat, held it over his heart and gave Fred a respectful nod. "Good to see you, Rockfather."
Fred barked a laugh and waved his hand dismissively. "Clyde, Clyde, Clyde... why you gotta call me that, huh? Bad enough the papers keep usin' it."
Clyde smiled slightly, "Just showin' my respects, Mr. Flintstone."
Fred thumped the table, still grinning broadly, "I keep tellin' you to call me Fred, Clyde. We're all friends here, ain't we?"
Clyde nodded, "As you say, sir." His eyes narrowed then glanced over to Sylvester who had slouched down into his seat and steepled his hands together across his stomach, his elbows resting on the arm rests. "Most of us are." He added coolly.
Sylvester smirked, "Hello, you little ragamuffin pipsqueak."
"I got nothin' to say to youse, ya lousy mug." Clyde replied stiffly. One of his hands had slipped into his coat. Faster than any of them could follow, Barney had taken a step around Fred's seat and slammed a meaty hand onto Clyde's shoulder, jarring him and keeping him from pulling whatever it was out of his coat.
"Hey, Mr. Boom?" Barney said in a fairly jocial tone as he leaned in. "Didn't you hear Fred? We're all friends here, right? It's just a bit of friendly ribbing, right?" Barney swivelled his head towards Sylvester and stared, his tiny eyes boring into the other man.
Sylvester flinched back, even as Barney continued to speak in a still jovia tone completely at odds with the cold expression on his face, "Like between friends."
I'm not sure this is quite as friendly a meeting as its being purported to be!
Sylvester leaned to one side and spoke sharply to thin air, "Talent for statin' the obvious, don'tcha, wiseguy?"
Barney's brows drew down, "You talkin' to me, Sly?"
"Oh, sorry, Barney," Sylvester said, simpering, "I just a little tickle in my throat."
"Y'really oughta cut down on the 4th wall breakin', Sylvester," Fred responded off-handedly, "That can't be healthy talkin' to imaginary voices like that."
The narration isn't imaginary! Everyone knows tha-
Fred stared into the middle distance for a long moment, a cool stare that managed to unnerve even the disembodied voice.
Sylvester finally broke the silence by asking Clyde, "How's your Goddaughter doing?" His voice was as oily as his smile.
Clyde glared at him, hopping into the chair on the opposite side of the table from Sylvester, "Her ankle's still sprained, thanks for askin'. Funny how that guy in the mask keeps tryin' to kill her and screwin' it up."
"Funny indeed," Sylvester said with another smile. "Do give Miss Pitstop my regards."
"I'll do that, alright." Clyde said obviously trying very hard to keep himself under control.
Barney gave both men a long, hard look then took his place up next to Fred once more.
The room stayed quiet for a few more minutes, before the door opened again and a pauchy dark-haired man with a self-important air and white, rolled up shirt-sleeves waddled in. He had a tie that hung loose around an unbuttoned collar. He greeted Fred enthusiastically, "Sorry, I'm late... the Waterbuffalo's meeting ran long and well... you know how it is."
Fred nodded his understanding and rose to his feet to meet the man. "No problem, no problem at all Sam. You ain't even the last one in." They clasped hands, then began an elaborate ritual handshake that involved no less than three slaps, two full turns, finger-wiggling and knee-banging.
Sam turned to Barney and greeted him with the exact same handshake.
Sam extended his arms out enthusiastically and said, "Sly, and Clyde. Good to see you both."
Sylvester smiled and nodded to the man. Clyde stood on his chair and shook hands in a more normal manner with Sam. "You too, Sam. Keepin' busy?"
Sam replied jovially, "Oh, you know me. Always something to do. How're things in Antwerp Hill?"
"Ant Hill's like it always is," Clyde said off-handedly, "Always busy."
Sam was referring to the neighborhood of Antwerp Hill where Clyde Boom was from. It's another lovely suburb of Townsville which boasts a large and hard-working population, but also has the lowest average height for it's population in all of California.
It shouldn't surprise anyone that Mayor Mayor was a native of Antwerp Hill... or Ant Hill, as the natives call it..
"Didn't you leave?" Fred said sharply.
Look, I'm just trying to do my job here...
Fred glanced over to Sam and said off-handedly, "Y'know, it's always so much easier to dispose of a body when there ain't one. Am I right?"
"Of course you are, Fred," Sam responded agreeably, although his expression was mildly confused.
Sylvester spoke out suddenly behind his hand, "See? This is what you get for being such a nosy busybody."
Well, if everyone's going to be that way, you can just have the rest of this scene without me. I'll be in my dressing room!
The door opened and this time a small white dog with black ears and a, pardon the pun, hangdog expression sidled in with small, mincing steps on its hind legs. Fancy who had opened the door for the dog threw him a sneer, which the dog didn't even seem to notice.
"Good afternoon." He said in a small, tired voice that had almost no expression to it at all. "It's so good to see everyone." He deadpanned.
"Droopy, good to seeya." Fred said as the little dog shuffled up to Fred's seat. "Thought you were gonna send Huck again." He reached down and began to scratch behind Droopy's ear.
The dog's expression never changed, not one flicker, not one iota.
His tail however began wagging back and forth at high speed.
"The settlement money was just enough to get the damage fixed," He continued to speak in his small, deadpan voice, despite Fred's vigorous scratching. "I'm back in full health. But Huckleberry's outside catching up with the other bodyguards."
Sam had already taken a seat and had his own novelty rock mug full of beer. Droopy finally escaped Fred's attentions and hopped up into the chair opposite Sam. At his spot on the table, there was a wooden bucket with a bolted on cabinet handle to serve as a handle. "Oh goody. My favorite." He deadpanned.
Fred leaned back, chugging his drink which he slammed down onto the table. "That's pretty much everyone..."
Barney leaned in, "Except for the Captain."
Fred's face soured, "Yeah, yeah. I dunno, the guy gives me the creeps tho."
"He's useful, Fred. You know that." Barney replied.
The door burst open and a yellow cat, three feet tall, wearing an elaborately patterned vest and a straw boater's hat bustled in, all smiles and handshakes, "Hello, everyone! Great to see you all here today! Can I get anyone anything? A refill? Maybe some snacks? I know these meetings tend to be thirsty work, so I just wanted everyone to know, you fellows have an open bar!"
Fred laughed and held a hand up, "TC, y'don't need to do that, I always pay up."
"I know, it's why I always offer!" Top Cat replied with a friendly grin.
Fred laughed again.
"Oh and your last guest just arrived." TC dropped his voice confidentially, leaning in closer to Fred, "We made him use the back door... he was gonna creep out the rest of my clientele."
Fred nodded. "No, no... I understand completely. Send him in, alrighty, TC?"
"Absolutely, Mr. Flintstone! And if you need anything, anything at all, just let Fancy know and he will ensure that your every need is taken care of!" TC continued to gush, gesturing profusely.
TC slipped away just as the door opened to reveal... a man a large, over-weight man in an ill-fitting chef's coat that was obviously sized for someone from Ant Hill. Underneath was another coat, this one with a general nautical feel to it that only just barely closed around his gut. Peeking out from the bottom edge of the coat was a red cape trimmed with white fur.
He also wore a chef's hat.
Except the Chef's hat was on top of an old-fashioned purple Captain's hat.
That had rabbit ears on them.
The man's face was mostly obscured by a ludicrously huge and bushy white handlebar moustache. Over which he'd worn a pair of fake glasses, which had its own fake plastic nose with a tiny little black plastic moustache.
Fred palmed his face. Clyde winced with distaste. Sam just stared. Sylvester seemed to be choking down his laughter. Barney and Droopy exchanged deadpan glances.
"Hello!" The figure called out cheerfully. "I... am not one suspicious at all! I am the chef of this establishment!"
"Sure you are." Fred said sarcastically.
"Yes! I am just here because I may have sent some food out that wasn't up to our usual standards!" He continued cheerfully as he sidled up behind Droopy.
"So, I'll just grab it and get it out of your way-" He reached down to grab hold of Droopy's bucket, but Droopy's forepaws flashed up faster than anyone's eyes could follow and caught the man's wrists.
"Ridiculous Lucky Captain Rabbit King," Droopy deadpanned. He did some sort of twist with his paws and suddenly the man was hurtled to the far end of the table and smashed into the seat. During his ignominious and short flight, the man had also managed to lose the fake glasses with it's nose and moustache, as well as the chef's hat and coat. "Lucky Captain Rabbit King Nuggets are for the youth."
The Captain stared blearily at the dog. Droopy took a spoonful of the cereal with as much enthusiasm as he ever seemed to muster for anything else, eliciting a sob from the Captain.
"The youth?" Sylvester chuckled, "You're my age, Droopy."
"That's only in dog years." Droopy replied, then took another spoonful of cereal. "In human years, I can't even drink yet."
"Well, that's everyone." Barney said.
Fred nodded. "Alright, settle down, all of you. You all know why we're here." He waved his rock mug. "I'm callin' the meeting to order."
The other men, and one canine, turned to him attentively.
"I know we all know each other, but Mister Slate always was a big believer in traditions, so even though he can't be with us here today, we're gonna keep up with the old traditions, alright?" Fred said, then turned a hard stare on all the fellows at the table as though daring them to object.
"So, goin' round the table..." Fred gestured to Sylvester.
"Sylvester Sneakly. Representing the Downtown Syndicate."
"Droopy Dog, the Dogfather of the Canine Crew from Anubis Park."
"Lucky Captain Rabbit King! For the Costumes~!"
"Sam Slagheap. Headin' up the Waterbuffalos from the Waterfront.".
"Clyde Boom. For the Ant Hill Mob."
"I'm Barney Rubble for the Bedrock Mob."
"And I'm Fred Flintstone, also for the Bedrock Mob."
Sylvester leaned forward and grinned, "Seeing as how you're here and Slate isn't, is it safe to assume that things have changed?"
Fred shrugged, "As you all know Mr. Slate's been gettin' on in years and he never really adapted well to how things have changed here in Townsville... all the superheroes and weird stuff ain't to his taste. I've been doin' a lotta the work for the past couple years anyway, so Mr. Slate has graciously decided to make it official. Slate's retirin' to play with his grandkids and I'm going to be running Townsville from now on."
Sam blinked slowly, "And if someone had objections to that?"
Barney shook his head slowly, "Sam... me and Fred have known you for a long time. I mean we're practically family. I would hate to have to give your wife any bad news, y'know what I mean?"
Sam hurriedly held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, "It was a purely hypothetical question!"
Fred nodded approvingly, "I'm glad to hear that, cause you're all my friends, y'know? I'd really, really hate to have to hypothetically drop anyone into a cement mixer."
Clyde bowed his head again and said, "I already said you were the Rockfather. I got your back, Mr. Flintstone."
"Much appreciated, Clyde. You're a standup guy."Fred nodded.
The Captain called out, "I for one would like to welcome our tubby new Criminal overlord!"
Fred gave him a hard glare that seemed to cut straight through the madness and made the costumed man flinch.
Fred swept the table with his gaze once more. No open defiance. Sneakly was obviously wary and trying to figure out how to take advantage of the situation. Sam was cowed for now, but they'd need to keep an eye on him til things settled. The Captain was easy to bully. No problems there. Clyde was loyal... the only possible holdout was...
"Droopy! What the hell?!"
"What?" The dog deadpanned from where he was now standing on his chair, glancing back at Fred over it's shoulder.
"Why the hell are you showing me your butt?!"
Droopy replied in a deadpan, but Fred imagined a tiny little smirk on the dog's face. "Obviously you're the new alpha male. I'm submitting myself for your use."
"..."
Hoo boy! Glad I didn't stick around, and so are you! But what this means for saving the day...? You'll find out next time! Thanks to... THE POWERPUFF GIRLS!