Author's Note: This story is going to alternate from a Boomer chapter to a Brick chapter. Every Boomer chapter will be 521 words in Open Office and every Brick chapter is 1025 words in Open Office. This is to set a definite difference in Boomer's POV and Brick's POV, see if you can spot the differences.
It was another blisteringly frigid Townsville Autumn day; one of those days that somehow managed to be just mindbogglingly unbearable. Granted, in defense of old Mother Nature, I bitterly loathed the cold. Every Autumn and especially every God damned Winter my mood deteriorated from perpetually irate into a state of pure unadulterated enmity. My kingdom for the warm rays of the Summer's sun.
I suppose it is it would be unfair to simply blame my disposition on the uncontrollable. For the last two days I'd reaped what I sowed in surrendering to Boomer's canine plight. That damned mutt, lame triped that it was, somehow managed to get into everything. The only solace I could find was in knowing that Boomer had at least trained the filthy creature to not piss and shit all over the house.
And it was that dog that had forced me to wander the streets like a beggar, searching for any sense of adventure to alleviate my deepening abhor for life in general. I looked up from the foliage cemetery that had once served as a sidewalk and sneered with a vicious sense of irony. Likening myself to a vagabond, who should I come across but one in the flesh?
"Pardon me, sir," The creature mumbled through a gritty gray, torn and ragged scarf. I stopped, crossing my arms and scanning the obstacle now intruding on my path. I couldn't actually see any of the bum, he was wrapped in layers of hand-stitched rags; they were disgusting garments, clearly used more often to feed moth and vermin alike than to provide any comfort from the bitter Autumn air. There was a rancid stench rising from this poor old sod, the rank of broken dreams and rotting hope, possibly with the added flourish of stale human excrement. Despite all this, I had to admit this greasy creature was frighteningly tall, much taller than I.
"Get out of my way, I'm not in the mood for rabies today," The beggar had the nerve to laugh, a cracking, blech of a sound. With every exchange I found myself falling deeper in loath with this ratty excuse for a human being.
"I don't mean to impose...you just seem so...wasteful," I narrowed my eyes and took a step closer, grabbing the bum by his dirty rags, pulling what I believed to be his face closer to mine. An idiotic act, as suddenly I was assaulted by even more of his rotten scent. Nevertheless, I remained resolute in my fury and kept my expression fitting.
"You're one to talk, Aqualung, my friend. I must look pretty damned terrible if a rotting corpse is critiquing me," The beggar held up his hands in—useless—defense. He tried to take a step back, but I refused to let him go. After a brief struggle, I simply shoved him backward, smirking when he landed like a trunk of cinder blocks. The beggar climbed to his feet slowly, moving in a jerky, distorted, robotic way. I had to admit being impressed just to see him on his feet again.
"A Rowdyruff Boy drifting around with nowhere to go...sounds like a waste to me," I clenched my fists. I ground my teeth and snarled. Quite honestly, it seemed, this man had a death wish. Perhaps the guilt from wasting precious natural resources with his continued existence had finally gotten to be too much to bear.
"Excuse me? Are you insulting me?" He laughed again. The sound was becoming so grating I couldn't help wincing. Several more traditional sounds: nails on a chalkboard, a broken pencil on paper, that pink-eyed bitch speaking, were quickly becoming more pleasant than this guy's chortle.
"Not insulting...just trying to get your attention," I realized, too late unfortunately, that I'd let my emotions get the better of me. I quickly stood up straight and shoved my hands into my pockets, laying the most disgusted look I could muster on this wretch. He seemed to pause, before creeping a step or two closer. At least my intimidation tactics weren't failing me entirely.
"You've got it, so make whatever you have to say quick. You're dead the second you lose it," The man cleared his throat and threw himself down on a bus stop bench. He breathed heavily, a raspy and painful sound. He turned the dark opening of his hood towards me. Looking in, I could almost make out nearly reptilian features, and the gleam of sunglasses.
"How would...you like to destroy the Powerpuff Girls?" I blinked, trying my best to keep my face neutral. I must have failed because I could swear I heard the man smile. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and crossed my arms, looking away. Across the street, I saw a small whirlwind of leaves, blowing in a particularly strong breeze. I wrinkled my nose, the bum's scent prevalent in my thoughts once more.
"I'm listening," He chuckled one last time, leaning closer now.
"Just do a few favors for me...and together we can kill those precious, little angels," It took most of my concentration to avoid gagging. If there was one truth I'd learned in my years living on the opposite side of the law in Townsville, it was that the Powerpuff Girls were anything but angelic. More often than not, they were worse than the criminals they sought to thwart and imprison. Still, I couldn't help but be interested in what the rotting creature was offering. Insanity could only go so far in explaining why anyone would so directly instigate a conversation with a Rowdyruff Boy.
"Fine, I'll help you out, Aqualung, my friend. But, trust me...if this is a farce, you'll wish you'd never met me," Again, I felt like I could hear the man smiling. I couldn't resist smirking in return, finally turning my eyes away from the beggar turned conspirator. I wondered if I should ask my brothers for their help...then I thought about Boomer and his flea-ridden mutt. The idiot seemed to be enjoying himself...I couldn't bring myself to pull him away.